A question of digestion, for c/c?

A Question of Digestion

I have an urge to splash this page

with print. Black ink which leaves a trail

that temps the reader’s roving sight,

imparts a message fresh not stale.

But in the cradle of this task,

I ask myself, what can I say?

It’s all been said a thousand times.

Profound, I’m not, my words don’t weigh

so heavy on my reader’s thoughts.

I’m not the fly about to die.

A spider’s meaty well caught feast.

I do not have a compound eye.

Yet he, not me digested well.

He keeps the hunger pains at bay,

while once again I find it’s me.

I am the one who got away.


Add: Oh dear – typo – should be tempts

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  • Wow, I was drawn in and did not realize it until I was half way in that the poem had begun.

    Much like the spider’s web. And because I enjoy happy endings, I was glad the fly got away.

    Very nice delivery and execution poetically, of what would be hard to duplicate.

    A true one of a kind.

  • cassie

    This is vintage cassie, back to the poetry you do best, though

    I do love too when you stray and give us something different,

    like free verse.

    A telling tale …have you ever seen the old classic with Vincent Price

    called “The Fly” – if not, watch it…scary as all get out.

    I like the metaphor you created that we can apply to our lives. I have

    also thought about the times I (probably us all) have accidentally swallowed

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    a fly or a bug, with no way of getting him out…just accept it Thomas, swallow

    it and move on. lol

    Poem flowed well and the rhyme pattern complimented the piece



  • I liked the way you grouped phrases into

    verses. This poem flows with ball bearing

    smoothness and the message is

    well voiced, leading to it’s satisfying

    conclusion. Clever title, Beautiful writing, C.

  • A web of silk so strong was spun

    Concealed, lest some might ferret.

    This feline, one eye on the weaver

    Send compliments – for such, you merit.

    Your pen of river, folk, and flower

    Has ever earned respect and more.

    Let spiders peer about your bower –

    Greater than they, you take the floor.

    Themes profound and topics light

    Are scribed by you with flow and measure.

    You do not preen at our applause

    But write more poems that we might treasure.

    Mere reader, I have pondered on your verses lofty

    And others down to earth , some cool, some classy-

    And smile, that while you can seem a `softy`

    You`re tensile as you need, fine Cassie.


    Some will care but few might hate

    For truly a poet you`ll always be –

    So though the predators predate

    Your pen shall flow bright, trite and – free.

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  • It may have all been said a thousand times Cassie,

    and in a thousand different ways, but your words,

    your poetry is always appealing.

    Using language everyone understands, is but one of

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    your many skills as a poet…

  • Oh Cassie, you have never disappointed, and this is no exception. It has been and hopefully long will be, our pleasure to read your posts.

    I suspect we’ve all pondered our poetic worth, the relative sense of our words shared with others. As for me and perhaps others, poetry is a passion and a form of therapy and I put away more than I post, but I think the bottom line is, I often just want to write for me.

  • Not quite like what I’ve read from you but is still so good. I would also suggest that you change the title. out of . well done.

    please take a look at my poem when you have time, thanks.


  • I love the way you let a sentence

    Cross two lines. Your poetry

    Is so improved above the rest–

    And then you have such perfect meter

    And such rhyme, I know I’ll never

    Be the one to equal you.

    And this poetic tool you use is

    So much fun to read, and I

    Would love to see much more of this your

    Poetry. I’m signing off

    Right now because that’s all I’ve got

    To say to such a fabulous a


    (sorry, I didn’t rhyme!)

  • The poem is fine. I would just change the title of it.

  • Not ink, but more like dry Chablis–

    A slightly buggy aftertaste–

    Your poem has legs, but also wings

    With ev’ry scrap of weight erased.

    (sorry–wot I just done writ is plain awful)


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