NO LESS A WEB

DD8C11F7-13BF-4FB4-A37D-3C3612D9F0EANo less a web, spider spun
these words around you weaving run
like threads so fine,
but not less strong
to bind within you magic songs

And here a peek behind the art
a secret with which no spider parts
Yet I, a weaver of open source
share a bit of that conjuring force

First, if this be an ordered tune
or lastly, if you want the end so soon,
is a look, or rather, a vision met
upon which your design is set.

See clear, my casters, an image bold
with which your sticky tales told
float it in your inner sea
and with all your eyes, like spiders see

Make of yourself a giant ear
and gather all the things you hear
and let love be greater than deepest fear
and you’ll find that threads appear

Ask what it is you want to net
with ever spinning spidery set
you just might catch it yet

The next of this cannot be taught
but without which your art is naught
’tis this: a certain certainty
and if it’s weak, the power flees

Thus flinging into nothingness
is what it takes, nothing less
With a Trust and no reason why
your filament will find its flight

Once it’s flung, that’s but half the spell
the other half is crafting well
circle ‘round and join the threads
and paint the image in your head

In between, a tip or three:
a spell, to weave, is both form and free

Take care to note what’s in the air
the sounds, the scents, the subtle flair

Threads are summoned from abdomen
but also from the wild winds
a gentle breeze will be your friend
a gusty gale will be your end
unless you surf that storm with ease
you’ll wind up in the web you weave

Without a form – the threads will fail
without freedom, the force is frail
so find the balance between the two
to catch the thing you wanted to.

Look at what other spiders construct
see what’s cast, and see what’s luck
Admire the patterns, see what’s caught
Look for angels and demons they fought

Study the sounds built into the spells
follow the lines of tales they tell

Look to the recluse, the widow, the wood,
but never get caught in the net of the should

Take what you can, as in a sly theft
but the strength of your web is bound by what’s left
after all of the threads from within are out cast
into the world to feast or to fast

That something so strange, something so rich
that deep design only you can pitch
that something so rich, so doubly strange
that things may be caught quite out of your range

And that is the gift of a magical song,
sung with the words of a web so strong,
that its effects are unknown in the light of the day
not until night is the power relayed

A final glimpse behind the weave
before we rest and take our leave

As silence is part a wizard’s gift
what’s not said will shape and shift
the space between the strands are there
to make designs in air appear
more luminous and boldly spun
as much for purpose as for fun

And as spiders in their patience sit
awaiting what their net can get
so our last secret of this webby play
will have to wait another day.

NO LESS A WEB

5B697AE6-D3D3-4175-AD65-772CD5080850No less a web, spider spun
these words around you weaving run
like threads so fine, but not less strong
to bind within you magic songs

And here a peek behind the art
a secret with which no spider parts
Yet I, a weaver of open source
share a bit of that conjuring force

First, (if this be an ordered tune)
or lastly, if you want the end so soon,
is a look, or rather, a vision met
upon which your design is set.

See clear, my witches, an image bold
with which your sticky tales told
float it in your inner sea
and with all your eyes, like spiders see

Make of yourself a giant ear
and gather all the things you hear
and let love be greater than deepest fear
and you’ll find that threads appear

Ask what it is you want to net
with ever spinning spidery set
you just might catch it yet

The next of this cannot be taught
but without which your art is naught
’tis this: a certain certainty
and if it’s weak, the power flees

Thus flinging into nothingness
is what it takes, nothing less
With a Trust and no reason why
your filament will find its flight

Once it’s flung, that’s but half the spell
the other half is crafting well
circle ‘round and join the threads
and paint the image in your head

In between, a tip or three:
a spell, to weave, is both form and free

Take care to note what’s in the air
the sounds, the scents, the subtle flair

Threads are summoned from abdomen
but also from the wild winds
a gentle breeze will be your friend
a gusty gale will be your end
unless you surf that storm with ease
you’ll wind up in the web you weave

Without a form – the threads will fail
without freedom, the force is frail
so find the balance between the two
to catch the thing you wanted to.

