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The Spangly Web
Introvert. Poet. Blogger. Snapshotter. Etsy Shop-Keeper.
Interests: politics, literature, poetry, goddess-daughter; pseudo-niece; speculative fiction, science, faith & reason, philosophy, Gaia, art, architecture, the nature of good & evil, interior design, objects, human nature, feminism, gender, animal nature, illness, chronic fatigue syndrome (CFIDS), fibromyalgia, ME/CFS/PVFS (Myalgic Encephalopathy/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Post Viral Fatigue Syndrome), liminality, technology, the feminine divine, animal intelligence, morality, mortality, ethics, physics, metaphysics, string theory, aging, atheism, the nature of consciousness, creativity, cats, dogs, introversion, psychology, photography, fundamentalism, gardening, goldfish, haiku, happiness, sexuality, identity, intimacy, creativity, language, logic, memory, the muse, nature|nurture, narcissism, altruism, neuroscience, quantum theory, spirituality, web design, writing
Recent Activity
this room this bright quilt winter waits on the other side of these dark windows elsewhere cities in dust and rubble everywhere cities on fire all this has nothing to do with me the naked child running through fire has nothing to do with me these buildings become dust have nothing to do with me I sit on this bright quilt blue and white and red patterns of flowers and thread I drink from my modern porcelain blue and white cup a pale version of Italian cappuccino what is true? who is to blame? I open the bedroom window winter... Continue reading
Posted Nov 10, 2023 at Watermark
It’s a large room, as bedrooms go. It has two double windows. The shutters are closed. The bed is metal, painted blue. It’s a narrow bed, neatly made. An old radio stands on the bedside table. The only sounds this room hears are from that radio. The floor is golden oak, showing its age. The walls, too, are expressive, with cracks in the plaster on every side. The ceiling boasts a schoolhouse light and fan, turning slowly this autumn day. The lamp on the bedside table was an oil lamp, with a chimney, electrified now with a flickering bulb, a... Continue reading
Posted Nov 7, 2023 at Watermark
I hear the sweet voice of a young woman making love. “Oh!” she says, “Oh!” The birch trees tremble with sparrows. Yellow leaves and seed husks flicker to the ground. Dragon-Cat leaps to the porch bannister. He sits, staring at the window, waiting to be noticed. Two squirrels have sex in the garden. They take turns, being boy, being girl. In the arctic, a glacier cracks another piece of itself into the sea. ~sb Continue reading
Posted Oct 20, 2023 at Watermark
CHRISTMAS EVE VISITORS Family and friends are celebrating these holidays together at Chico Hot Springs. I haven’t been there since childhood and would like to visit again. I’m not going this time. A quarter of a century ago, I was diagnosed with ME/CFS (myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome.) It cost me my job, my career, most of my friends, and all of my social life. I have never been bed bound for more than a day or two at a time, but I have been housebound for much of these two and a half decades. ME/CFS is at least partly an... Continue reading
Posted Dec 27, 2022 at Watermark
CHRISTMAS EVE VISITORS Family and friends are celebrating these holidays together at Chico Hot Springs. I haven’t been there since childhood and would like to visit again. I’m not going this time. A quarter of a century ago, I was... Continue reading
Posted Dec 27, 2022 at Abide
an accumulation of wounds a collection of injuries scars not visible to casual eyes i sit on a stool brushing my hair snow drifts, thick and slow past the window each day the death count rises i am glad to be old to not witness what is coming my own selfish choices even in sleep there is no forgiveness ~ sharon brogan january 02022 #poem Continue reading
Posted Jan 21, 2022 at Watermark
How does the writer's brain work? It is a bewilderment to me, why it must be this particular word, or that particular image. How is it that now, in this time of several national and global crises, I emerge from sleep holding to this juxtaposition: i wake my face is wet the blue heron stands one foot on a slate roof ??? Continue reading
Posted Jan 17, 2021 at Watermark
sleep in grief wake in grief grief at the doorstep Continue reading
Posted Jan 14, 2021 at Watermark
each day slips away fish in deep water Continue reading
Posted Dec 18, 2020 at Watermark
thanksgiving so many empty chairs **** Continue reading
Posted Nov 26, 2020 at Watermark
Tuesday we woke to high lines of snow along the birch limbs out our bedroom window. Two days later snow has congealed to slush balls that fall to the ground with thuds. Frost shadows rest across grass and asphalt. Sky changes mood from fog to blue. They are counting votes again in Arizona. They will count again elsewhere. The country’s mood changes from slush to thud to fog to blue. Continue reading
Posted Nov 12, 2020 at Watermark
