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Best Famous Roach Poems

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

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Written by Charles Bukowski | Create an image from this poem

Metamorphosis

 a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed
cleaned the toilet
the bathtub
scrubbed the bathroom floor
and cut my toenails and 
my hair.
then all on the same day the plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucet and the toilet and the gas man fixed the heater and the phone man fixed the phone.
noe I sit in all this perfection.
it is quiet.
I have broken off with all 3 of my girlfriends.
I felt better when everything was in disorder.
it will take me some months to get back to normal: I can't even find a roach to commune with.
I have lost my rythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I have been robbed of my filth.


Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Death Of A Cockroach

 I opened wide the bath-room door,
And all at once switched on the light,
When moving swift across the floor
I saw a streak of ebon bright:
Then quick, with slipper in my hand,
Before it could escape,--I slammed.
I missed it once, I missed it twice, But got it ere it gained its lair.
I fear my words were far from nice, Though d----s with me are rather rare: Then lo! I thought that dying roach Regarded me with some reproach.
Said I: "Don't think I grudge you breath; I hate to spill your greenish gore, But why did you invite your death By straying on my bath-room floor?" "It is because," said he (or she), "Adventure is my destiny.
"By evolution I was planned, And marvellously made as you; And I am led to understand The selfsame God conceived us two: Sire, though the coup de grâce you give, Even a roach has right to live.
" Said I: "Of course you have a right,-- But not to blot my bath-room floor.
Yet though with slipper I may smite, Your doom I morally deplore .
.
.
From cellar gloom to stellar space Let bards and beetles have their place.
Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

Cockroach

 Roach, foulest of creatures,
who attacks with yellow teeth
and an army of cousins big as shoes,
you are lumps of coal that are mechanized
and when I turn on the light you scuttle
into the corners and there is this hiss upon the land.
Yet I know you are only the common angel turned into, by way of enchantment, the ugliest.
Your uncle was made into an apple.
Your aunt was made into a Siamese cat, all the rest were made into butterflies but because you lied to God outrightly-- told him that all things on earth were in order-- He turned his wrath upon you and said, I will make you the most loathsome, I will make you into God's lie, and never will a little girl fondle you or hold your dark wings cupped in her palm.
But that was not true.
Once in New Orleans with a group of students a roach fled across the floor and I shrieked and she picked it up in her hands and held it from my fear for one hour.
And held it like a diamond ring that should not escape.
These days even the devil is getting overturned and held up to the light like a glass of water.
Written by Muriel Rukeyser | Create an image from this poem

St. Roach

 For that I never knew you, I only learned to dread you,
for that I never touched you, they told me you are filth,
they showed me by every action to despise your kind;
for that I saw my people making war on you,
I could not tell you apart, one from another,
for that in childhood I lived in places clear of you,
for that all the people I knew met you by
crushing you, stamping you to death, they poured boiling
water on you, they flushed you down,
for that I could not tell one from another
only that you were dark, fast on your feet, and slender.
Not like me.
For that I did not know your poems And that I do not know any of your sayings And that I cannot speak or read your language And that I do not sing your songs And that I do not teach our children to eat your food or know your poems or sing your songs But that we say you are filthing our food But that we know you not at all.
Yesterday I looked at one of you for the first time.
You were lighter that the others in color, that was neither good nor bad.
I was really looking for the first time.
You seemed troubled and witty.
Today I touched one of you for the first time.
You were startled, you ran, you fled away Fast as a dancer, light, strange, and lovely to the touch.
I reach, I touch, I begin to know you.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things