by Colette Bryce
This month’s poem is by Jim Stewart, a member of the Wednesday poetry group. His poems have appeared in New Writing Scotland 3, Seagate II, The Red Wheelbarrow, and riverrun. He has taught in the English department part-time since the late eighties.
September
Everywhere the spiders blindly weave,
deaf to all the threnodies
of headlong flies that wouldn’t have believed
the summer ends on unseen threads like these.
To see that far ahead was not for flies.
Flies just fly, what else is there to add.
The compound eyes can’t pick out spider lies,
or lightness touch the touch a spider had.
The zeroing of their heedless mass
is touching too for that rather fond
assumption there’s no pane of window glass
even there to fail to fly beyond.