‘Spindles and Webs’ Thread 1/4: Transformations Poems (Book 6)

12 Aug


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 6


James Knight and Richard Biddle




by James Knight 


My crime was telling stories too well. .

I dished the dirt,

spilt the beans,

exposed saucy secrets

in lurid words.


I dropped names,

all of them,

every last rotten one:

bosses, head honchos, rulers, gods,

the prime movers and mountain shakers,

seducers and liars.


There was no hiding!


Of course, that bitch won’t tell you

(not even privately)

that it was my way with words

that angered her,

that she was mad with envy

when she saw my divine prose


over her mundane maundering,

inching her out,

grabbing the headlines.


She’ll say I peddled salacious pap,

and that’s why I had to go.


Her hypocrisy disgusts me.



from the shadows,

I spin little stories

that no one reads –


Mayor Dies Suddenly

New Estate Planned

Twin Puppies Drowned


– still hoping that one day

I’ll catch something big,

a story that will go down

in history,

a legend.



Spider Diagram

by Richard Biddle

. I blink Or do I? Something flickers – An electric buzz like the moment before thunder when hair fizzes and bones bristle. In a matter of nanoseconds, a 16mm film inflates my bustling brain with a hurricane of cinematic whispers. All my life rushes through me like a brakeless freight train. It comes to a mind-shattering stop at my skull’s centre. My body sizzles to a magnet of static needles flexes its pea-sized muscles. Limbs that once worked memory’s loom retract down to this one-pointedness. Two thumbless hands knotted together; eight fingers, eight scuttling wires. Pulp, fist and knuckles knit into a purple abdomen. .I’m no ordinary arachnid. —– .

Web of Words

by Richard Biddle

. A spider, still as a sentry. . He moves closer. His breath disturbs her and he catches a glimpse of what she’s guarding; a murky pool. . Beneath its oily meniscus something glints. He dips his hand in, retrieves the object; a rusty key. . She scurries up his arm towards his ear. . And here she spins a yarn telling him no lock exists for this ancient tool. Then she vanishes. . Looking deeper into the black, black water he sees himself. . .

You can find out more about James and Richard here: 


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