O audio, antennae.
Activate. Agonize.
O bad seed, thy bad penny.
Aim right between their eyes.
Dark fire, burn hot in my brain.
Through my veins break free.
Driver, time to go insane.
Straight into the sea.
Ring of fairies, thy best song.
Where do we belong?
Where the vibrations are strong!
Wargods, strike thy gong!
Wind atop the drear sheer cliff?
Do not dare to climb.
Charon Boatman, pole thy skiff!
Trifle, all of time...
Falcon, scream as victor!
Thy talons sharpen well!
Physician, thy rictor.
O heaven, send for hell.
Rain down on me, liquid light.
Languid as young love.
Harpy, sacred is thy flight!
Watch o'er from above!
Thought-flame, spark with vigor.
Synapses, goals to meet.
Flicker as you figure.
High holy is thy heat.
Ghast, gnash teeth and mighty fast.
Terrify thy foe.
Contender, to come in last?
Golem, time to go...
Lose antennae? I’m a beetle!
Not one bug in Aleghenny
(at least, none you’ll ever meet’ll)
lose antennae.
Luck with chicks? I won’t have any!
Directionless, centripetal,
wireless wimps are ten a penny!
What now? Curl up? Adopt the foetal
position? Move to Kilkenny?
No proud pest in any street’ll
lose antennae.
Step outside for a second.
A second goes by the way a second does.
The house behind me.
When you look away from something,
The person comes around.
He changes things.
Eat a sandwich.
Play a game of golf.
Swim in a pool.
The way activities go by.
Seems faster than a scattered thought.
Eat a plate of pasta.
He follows me.
Predict the future.
Then predict another future.
Bouncing a basketball.
Wouldn’t it be funny if I could score?
Again and again.
Wouldn’t it be funny if I could…
Step outside.
Feel around.
The way antennae do.
I’m not a bug, I don’t think.
But I am forgetful.
Step outside.
Remember that you are a bee.
The beehive is far away.
But I will meet him there.
cute moth and butterfly
feathery hairlike antennae
then black butterfly
Tiny and trembling,
the ant on its leaf-raft,
each ripples a new world....
The rush of the current,
and the stillness of the leaf,
are not the same...
The panic of separation,
and that haunting feeling,
of a colony left behind...
The vastness of the river,
and unknown horizons?
And home so distant now....
The quiver of antennae,
sensing unfamiliar scents,
carried on the breeze...
That fleeting security,
six legs gripping tight,
on this fragile green island...
Whatever the journey's end,
uncertainty reigns supreme,
and the weight of insignificance,
may often overwhelm,
in this unplanned adventure...
Survival is also sometimes,
a silent prayer,
that the universe might hear.
Why in his presence, did her soft heart, always like sweet
cotton candy melt?
Orchestral songs engendered the tenderest feelings, to her
heart, so aquamarine velvet.
Such starlit, subtle, shameless, suggestive glances!
An antennae in every way was she, inviting kaleidoscopic,
tsunamic romances.
On the fog cradled ship, with a cape of fog, blessing her
chiseled,moonbeam face,
His arms enclosed her in a velveteen gold, cuddled in his
silent, starshine embrace.
Oh, poetess, penning of feelings of deep intimacy.
Your poem, will be stamped “romantic “?
A term, you loathe and find so very meaningless and worse,
utterly curt and disgustingly pedantic!
But only a poet who knows your heart to its scarlet
inner flaming core,
Has the outstanding bravissimo to knock on your truly
insatiable, heart’s-door!
Dare he try his wings and wish for such magically,
exotic, sensual satisfaction?
Wrapped in those twilight, wild, moonbeamed curls
of Eurydice’s Olympian extraction!
6/4/2024
Aliens are real.
Everyone around me is sprouting antennae.
They have alien eyes.
It makes me laugh.
They are holding back their teeth.
They will all transform soon.
But my transformation is almost complete.
Let them tear off my limbs!
Like leaves on a four leaf clover.
Which will bring me eternal luck.
I’m very lucky.
I’m very grateful for my powers.
As my family escapes on their spaceship.
In-flight
In pheromone
Honeysuckle perfume
Insect antennae knot freshly
bouquet.
In breeze
I feel your breath
rustle shiny reeds
of my stints' hapless hinterland
you learn.
