The Tangled Web And Other Poems

By Mary Bone

All of the poems in this post were originally published in Literary Yard

The Tangled Web

The tangled web was woven with care,
intricate secrets were stored inside.
The spider knew how to entice wary visitors
inside for a cup of tea.
His house was so cozy within.
Entertainment was the key,
For the likes of you and me.

The Outcast

Standing in the rain I was 
an outcast, exposed to the elements.
I hoped to outlast
a burning hunger.
Alone on an island,
talking to the wind,
food was scarce.
The plague overcame me,
In my rags, as I dripped into
the ocean of life.

Baggage

You came with baggage to unpack, 
to unravel,
to put on the line,
staying on my mind.
Dirty laundry aired for all to see-
flapping everywhere,
written on subways,
forever in my mind.

Shattered Dreams

I never thought it would be easy,
to keep on loving you.
My stomach was so queasy,
when you said we were through.
My heart began to patter,
nearly skipping a beat,
as my dreams began to shatter
and fall around my feet.
The good times we had,
must have been an illusion,
because now I’m sad
and filled with confusion.

Mudlarker’s Jewel

I was the mudlarker’s jewel,
washed in from the sea.
You put me on a pedestal
for all the world to see.
Of all the trinkets you found,
I didn’t have the glam and glitter,
until you washed off the mud.

A Special Day

Fresh flowers in the middle of the table-
a pleasing smell.
An indigo blue tablecloth with patterns
combining with the aroma,
made the day special.

Turning Over a New Leaf

I turned over a new leaf,
after the storms of life.
I put the leaf between book pages,
as a new chapter began.

The Age of Innocence

It was the age of innocence,
In our younger years.
you could see it everywhere.
We wished we could go back there.
Lines were in a swirl, interwoven.
The tree still holds memories,
between the lines.

Winter Chill

The soup told us
winter was coming.
The beef bones had stewed all morning,
until the spices and vegetables were added.
I dipped my cornbread into the stew,
getting ready for the chill.

Dying to Self

When you die to yourself,
You let the palms rest upward, 
after giving your best,
the scraps are left.
The vultures are still feeding.

Mary Bone’s poetry have been published at The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Literary Yard, Best Poetry website, The Human Touch Journal, Words of the Lamb Magazine, The Ink Pantry, and other places. Mary has written two books of poetry and enjoys writing and drawing.