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"longlegs" poems
On a wall through the dark of the night, thrills sent down by countless of legs creeping up and down in their dance Daddy, is that you ? I asked a spider with long legs Indeed a daddy longlegs spider haunted for prey It hopped onto me, trying to guide me out, of this nightmare, In fact a quite gentle grip of this venomless beast, a sweet embrace of this two eyed arachnid It whispered to me " Umi, keep going, before they find you " A shadow of the long past, forgotten in the loitering abyss of time Serene and clear, my friend kept his dance on my head, resting was no option A ****** devotion of the creeping darkness, Ah, phantoms ! Spiders, gather in a dark night, One tarantula crosses my way, with no intention to bite The shadow I was running from was no where near, but my knights summoned around me, tapping on the ground with their eight legs in their dance Realisation floods my mind, relentless, numbing all my senses The black widow of hatred cast on a pure fury, with lilies of murderous intend, was me, Running from myself was what I did all these years but not anymore It is best to dance on these fantastic grounds with me, Because I am the eternity of this realm of fantasy After all, we have infinite time in our dreams ~ Umi
0
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Infinite Being
handpicked blueberries in yogurt, tea on the porch, Ellen, in desperation to plant a raspberry bush. jogging through a grasshopper field holding in screams at the small green chirps shooting up around my ankles. grimy trails of sweat, the daddy longlegs crawling out from under my thigh the dirt at home under my nails. nickel-bright stars above the trees, a cool tress rising, buzzing in the porch light of bugs going for our jugulars, still tight and smooth.
0
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
A Weekend
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types, never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be, too stiff, too anorexic model type: pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips. i like mandible women, scary scarred women, the types that will grow into fond babushkas and cook you a broth. ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi web of flashes is ruining the red carpet, i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness that would be quicksand for high heels. i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together, every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,” every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression, jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone, with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen, the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies, it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green... can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing... i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital; i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
0
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
trophy girls
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types, never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be, too stiff, too anorexic model type: pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips. i like mandible women, scary scarred women, the types that will grow into fond babushkas and cook you a broth. ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi web of flashes is ruining the red carpet, i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness that would be quicksand for high heels. i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together, every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,” every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression, jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone, with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen, the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies, it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green... can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing... i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital; i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
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27
Daddy Longlegs was sitting on his net and browsing through his past He wanted to do something which would make him big pretty fast He looked around and saw a fly buzzing around Suddenly his brain was shaken by ideas abound Hi said Daddy longlegs, it’s nice to see you miss fly Do come to my web and give it a try I am well aware of my ill reputation That is why am sending you an open invitation Bring in media if you still have some doubts I hope it will douse your fears if you have them as scouts Hesitant at first the fly still agreed to meet She never knew a spider can be so generous and sweet Fly was warned of spider’s ill intentions and of the agendas hidden But isn’t there a charm in exploring the forbidden! I will bring in some reporters said the confident fly That should take care of the spider’s greed and make him shy In front of a huge crowd fly stepped in on the web Daddy longlegs grabbed the fly before she could ebb Crunch munch he ate the fly in front of the crowd so huge People were shocked but still stood like a stooge Daddy longlegs was arrested later and sent to a jail Where he wrote a book on life in prison and law being frail The book generated lot of interest and became a best seller It got lot of publicity as it was written by a spider so Heller Daddy got pardoned as fly knowing all willingly fell in his trap Hence it was declared a suicide and the case against him was scrapped I guess dark is alluring as Daddy’s website has become quite a hit But there are people who throng the site just for the silken threads and their steely grit.
0
Jul 29, 2011
Jul 29, 2011 at 12:31 AM UTC
Daddy Longlegs
Daddy Longlegs was sitting on his net and browsing through his past He wanted to do something which would make him big pretty fast He looked around and saw a fly buzzing around Suddenly his brain was shaken by ideas abound Hi said Daddy longlegs, it’s nice to see you miss fly Do come to my web and give it a try I am well aware of my ill reputation That is why am sending you an open invitation Bring in media if you still have some doubts I hope it will douse your fears if you have them as scouts Hesitant at first the fly still agreed to meet She never knew a spider can be so generous and sweet Fly was warned of spider’s ill intentions and of the agendas hidden But isn’t there a charm in exploring the forbidden! I will bring in some reporters said the confident fly That should take care of the spider’s greed and make him shy In front of a huge crowd fly stepped in on the web Daddy longlegs grabbed the fly before she could ebb Crunch munch he ate the fly in front of the crowd so huge People were shocked but still stood like a stooge Daddy longlegs was arrested later and sent to a jail Where he wrote a book on life in prison and law being frail The book generated lot of interest and became a best seller It got lot of publicity as it was written by a spider so Heller Daddy got pardoned as fly knowing all willingly fell in his trap Hence it was declared a suicide and the case against him was scrapped I guess dark is alluring as Daddy’s website has become quite a hit But there are people who throng the site just for the silken threads and their steely grit.
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28
a spider crawled up my leg a ******* spider, daddy ********* longlegs it came up my bare foot from the tall grass and I slapped and beat at it until it was dead
0
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
spider
A living ball of white plastic twine its bulb of body conscious slim head pointed down towards the floor chaos of legs whirling knees bend inwards and go slack like a flower opening and closing a shimmering life the size of my kneecap hanging from a thread of silk spider as a puppet marionette legs flailing as they play empty notes in space haggling without gravity mused into waking they paw at the air smoothing the surface of imagination making and unmaking an invisible tapestry all these careless maids whatever their purpose might be whatever heartbreak is the encroaching ends of their creations meticulous in movement only when the sewing commences In the morning all the magic has worn off the spider is a tiny brownish common cellar spider a miniature Daddy Longlegs just the hull of what was massive and sentient in the night
0
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
Seeing a Spider in the Bathroom at 2 a.m.
