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Best Famous Mosquito Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Mosquito poems. This is a select list of the best famous Mosquito poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Mosquito poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of mosquito poems.

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Written by Allen Ginsberg | Create an image from this poem

Haiku (Never Published)

 Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
 No difference.
The sparrow shits upside down --ah! my brain & eggs Mayan head in a Pacific driftwood bole --Someday I'll live in N.
Looking over my shoulder my behind was covered with cherry blossoms.
Winter Haiku I didn't know the names of the flowers--now my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito and missed.
What made me do that? Reading haiku I am unhappy, longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating in the drugstore jar: summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki) On the porch in my shorts; auto lights in the rain.
Another year has past-the world is no different.
The first thing I looked for in my old garden was The Cherry Tree.
My old desk: the first thing I looked for in my house.
My early journal: the first thing I found in my old desk.
My mother's ghost: the first thing I found in the living room.
I quit shaving but the eyes that glanced at me remained in the mirror.
The madman emerges from the movies: the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys are in their graves, and in this town.
Lying on my side in the void: the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor the dog chews a bone- Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York, a boy in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof, worms in the garden.
I rent this house.
[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624 Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku.

Written by Keith Douglas | Create an image from this poem

How To Kill

 Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang in the closed fist: Open Open Behold a gift designed to kill.
Now in my dial of glass appears the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry NOW.
Death, like a familiar, hears And look, has made a man of dust of a man of flesh.
This sorcery I do.
Being damned, I am amused to see the centre of love diffused and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touches her tiny shadow on the stone, and with how like, how infinite a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse.
A shadow is a man when the mosquito death approaches
Written by Vachel Lindsay | Create an image from this poem

The Little Turtle

 A Recitation for Martha Wakefield, Three Years Old

There was a little turtle.
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.
He snapped at a mosquito.
He snapped at a flea.
He snapped at a minnow.
And he snapped at me.
He caught the mosquito.
He caught the flea.
He caught the minnow.
But he didn't catch me.
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

How The Favourite Beat Us

 "Aye," said the boozer, "I tell you it's true, sir, 
I once was a punter with plenty of pelf, 
But gone is my glory, I'll tell you the story 
How I stiffened my horse and got stiffened myself.
"'Twas a mare called the Cracker, I came down to back her, But found she was favourite all of a rush, The folk just did pour on to lay six to four on, And several bookies were killed in the crush.
"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter; They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner, He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
"We knew Salamander was slow as a gander, The mare could have beat him the length of the straight, And old Manumission was out of condition, And most of the others were running off weight.
"No doubt someone 'blew it', for everyone knew it, The bets were all gone, and I muttered in spite, 'If I can't get a copper, by Jingo, I'll stop her, Let the public fall in, it will serve the brutes right.
' "I said to the jockey, 'Now, listen, my cocky, You watch as you're cantering down by the stand, I'll wait where that toff is and give you the office, You're only to win if I lift up my hand.
' "I then tried to back her -- 'What price is the Cracker?' 'Our books are all full, sir,' each bookie did swear; My mind, then, I made up, my fortune I played up I bet every shilling against my own mare.
"I strolled to the gateway, the mare, in the straight way Was shifting and dancing, and pawing the ground, The boy saw me enter and wheeled for his canter, When a darned great mosquito came buzzing around.
"They breed 'em at Hexham, it's risky to vex 'em, They suck a man dry at a sitting, no doubt, But just as the mare passed, he fluttered my hair past, I lifted my hand, and I flattened him out.
"I was stunned when they started, the mare simply darted Away to the front when the flag was let fall, For none there could match her, and none tried to catch her -- She finished a furlong in front of them all.
"You bet that I went for the boy, whom I sent for The moment he weighed and came out of the stand -- "Who paid you to win it? Come, own up this minute.
" "Lord love yer," said he, "why, you lifted your hand.
" `'Twas true, by St Peter, that cursed 'muskeeter' Had broke me so broke that I hadn't a brown, And you'll find the best course is when dealing with horses To win when you're able, and keep your hands down.
Written by Paul Muldoon | Create an image from this poem


 I, too, have trailed my father's spirit
From the mud-walled cabin behind the mountain
Where he was born and bred,
TB and scarletina, 

The farm where he was first hired out,
To Wigan, to Crewe junction,
A building-site from which he disappeared
And took passage, almost, for Argentina.
The mountain is coming down with hazel, The building-site a slum, While he has gone no further than Brazil.
That's him on the verandah, drinking rum With a man who might be a Nazi, His children asleep under their mosquito-nets.