I am so tired . . . Continue reading
Posted Nov 7, 2020 at Watermark
As of today, 06 November 2020, I have written 10,033 words. I'm on schedule for "Just Write". In other news, we are still pretending to not know who our next president will be. Continue reading
Posted Nov 6, 2020 at Watermark
This is a day I did not want. This is a day that does not keep its promise. Today is a day of disappointment and fear. There is blue in the sky, but it’s pale and diffuse. I watch my neighbors from the corners of my eyes. This is not a valley prone to earthquakes, but I feel unsteady anyway. Why do I live here? Do I know you? Snow is coming. I fear we will be buried. ~sharon brogan Continue reading
Posted Nov 4, 2020 at Watermark
What else is there to do in November during a pandemic? Actually, I'm not attempting a novel, but I am attempting 50,000 words. I've done this before. I have two very bad novels, one maybe-memoirish something, and a few odd paragraphs. This time, sort-of-maybe-memoir-bits again. Or, just a series of Morning Pages. We shall see. On day three, and keeping up so far. If I think I have anything of interest, I may post excerpts now and then. Continue reading
Posted Nov 3, 2020 at Watermark
this morning there is still snow after a day of thaw and a night of freeze snow crusted with ice the dowitcher with the broken wing in a cage in the basement still lives but the cat has not given up Continue reading
Posted Oct 28, 2020 at Watermark
I am angry. I was taught that anger is a secondary emotion. What is primary? Sadness, helplessness, fear. Grief. Rage. I was a believer. I believed in the American Dream, as a goal, as a destination. I fought for it, in my way. Some on the street, in demonstrations, but mostly in the therapy room. In the group room, the conference room, the interview room. The classroom, the lecture room, at the dinner table and in staff meetings. In living rooms with family and friends. In the bedroom. I believed that others believed, even as we struggled. Now I doubt.... Continue reading
Posted Oct 27, 2020 at Watermark
I follow these numbers with dread. Why do I follow them? It feels like a duty, an obligation. The only way I know to acknowledge these deaths, of people I have not met, people I have not loved. Funerals I will not attend, and mostly, funerals that will not occur for many months. Today the official COVID death toll in the United States is 225,ooo. Other estimates bring that number up to 300,000: Now, in the most updated count to date, researchers at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have found that nearly 300,000 more people in the United... Continue reading
Posted Oct 26, 2020 at Watermark
black dog snow white dog Continue reading
Posted Oct 25, 2020 at Watermark
I know that we should all be writing as we live through, experience, this historical time. Historians will write these stories, and we don't know what those stories will say. As Bill Barr points out, history is written by the winners. We, those millions of us just trying to get through history, are not, are unlikely to be, the winners. Those of us who keep diaries, or journals, or write poems or emails or actual letters to those we care for, will provide, perhaps, an alternative to official histories. These private notes are important. They are the grist, the truth,... Continue reading
Posted Oct 24, 2020 at Watermark
I ask myself this often. What stops me from doing what I should, all those errands that pile up on every horizontal space in our house? CFS/M.E. can be scolded for some of it. Even much of it. Sometimes it seems that the choice is between what I ought to do to maintain our house, and my relationship, and what I want to do to keep on being me. My failures at external shoulds used to be only my own. Now those failures effect someone else. Now Alan must maneuver past my piles. Alone, the question What is stopping me?... Continue reading
Posted Oct 23, 2020 at Watermark
Nearly two weeks of bed-ridden illness (not COVID) seems to have led to a reset. Of course, I've had many resets in my long life – but not so long a time without writing as this year. Even during times when I was not writing poems, I was keeping up with my not-diary journal, recording my dreams and whatever loose thoughts occurred to me. And even during times when I was not journaling, or blogging, the occasional poem would appear, out of air, or in response to random prompts or classes. And for several years, digital art journaling and collage... Continue reading
Posted Oct 22, 2020 at Watermark
I continue to be word-struck. What can be said? The more accurate estimates, based on "excess deaths" over expected, based on previous years, is 300,000. Excess deaths, of what seem to be extra people. Old people, sick people. Black/brown people. Those of us who count mostly, only, in big numbers, numbers that bury us in an avalanche of numerals. None of us is unique, is memorable, is worth the inconvenience of salvaging. Continue reading
Posted Oct 21, 2020 at Watermark