Up a blue sky, ascended the sun,
but a little beetle had no fun
till he climbed from beneath a rock
and crawled inside your sock.
Who frightened the bug
On my chair? It will not move.
Where shall I sit now?
what is he rolling up the road? a child asked them.
We snickered and hollered and hooted, said his Uncle Clem
What do you think it is? Aunt Marta threw in with a bit of glee
For of course it was poo, him being a dung-beetle see.
Beetle makes headway
across the cracked, thirsty ground.
Hurry! Feels like rain!
A black armored predator
plodding (as beetles do
when not chewing upon other insects)
around the lip of a bowl,
clapping together stubby wings,
razor sharp mandibles
swatting at the aromatic steam.
Beetles are tanks
they are built to withstand
all in-coming,
Birds don’t eat them,
they taste like baby goo
dipped in crispy aspic.
How small
can a natural born killer get?
The beetle tentatively,
marches around the edge of a bowl
as if hunting its own trail.
Will it find enough of itself
to make a decent beetle meal?
These and other questions of girth,
capacity and predatory prowess
must wait,
for it has fallen
into the tomato soup.
This particular beetle
cannot swim,
perhaps its mini motor was out of gas
or its tank too heavy to float?
I put the soup aside,
not that hungry anymore.
A shattered window
lets the wind stand on edge in its cracks,
yet marriage is not a knot
meant to seize those gaps.
Like a standing trunk, skinned alive by time,
dried to death yet quietly immense,
marriage is not a field of potatoes
but the cultivation of thorns.
Love—
two strands drunk on their own liquor,
sometimes slipping into one,
scanning the other inch by inch,
now and then holding a flesh-heavy smile.
Leechlike disappointments and angers
are cut to measure by endurance,
and like the dung beetle,
unyielding,
we can roll one another on.
The grain of union
is woven not as a lighthouse,
but as a reef.
Yes, the beetle room!
Their codes exist in DNA.
Can’t be erased.
Invisible like the highway yonder.
Wistful.
Like a beetle with eyes and the eyes are so scary.
But the beetle is scary in itself.
So they don’t gaze in his angry eyes.
And the eyes are so scary.
That they are.
Yes, there is a bottle room in the store.
The beetle room would be crazy if we had one.
If a beetle room existed…
Would it be a construct flying though space?
And maybe it’s just one little guy.
A single beetle who glances around.
Lonely.
Glazed over beetle-type eyes.
Sees a million patterns of me.
But neither of us are kind.
Unkind.
Don’t know the truth about the beetle eyes, and snouts.
Can’t be erased.
Especially not something small who lives in an alternate world.
I would call it The Beetle Room.
He would land on my hand.
Alternate dimensions.
Are not kind to either of us.
“Mind Fist”
by Positive Mark
Protection from a demon or protection from the chaos?
You’re smudging for a cleansing or you prepping for a seance?
We don’t purchase insurance after we done wrecked our car,
so why wait for calamity to unmask who we are?
I always harp on shadow work, ‘cause that’s what gets me through it.
No progress will be made unless I buckle down and do it.
Traversing through the underworld, to sort through buried trauma.
Relationships,
The times I quit,
My issues with my Momma.
What waits for me in shadows that I need to understand
before my spirit finds the light to be a better man?
And when the magic spells work, and I find that brighter day,
should I dip my quill and lead the way,
or bag my goods and go away?
Mind Fist
metamorphosis
black-headed beetle larvae ~
willful wings unfurl
(March Full Moon – Naudowessie (Dakota)
sat a caterpillar
crossed legged
crosses like a line of kisses
on a stool in beetle’s kitchen
sat a cat upon a pillow
purring snore
against the door
bathed in sunlight fidgeting
beetle cooks a finely crop
stolen then by cheeky frog
they berate and cry at him
aghast at greed’s a’happening
vibrant scarlet cloak
lady of seven sorrows,
walks the emerald plank
Steampunk beetle knew how to dress.
He was always immaculate, never a mess.
I liked his monocle too, I must confess.
I visited him often in the home of my grandma Bess.
The one thing that he did of which I could not agree….
He replaced body parts with metal, first an arm, then a knee.
Why do you do this? I asked; it was weird as far as I could see.
I want to be as steampunk as I can possibly be.
My Shiny Beetle
I found a shiny beetle,
I call him Glitterbug Jim.
He’s dead and I’m heartbroken
So I’m going to immortalise him.
I’ll wrap him round in resin
So all the world can see
His spindly legs and shiny bot
For all Eternity.
Yes, I’ll wrap him round in resin
And write a mournful verse
So he can rest forever
In his little resin hearse.
A Jewel beetle I did meet one day.
What a gem was she with her sparkling way.
Another beetle I’d been pining for . . .
the Mountain Pine beetle was easy to adore.
The Pinching beetle, also as Stag beetle is known.
It’s no wonder that he goes to parties all alone.
The Longhorn beetle has a crazy look.
But he’s no steer. He's one I will never cook!
Goliath beetle had one night a fight
with the beetle called Hercules. Oh, what a sight.
Carpet beetle tripped them by getting underfoot.
She’s the one on whom our money we ought to have put.
The beetle called Feather Horned sure gave me a tickle.
Hide beetle hid from me; that one is so fickle.
The beetle know as Skin was horrible as sin,
always bugging me, yes, she got under my skin.
Water beetle – for swimming has a yen,
I wonder if she gets thirsty now and then.
My favorite of beetles though is sweet Ladybug.
Always so polite, she gives my skin a hug.
March 14, 2023
For Margarita Lillico's Pun Fun Poetry Contest
It was just a 1964 Beetle
dressed in its finest
VW red;
the best car
on the road,
spin on a dime,
driv’in half a mile on fumes
with three spark plugs;
yes I said three spark plugs,
don’t you know the forth
wouldn’t stay plugged in,
it popped out every time and
rattled around instead.
Another mile and a half
of sheer magic
and all mine.
Her taste for winter spent
and the drip, drip, drip
of rain on my head
from the ripped sunroof;
frosted on the inside,
drive with one hand,
while you scrape frost
with the other hand,
but It’ll get’cha there
kind of car...
yeah it was mine,
my first car
oh, that power.
Some cars
do their duty
until the very end,
that’s a 1964 VW Beetle.
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