Panic attacks can seem…
Pointless.
Jumps up and down.
A sighing yet struggling feeling.
Sighing out so much.
Because it’s boring.
Like a pencil lead from a mechanical pencil breaking.
Then you put more in.
There’s something pointless about it.
I can’t describe.
It used to be a passionate feeling.
Knocking down all the books off the shelf like crazy.
But these days it doesn’t feel like much.
Like wearing one sock because I lost the other.
That pulling and spinning.
It doesn’t define me.
A panic attack is like…
A squealing beetle.
Now I know that I’m the beetle.
And I can crawl onward.
The museum curator brought in tons of carpet beetles
The staff did not understand until they were shown
Carpet beetles will eat almost anything
They rapidly cleaned flesh and hair off animal skeletons
Like piranhas except out of water
The Beatles made an awesome hit;
from England came, and quickly lit
the way that music would be heard.
Though some would think it quite absurd,
their songs rose high on all the charts
and stole the love of teenage hearts.
Most famous song was "Yesterday."
Paul, John, George, Ringo- led their way!
Right now I lay me down to sleep
Sing Beetles great song “Let It Be”
I’m troubled with insomnia
Sleep is a dream can’t get enough
Life is good I can’t complain
I have shelter from the blue rain
Wish I had love but I’m content
It is enough to pay my rent
For love came in a narcissist
Wasn’t the same there was a twist
He seemed real as he love bombed me
Was a thrill until truth you see
Walk away from love fantasy
Wait for real love and let it be
All you hope for will someday come
Be patient my dear for true one
Male stag beetles fight, fight, fight
Winning their mates into the night
Pinching each other with bravado big
Beating enemies with pinchers that dig
Why do some scarab beetles have horns and others do not?
The answer to six scientific questions like this, I avidly sought.
To throw down their contender, said man who been a beetle.
To put them on a clothesline suggested a jokester named Meetle.
If gold coins and silver dollars
Could turn hollow and float
On the quivering skin of Torch Lake
July backstroke of jingle
Belly rings nipple rings
This would be it
Drowning Japanese Beetles
Tossed by handfuls to the surface water
From jewelry boxes kept by robbers
What better way to give it back?
Bringing justice to generations
Of those who’ve always wondered
What exactly happened to my keepsakes?
Sky
Lake
I am cut in half at my cold waist
Like a poor boy on a rural road
Who’s come across a tipped over Brinks truck
Coughing in the hot dust
Of swimming nickels and pennies
I look around
Then wade through my newfound riches
My beggar’s palms
Scoop up the reflections
Collect to the dock bits and pieces
Of the struggling metallic creatures
And wisps of cloud sun and wind
A stirring gaudy pile
Grows of second chances
To be picked over by my kids
Who say “Eweee. Yuck. and Beautiful.
Daddy
You are a pirate. Captain Bly!”
Ey
I don’t know why I do these little things
Saving these treasures
As coin by coin takes wing
Flies away
To my kids’ great wonder.
Mr. Camel is fascinated by his friend Dilbert Dung Beetle’s diet.
He thinks eating up excrement, feces and manure is a riot.
It is tasty! Delicious! You should try a salty elephant pie!
Dilbert Dung Beetle says. You would love it if you gave it a try!
Mr. Camel watches Dilbert dig in, gulping down gobs of the stuff.
He thinks it must have a weird smell, but Dilbert can’t get enough.
You might sample a tiny bit Dilbert says, it is delicious you see!
Mr. Camel shakes his head and says “Sorry, it does not appeal to me.”
Bugs, beetles, ants, spiders and nightcrawlers too
They sometimes get squashed on the end of my shoe
I found a baby gardener snake, said a city kid named Hue.
We wisely kept our counsel, knowing what to do.
The gardener snake was not a snake, but a worm so true.
A dried up nightcrawler that had dried up crispier than pooh.
We kept this quiet to ourselves, being full blood country blue.
To help Hue save a bit of face we all shrieked and said “ooh!’
Three lady beetles
put on a little show;
Whilst in the great outdoors
Effected me to whoa.
Spotted one on a leaf,
Handled her with care
Weightless though sheer greatness and
Black-spotted orange wear.
The miniature living charm
Circled round one two
Then up up and beyond
Vanishing to blue.
There I stood there gleeful
From what I did entail
Surprisingly another lady
Followed in her trail.
Oh what a blessing to receive
Left me wonderstruck
A gift from our almighty
Though some may call it luck.
Magically eased aching feet
Tensions did release
Bringing just a little joy
Wonders never cease.
Completed chores ,climbed the stairs
With memories I saw
Only to find with all in mind
Lady beetle at my door!
Pine Tree Needles,
And Ladybug Beetles,
Upon The Canvas Dwell.
To A Place Beyond,
With Birds In Song.
It's An Area Of Fun!
She curls up very tightly as I leave the bed
and I stumble to the kitchen
cotton wool unwinding in my head
it's just a Wednesday
Beans and bacon in the non stick frying pan
coffee on the counter and
two burnt toast with a pot of jam
it's just a Wednesday.
Picking up the tempo
putting on my shoes
running for the six fifteen
it's
too early for those early morning
blues
It's just a Wednesday.
The Beetles
I will now write a love poem and will include
heart, souls, roses and a box of chocolate with nuts inside
but a song by the Beetles keeps getting in the way
“Will you love me as before when I`m sixty-four?”
It was in Tokyo when heard the song I was visiting a girlfriend
who was a stewardess on a liner, the song said it all.
A few days later I met a cook smelling of booze and underarm
sweat, he told me my girlfriend had a lover on the ship
a steward, I confronted the man we had a fight and I was thrown
ashore. She had stolen my heart, but I had the song;
so I will not write this love story after all,
perhaps tell you a story of Frieda, who collected monkey poo,
kept them in glass bottles and inhaled the scent
but she produced wonderful paintings.
Black beetles. In black trousers. Black beetles. Tight vests. Long arms. Muscular. Vipers. Vesticular. Works for the below. Those behind. The puppeteers of the show. Globally planning. Workings. Slice. Then become a one. One. How fantastic. The news showed a death did it? Or was it a murder? Yet no noise omits from a red line. No noise. Oh. And the state? Well it is to be blamed upon the ingestion. The digestive workings is never wrong. Or can it be? Black beetles. Black beetles climb stairs. Entrances are easily obtained by their demeanour and charm. Wam. Wallop. And in. Climbing. White glow from painted walls. And plant pots. Innocently witnessing the event to come. The purple cloth soon turning red. But inwardly. No marks. Nothing. Silenced. In silence. A rainbow. Lifting left leaving. Lifts. Black beetles. Black beetles in their van. Awaiting their next instructions. Awaiting. Coffee poured. Let the headlines begin. Shocked out heads around. Black beetles. Jaded stares. Black beetles. Coleoptists . No ha. No x. Black beetles.
black helicopters
flowers are their helipads
they are self pilots
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