I dream in Grands Granddaddy longlegs Grand stand Grand old Flag Grand jury Grand slam Grand mal seizure Grand theft auto Grand canyon
0
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Grands
I am from black cats and silly smiles, From senseless sisters and lazy Sundays I am from coarse yellow grass That brushes my legs and tickles my feet I am from chlorine pools and fast flowing rivers Sunny days and stinging nettles. I am from tall trees and ripped jeans Barbie band-aids and tireless energy. I am from warm afternoons, Bike rides and best friends, Whole orchestras and squeaky recorders I am from a place that is never silent Pattering feet and clicking paws. I am from snow days and sled rides, Pillow forts and fragrant pines I am from puppy dogs and Christmas gifts. Spilled drinks and soaked towels. Cool winter nights, curled up with a book, Overstuffed sofas and Friday movie nights. I am from daddy-longlegs And chasing butterflies Cicadas Clinging to my shirt, And caterpillars Crawling up my arm. I am from lemonade stands And (I must admit) overpriced craft sales Cozy blankets, And widescreen TV’s. I am from stories and pictures, Scissors and glue, Colossal messes and unstoppable laughter Setting suns and shining stars New days and new beginnings. Memories I will forever cherish, And new ones made every day. Arguments, Agreements, Opposites, And perfect matches. Photographs that make me giggle, Smile, Cringe, And remember. My home is not a place. I have made a home in my memories. A place I can go whenever I want to smile. I am from everywhere, I am from anywhere, And this is the place I call home.
0
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
Where I'm From
My Grandmother's perfume was always as sweet as the fruit she loved to share with me its rinds thrown from the deck. We watched as the deer came out to feast on the skins. Her perfume came in beautiful crystal and her collection spread all over the bathroom. She hummed as she got ready her song beautiful like the hummingbirds we would fill a feeder full of nectar for. And as we ate at the small wooden table, she would whisper, "Look, my love! Our friends have arrived." and the hummingbirds would sip from the feeder. I always felt that they were her kin, those hummingbirds. But it would not be a stretch for my Nana to be blood with all the beautiful things. She showed me how to pluck a honeysuckle flower and extract the nectar carefully so I would taste a drop. In the springtime, butterflies would flock to that bush, and we watched from a distance. She taught me where the daddy-longlegs liked to nest and reminded me that they were harmless. I picked the wildflowers for her and she would place the little arrangments in water on the table. My Nana would make me coffee so sweet I could barely drink it but I did because the sweetness was just as sweet as her. I loved spending time with her, even if it was just a phone call. The number 2 pad on my mom's ugly orange phone was my Nana's speed dial. I called her every day. Every day. She would light up when she heard my voice and I would chatter on about anything and everything I could think of. I still remember the songs she used to sing to me when it was time for bed and I was wide awake. "I love you, a bushel and a peck. A hug around the neck, and a barrel and a heap and I'm talking in my sleep about you." My Nana doesn't remember the words now but as long as I have a voice to sing with, I will sing for her. As long as I have hands, I will write for her. And as long as I have a heart, I will love her. Even after the day, she doesn't remember me. Even after the day she doesn't see my face and know who I am. Even after the day she doesn't know she ever loved me.
0
Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 2:20 PM UTC
My Grandmother's Perfume
My Grandmother's perfume was always as sweet as the fruit she loved to share with me its rinds thrown from the deck. We watched as the deer came out to feast on the skins. Her perfume came in beautiful crystal and her collection spread all over the bathroom. She hummed as she got ready her song beautiful like the hummingbirds we would fill a feeder full of nectar for. And as we ate at the small wooden table, she would whisper, "Look, my love! Our friends have arrived." and the hummingbirds would sip from the feeder. I always felt that they were her kin, those hummingbirds. But it would not be a stretch for my Nana to be blood with all the beautiful things. She showed me how to pluck a honeysuckle flower and extract the nectar carefully so I would taste a drop. In the springtime, butterflies would flock to that bush, and we watched from a distance. She taught me where the daddy-longlegs liked to nest and reminded me that they were harmless. I picked the wildflowers for her and she would place the little arrangments in water on the table. My Nana would make me coffee so sweet I could barely drink it but I did because the sweetness was just as sweet as her. I loved spending time with her, even if it was just a phone call. The number 2 pad on my mom's ugly orange phone was my Nana's speed dial. I called her every day. Every day. She would light up when she heard my voice and I would chatter on about anything and everything I could think of. I still remember the songs she used to sing to me when it was time for bed and I was wide awake. "I love you, a bushel and a peck. A hug around the neck, and a barrel and a heap and I'm talking in my sleep about you." My Nana doesn't remember the words now but as long as I have a voice to sing with, I will sing for her. As long as I have hands, I will write for her. And as long as I have a heart, I will love her. Even after the day, she doesn't remember me. Even after the day she doesn't see my face and know who I am. Even after the day she doesn't know she ever loved me.
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78
i saw a funny thing just the other day a crane fly with a turban came flying by my way he had little bombs fastenend to his wings with a belt of bullets and grenade and things like something from a movie he looked a proper baddie a british daddy long legs that had joined jihaddy
0
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC
jihaddy longlegs
i saw a funny thing just the other day a crane fly with a turban came flying by my way he had little bombs fastenend to his wings with a belt of bullets and grenade and things like something from a movie he looked a proper baddie a british daddy long legs that had joined jihaddy
0
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC
jihaddy longlegs