The Punch Clock’s Spider

Woven round the turnstile
A victim-spun roulette
The loom of slaver’s guile

To harvest well in style
The slaver spreads his net
Woven round the turnstile

Twinkling an eight-eyed smile
On headlong preys it’s set
The loom of slaver’s guile

What unlaboured stockpile
Of victims’ blood and sweat
Woven round the turnstile

Drools of venomous bile
On deadly fangs they whet
The loom of slaver’s guile

The exit of the file
The entrance to regret
Woven round the turnstile
The loom of slaver’s guile


Colin Lee


This eight-legged weaver in my picture has been hanging round the turnstile for a couple of weeks now. And when nature’s workings and ours conspicuously rock and roll, a poet shouldn’t be surprised to find himself/herself in the muses’ spidery tangles.


5 thoughts on “The Punch Clock’s Spider

Add yours

  1. Your villanelle is so effortless that I was half way through reading before I realized the form. The tone of this is hypnotic and slightly scary: ‘Twinkling an eight-eyed smile’ gives me the chills. The picture is a nice add-on.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Jilly. I’m glad to hear the hypnotic, rotational feel I intended has got through. I snapped a couple of shots there while the security guard was quite worried if I would use the photo to complain about his management of the factory’s entrance. lol

      Liked by 1 person

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