Look at what other spiders construct
see what’s cast, and see what’s luck
Admire the patterns, see what’s caught
Look for angels and demons they fought

Study the sounds built into the spells
follow the lines of tales they tell

Look to the recluse, the widow, the wood,
but never get caught in the net of the should

Take what you can, as in a sly theft
but the strength of your web is bound by what’s left
after all of the threads from within are out cast
into the world to feast or to fast

That something so strange, something so rich
that deep design only you can pitch
that something so rich, so doubly strange
that things may be caught quite out of your range

And that is the gift of a magical song,
sung with the words of a web so strong,
that its effects are unknown in the light of the day
not until night is the power relayed

A final glimpse behind the weave
before we rest and take our leave

As silence is part a wizard’s gift
what’s not said will shape and shift
the space between the strands are there
to make designs in air appear
more luminous and boldly spun
as much for purpose as for fun

And as spiders in their patience sit
awaiting what their net can get
so our last secret of this webby play
will have to wait another day.

—Ryan Van Lenning

_________________________________________________________________________________

-You can get RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio. My book of mystical poems, Silence Begins Here, and book of love and erotic poetry, Wild Rose Hips, and Book of Rivers: Headwaters and Heartrocks will be out later this year. Follow me @ryanreturntotheearth for mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheart for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work. 🙏🌍🤠🦊🌲💚

No Less a Web, Spider Spun

webNo less a web, spider spun
these words around you weaving run
like threads so fine, but not less strong
to bind within you a magic song

And here a peek behind the art
a secret with which no spider parts
Yet I, a weaver of open source
share a bit of that conjuring force

First, (if this be an ordered tune)
or lastly, if you want the end so soon,
is a look, or rather, a vision met
upon which your design is set.

See clear, my witches, an image bold
with which your sticky tales are told
float it in your inner sea
and with all your eyes, like spiders see

Make of yourself a giant ear
and gather all the things you hear
and let love be greater than deepest fear
and you’ll find that threads appear

Ask what it is you want to net
with ever spinning spidery set
you just might catch it yet

The next of this cannot be taught
but without which your art is naught
’tis this: a certain certainty
and if it’s weak, the power flees

Thus flinging into nothingness
is what it takes-nothing less
a trust with no reason why
your filament will find its flight

Once it’s flung, that’s but half the spell
the other half is crafting well
circle round and join the threads
and paint the image in your head

in between, a tip or three:
a spell, to weave, is both form and free

Take care to note what’s in the air
the sounds, the scents, the subtle flair

A thread is summoned from abdomen
but also from the wild winds
a gentle breeze will be your friend
a gusty gale will be your end
unless you surf the storm with ease
you’ll wind up in the web you weave

Without a form – the threads will fail
without freedom, the force is frail
so find the balance between the two
to catch the thing you wanted to.

Look at what other spiders construct
see what’s cast, and see what’s luck
Admire the patterns, and see what’s caught
Look for the angels and demons they fought

Study the sounds built into their spells
follow the lines of the tales they tell

Look to the recluse, the widow, the wood,
but never get caught in the net of the should

Take what you can, as in a sly theft
but the strength of your web is bound by what’s left
after all of the threads from within are out cast
into the world to feast or to fast

That something so strange, something so rich
that deep design that only you can pitch
that something so rich, so double strange
that things may be caught quite out of your range

And that is the gift of a magical song,
sung with the words of a web so strong,
that its effects are unknown in the light of the day
not until night is the power relayed

A final glimpse behind the weave
before we rest and take our leave

As silence is part a wizard’s gift
what’s not said will shape and shift
the space between the strands are there
to make designs in air appear
more luminous and boldly spun
as much for purpose as for fun

And as spiders in their patience sit
awaiting what their net can get
so our last secret of this webby play
will have to wait another day

 

 

 

Wings Like Boomerangs

IMG_7069Here is the 4th installment of my Haiku project. My goal is to birth a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘coyote’ poems and other ‘micrograms’ over the winter, sharing in groups of 10. (See the others here, and here, and here)
__________________________________

Grey day spotted red–
ladybugs blooming thickly
on winter debris
____________________

Splendid aroma
of chestnut’s fall pajamas–
no greater perfume
_____________________

First December frost
bright tiny icy crystals
adorn the dog crap
____________________

White-Legged Spider
meet Ms. Black-Legged Spider
oh, what a party!
____________________

Purple thistle bloom
sits lonely along the path–
a dog lifts his leg
____________________

On how to sing dawn
the stellar jays and ravens
always arguing
____________________

Lavish winter home
for these gathered ladybugs–
dead Monterey Pine
____________________

Squeak whistle chirp coo
pip twitter tu-whit tu-whoo–
birds sing winter too
_____________________

Bunny hops mid-shit
winter breeze urges us both–
continue onward
_____________________

shouting whoo, whoo, whoo–
ravens wings like boomerangs
in their dark wisdom

 

Always Coming and Going

IMG_7032

Here is the next installment of my Haiku project.

