Of Webs and Whispers
I. The Myopic Eye
—a pantoum
A spider spinning scripture for the flies—
It thrives on every speck and faintest stain.
Its keyhole squint is where its wisdom lies.
It threads its venom through the heart and brain.
It thrives on every speck and faintest stain.
It scorns the mote that mars the spotless view.
It threads its venom through the heart and brain
And gilds its beam in Heaven’s holy hue.
It scorns the mote that mars the spotless view
While gazing in the mirror at a saint.
It gilds its beam in Heaven’s holy hue
And pierces purity without restraint.
It gazes in the mirror at a saint
And feasts upon the spectacle it sees.
It pierces purity without restraint
And weaves a sticky web of certainties.
It feasts upon the spectacle it sees.
Its keyhole squint is where its wisdom lies.
It weaves a sticky web of certainties—
A spider spinning scripture for the flies.
II. Loose Lips
—a triolet
A secret slipped from lips too lax to know
The sting its salty whisperings would bring
To grapevine groves where juicy rumors flow.
A secret slipped from lips too lax to know
This caustic spill would coax a grudge to grow
Hell-hot enough to scorch an angel’s wing.
A secret slipped from lips too lax to know
The sting its salty whisperings would bring.
III. The Eavesdroppers
—a pantoum
These thieves of the unguarded, half-heard claim,
These larcenists of lingo stripped of gist,
Torment the truth till truth forgets its name.
They tickle wits with every lilt and twist.
These larcenists of lingo stripped of gist,
They live to lure the gossip-greedy ear.
They tickle wits with every lilt and twist
And titillate the grapevine’s loose-lipped sphere.
They live to lure the gossip-greedy ear.
They pass their pilfered piffle off as news.
They titillate the grapevine’s loose-lipped sphere
And feed myopic eyes with crooked views.
They pass their pilfered piffle off as news,
These surreptitious traffickers of lies.
They feed myopic eyes with crooked views.
They hex the feather-heads and vex the wise.
These surreptitious traffickers of lies
Torment the truth till truth forgets its name.
They hex the feather-heads and vex the wise,
These thieves of the unguarded, half-heard claim.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