A vest
of velveteen
gleaming wings that trembled
Turn to a whirring glint beneath
full moon.
riding on
superluminal rafts
the supernatural rapscallions
descend with
delirious determination
into
deceptive diversion
observing
too many indeterminists
doing nothing
with too much time
on their antennae
it's inevitable:
derived from suffering
in a brain's
stormy potential
where an abandoned
shopping cart
transmits
hapless holons
in a stationary orbit
above the bucolic
neighborhood
I defiantly deconstruct
the illusion
of immortality
while
cobwebs
engulf balconies
and coffins
excrete spiders
I/he
drowned
in the same
river twice
after being assured
that no man is
a tropical island
in a lost paradise
where the Jovian moons
don't shine
...so he/I
sputtered & sibilated
in an
empty frame of
rambling
reference
It rained for 3 days,
drenching torrents plunged down
as if a dam had breached.
There was some local flooding
but by and large only minor damage
a lot of litter and flotsam though
‘sky wreckage’ some called it.
The butterfly house was swamped,
its netted walls were ripped ragged
by broken tree limbs,
the seams in the wooden roof
split apart and a wild,
wind-riding rain rode in.
Purple Admirals were beaten down
by the gusting blows,
then drowned.
Painted Ladies were murdered
their mangled decorative forms
no longer cosmetics.
Longwings no longer flew
but in death, swam limply
in the splashing puddles.
A disarray of broken wings
carpeted the deluged floor.
Somewhere in this caged house
sodden chrysalids sway upon fractured twigs;
eventually there will be fluttering wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
were the air still drips wetly
onto unreceiving
and unmoving antennae.
Seizing each moment to be kind,
Listen, empathy employ, hear her words,
Appreciate small yet enormous signs,
Respond yet not overwhelm,
Cements our being valentines!
Just hearing her breathing,
Comforts, loneliness resigns,
Kindly searching deeds, acting wisely,
With Hashem’s aid yields love genuine!
Receive ruminations, attend expressions,
Kindles cupid, life as a couple sublime,
Despite turbulent exceptions we eschew,
Renew kindly favor time after time,
Sensitive antennae align the benign,
Middos Tov, being a Mensch,
Grow a good eye that culls the fine,
Delving with heart into her druthers is song,
To courage not chicken out align,
Surrender poetry not “Poultry in Motion!”
Light workers ! Melt orange sediment
For homes without leaks
Our hot hearts and hands
Becoming liquid stars
Lord of lavender and laughs
Bring the turquoise serpent here
Put before us bread and cheese
Mould flexible our knees
Light workers ! Walk quietly along
Corridors of Stone
To find the alabaster jar in your
Sun of suns
Work your will and wisdom
Become flames across the stage
Holding antennae high to
Hear adoring breathes
Transcend tears of
Longingness
We interchange our work in perfect plans
through nature's symbiotic grand design.
We, honeybees, fly through the open skies
to seek our sustenance from nature's gifts.
Antennae guide safe landing onto plants
and blossoms that provide sweet nectar stored;
then carried by our worker-bees back home-
where honey's formed in hives to feed our young.
Plant pollen on our bodies will transfer
to other blooms and recreate more life;
new flowers, trees, but also vegetables
and fruits will grow to feed the hungry world.
The honey from our hives provides your treats,
and pollinated plants sprout foods you eat.
We interact in sharing these fine gifts
supporting nature's grand survival plans.
May 25, 2022
~NA~
Contest: Bee Creative Poetry
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Judged: 07/17/2022
(revision of a previous poem posted: 9/19/2016)
a spineless mass meandering
through tubular tracks
of the soil.
great antennae towards the sky
pointing in search perennial.
in wait without end
for some great and weird frequency
to register, to be able to respond to.
the pupa of a dead insect
enclosed in dark chrysalis
rusty like abandoned iron.
the deep redness
of dried blood
stain it until it has become
beautified through evolving.
i am the worm.
i turn dead muck into humus.
such is life in the soil.
COVID
A cocoon starts. Thick membranes of tissue encompass yourself. Gathering and condensing molecules and listening to life.
This skin, its filled with strains of a virus and craves the crevice of familial caves. A barrier. The host of your new pupae calling itself quarantine. Quarantine. This thick mucous seeps and creeps around the home and tries! It tries to wound all life into one. It fails. A pupae is one. You are. You are the life form that contracts a shell of collective consciousness. This shell that reaches for more, it is yours! You cant breathe. You want to share this cacoon with everyone, ANYONE. Then! Feelers. You have sprouted not only antennae, but music! The melody of change gathers atoms and sings the song of wings! You! The cacoon was meant for you. You hear yourself for the first time and when you emerge they see your beauty but cannot hear your song. Suddenly! The membranes close in on them. And through your newfound body and song, you console them through their own metamorphosis and together you sing the song of the butterfly.
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