With blurred vision in my one eye,
on this cold winter afternoon
I trace the course of a blue-black fly
in my small kitchen. Pretty soon
my boredom gets the best of me.
Once I eat a macaroon
I rise to make some jasmine tea
and wonder why I allow this bug
(who does not share my philosophy)
to sit there resting on my mug.
I do not know what's in his head,
but think he must be awfully smug,
so I get up and leave. Instead
of drinking tea I go to bed.
Silky white web art thrown like paint
Precious pearl like pride unlike saint
In it’s ebony eyes many bugs a delight
Doomed to demise as live dinner tonight
Emerald June bug passively to die
Red sun conceals web in jaded July
Moth wings come by ...
Batting at the window screen,
To get in, they try and try
Where the light is seen
Afraid of the dark, are you?
Still, I cannot let you near,
No matter what you do
It is things like you I fear
Not that you can hurt me
Like a hornet when she stings,
I just do not want to be ...
Batted by soft, moth wings.
The bumble bee
Is a humble bee,
And rarely does she sting
Somberly she flies
Until somebody tries,
To break her little wing
She will turn on you
If you unwisely do,
Such an unnecessary thing
Leave her upon her rose
Rather than step on her toes,
She wants to enjoy the spring
In need of a humbling quiet
More than a bumbling riot,
A hand too close can bring.
Tasty bug ambles
across the parched, sandy dune.
Oh rapture! I fly!
A pest on a quest?
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
I picked up a bug,
the bug was alive and
moving, tween my
thumb and finger. I
freaked out, and I threw
the bug down on the rug
of a car. I said, "Ew.",
because I realized it
was alive and moving. It
bit me and I felt the bite.
It was a tiny nip with its
tiny jaws.I felt bad for the
bug, afterwards. It
scattered body parts all
over. Rest in peace little
bug on the rug, in that car.
He was a dog without a bone,
a nightingale in monotone,
a cat that was canary-less -
a man who lived with less.
One day, he took to the road,
the holes in his coat, they showed,
but he carried in his pocket,
a little silver locket,
with a picture of his mother.
One way or another,
he'd find a way to make her proud,
and he'd lose that ol' black cloud.
But the only thing he found
was a wee thing in the ground,
which gave his heart a tug.
He eyed it with a shrug.
'Twas only a potato bug.
Water bug skates on
the glass surface of the pool.
Silent, he zips by.
a boxelder bug infestation
is not cause for a celebration
I advise a stomping party
their smashed stench will be foul, but hearty
The grub is a fraud, let’s be honest and clear,
A beetle in diapers that gardeners fear.
He’s C-shaped and creamy, a squishy delight,
With a big orange head and a monster-sized bite.
He lives in the dirt, just a subterranean guest,
Turning your lawn into one giant mess.
He wakes in the summer, a tiny white speck,
By autumn he’s thick with a bull-sized neck.
When winter arrives with its icy-cold breath,
He tunnels down deep to avoid certain death,
Then returns in the spring for a root-heavy lunch,
Giving your fescue a satisfying crunch.
He treats your backyard like a five-star buffet,
Till the grass turns to brown and the green fades away.
But his life isn't always a feast in the shade,
The skunk digs a hole for a protein-packed snack,
And the robin descends for a mid-morning thwack.
If he avoids the beaks and the sharp, furry claw,
The Milky Spore bacteria might lock up his jaw.
Or nematodes find him—a microscopic crew—
To turn his insides into biological stew.
But if he survives every chemical spray,
He grows a hard shell and just flies far away.
When she walks and talks,
My eye sockets get rocked and it is harder to talk...
When she sways and plays,
People lean in close to listen to what she says,
When I lean in for a kiss,
I fixate on her because it has been her that I missed.
Scorpion Sting
I hide in the dark.
With a sting, be alert.
I can vanish in the light.
I hunt in the night.
I can draw some blood.
The anguish is just enough.
I am manipulative.
Don’t touch, with temptation.
I know that I’m kinda creepy.
At night it’s time to feed.
Don’t hesitate to attack.
I could be brown or black.
You're all unforgiven in the end.
Through haunting methods, I will feed again.
I’m just a bug with pitchers.
All have you for dinner.
Don’t underestimate me.
I live through the rain.
I can crawl here and there.
With a sting, I am everywhere.
Your flesh is a bite to eat.
I will be next to your feet.
I live underground.
I will appear with no sound
red ladybug crawling on my polished shoe
spring ruby ~ black dots dance
[ FIRST PLACEMENT:
Standard Contest
March 26 ]
there was a green bug
not beetle or slug
found him on my rug
he looked like a thug
he crawled next to my jug
I heard a small ugh
a large hole he dug
proving he is a thug
not a slug but a bug
he looked happy and snug
I became my own thug
squashed him on the rug
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