(I’ve  been immersing myself in the Japanese masters, Issa, Bashō, Buson, Shiki. The haiku form is deceptively simple–more difficult than it appears, if you want to abide by some traditional conventions. My goal is to birth a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘zen’ poems over the winter, sharing in groups of 5-10.)

——————————————-
Can’t make up her mind
Always coming and going
Winter sister moon
——————————————–
Hey Mister laurel!
Keep an eye on my bedroom
I’m going moon-gazing
——————————————–
Traveled so far, then
Got tangled up in the pines
Mountain mistiness
——————————————–
On the mountain top
Forgot to pack my breakfast
But not my ego
——————————————–
New season, new menu:
Moss and newts, mushrooms and slugs 🐌
Prices are the same
——————————————
Slightest western breeze
Brings these marooned maroon nuts
To the cold ground: “Whop!”
—————————————–
After three days rain
Put out shirts and solitude
to dry in the sun
—————————————-
Lavender dawn:
Wonder whose it is?
—————————————–
When did you arrive?
I’ve been here the whole night long,
Winter web spinner
—————————–
Hazy winter sun
Issa makes a good pillow
Basho a footrest

The Unweaving

29c9ae68e9d4360d99c807e3342c0f11I see the giant black spider
hanging there

got the world
caught up in its web
woven tight

like one last tasty meal

tucking its treasure
next to all the other worlds
that lost their way

not out of malice
it’s just doing what such creatures do
trying to protect and survive

those inside zipped up
beyond recognition
having wrapped that silky thread
around themselves
for protection

yet in the process
cut off their umbilical cord
to life

listen closely:
you can hear
the cries from within

not cries of help
just cries
of struggle
thrashing about
shadows shining
with compelling textures

so sticky
volatile
cunning

spun from pain and fear
the thickest thread
that binds

and blinds us
trusting in things
that smother
what is authentic

How to Unweave the web?

If I had a sword, I’d cut it down
or slay the beast

If I had a nuclear weapon
I could blow it up
but risk killing everything

Regardless, I’m no solider
I pawned my sword
for a pen and a drum
and a pair of walking shoes

If I were a singer
I would serenade them
perhaps lull them to sleep
to avoid the worst of the suffering
Or at least distract the spider
like some insect-whisperer
some serpent handler

But I’m no singer
My melody would likely enrage it

No, I can’t do anything
The beast can’t be killed

the woven must unspin themselves

All I have are words
and the space between them

Flimsy
pale
whispy
fingers pointing at the moon

no weapon against a beast like that

Would I reason with it?

“Excuse me…but…”

Plead with it?

“Please…for the love of…..”

Threaten it?

“If you don’t cut the thread…”

But with what force to back it up?

No, it is not rational anyway

Nonetheless, I will speak the Unweaving,
my prayer:

To the spider, I say:

Thank you for your service
you are no longer needed
you shall not feed here anymore

To the Woven I say:

Put your ear to the ground
of your own heart
its beat may not be theirs
it is your own precious pulsating rhythm
listen and
honor it

Unweave with a letting go
unearth what is truly yours
and compost what is not
beware the distractions

the thing that hooks you
is your lighthouse
shining on the dark foggy shore

Follow it home
and rest there

Unweave
by taking stock
of what you truly need

Discover what is enough

Unweave by knowing
that you belong here
accept that silent ancient
love poem in your chest
claim it as your birthright

Unweave by giving space
to what lives inside you
without judgment
Rest with yourself
so you can rest with each other

Unweave the spider’s silky prison
one thread at a time

or dissolve it in one giant
blast of fresh air
inhaled from the tender throbbing
center of your being

until the armor
falls away
and you take your first breathe
after coma