Best Gadflies Poems
Mountain of a thousand colors
clothed in Autumns dress
kiss the earth 'O' Wondrous mother
painted world - flora's caress
Trembling giants bathe in light
quaking Aspens touch the sky
as guards of lore and fabled sprites
gift boughs of shade through watchful eyes
Crystalline river of indigo
give life to minnows, carp & trout
breach high the soothing waters flow
while gadflies rove and dance about
Symphonic winds sing casting spells
valley grass begins to dance
whips through the mountain copse & dell
warblers dance for new romance
'OH' iridescent color thief
on painted mountains dwell
with wings draw patterns of motif
boreal sounds of tinkling bells
Four Short Poems for the Apocalypse
Poem #1 – “Reality Bites”
Feeling so hopeless.
Feeling the loss somewhere inside.
I can feel it, but I don’t know quite where.
Reality bites.
Feeling so awkward and sad.
I knew it was bound to happen.
But still,
I can’t get it out of my mind.
The last time I saw her,
There in that stuffy smelly room,
She was shooing the demons away.
It is true.
The gods make those who are about to die
As mad as gadflies
Without blood to suck.
Reality bites.
Feeling so empty.
Feeling the loss somewhere inside.
I thanked the stars the night she died.
Poem #2 – “Part Biscuit Part Bone”
I shiver when I think about it.
Getting’ up at four in the morning to walk six miles.
There is only one fool who would do such a thing.
My brain is sometimes cracked like my sidewalk.
It must be part biscuit, part bone.
But when I walk in the darkness
The entire world is mine.
I am the only one alive
And I salute the ghosts in the shadows.
They want my soul
And I want their ethereal essences.
I shiver when I think about it.
Maybe death is like a walk at four.
There is only one fool who would think that.
It must be part biscuit, part bone.
Poem #3 – “Baked Babylon”
Squeezing the forceps, handlessly
Like a pair of tweezers with no grip.
I groan and suffer alone.
Like Grover Cleveland back in 1892
When his cancerous jaw was dug into
By mustached doctors wearing pink carnations,
Digging and gouging and tugging
Like some gravedigger looking for soft earth.
Baked Babylon is my grease.
Let it smoke and oilize.
I want death for myself, no one else.
One billion children do not deserve the incineration.
Poem #4 – “Why Am I Thinking?”
Why am I thinking?
Is it because I stink?
Is it because I’m stuck breathing?
Why am I dying?
Is it because life is a game with no winners?
Is it because I seek pleasure in a world of pain?
Why am I crying?
is it because life is so futile?
Is it because death is the best part?
Why am I thinking?
Is it because I can’t help it?
Can’t help stopping the inevitable?
Oh death!
You wait for me over there,
Like a forlorn lover,
Behind shaded curtains in the night.
To pick up a line and take it for a stroll.
The essential is within, the mystics say,
but equally important is the outside:
a stunning summer sky, two wind-whipped clouds,
in the intense green background a dazzling yellow field.
The line crosses dead centre. To draw breath for surfaces,
smooth and cross-hatched: first impressions of place.
A distant rumbling. Scene changed by invisible stagehands.
Gadflies in sorties before the storm, a frenzy,
a slaughter: chaos linked up.
A flash on the horizon: a zig-zag line.
I set my face for rain. Paul notices a girl
with curly hair, fleeing: a spiraling movement.
A bridge comes into sight: row of curves. Lines
in his sketchbook appear in the richest profusion,
fading and gaining power, restrained and articulate move
and countermove. The rain’s blurring it all. The feeling of space
intensifies. Mesh and brickwork, when one returns to town.
Voice. Polyphony. Strange face. Smiling greeting.
Above us the stars are revealed: scattered points.
The painter’s tree grows from roots, but its crown
is a trip to the land of better knowledge. A flame-burst
directed by hand. A symphony of forms. A good thing
like a guiding thread in the dense bush at twilight.
A joyful equivalence. A whole.
The Holy Bible is a Journal.
On the desk, and it's definitely
not made of Mahogany,
it's lightly-stained Oak.
The blanket is Navaho. It's All Sacred.
Those Impeccable Tribes of the Desert -via the Fountaini
- will make more, but the Object can't be Programmed.
It's one of the gadflies or juggernauts ,
some say Gordian Knots,
of Simulation "Theory."
It's REALLY HARD (some say - ahem - difficult) to simulate a Grandpa.
after the rain, wildflowers bend like
wilted men wrapped in age and bliss
fragments of longing and belonging
in wet that sustains a warming world
to bring elation with green fields
in a mission of beauty
daisies poke through tall grasses
picketing the field with star shaped heads
and yellow centre discs
that make the world manageable to hold
gadflies of growth
with white petals plucked by
wooing hands to know
the alignment of love
greenery with life within
overstuffed
drenched hazy
a tangle of vegetation
all of it deflecting woe like voices in a chorus
finding one's self in the mix
June 2023
How I Feel
By: miracle Man
August 22, 2020
Protesters and anarchists are gadflies who coalesce,
Burning and graffiti is leaving cities in a mess.
A hodgepodge of rogues, seeking socialist change,
they march in big cities with intent to derange.
Consumed with hate for both God and police,
Knowing the wheel that squeaks loudest gets the grease.
They push for change that won’t be for the best,
advancing the narrative that they are oppressed.
This upcoming election is rife with upheavals,
once again I’ve a choice, from the lesser of two evils.
Gadflies
are not about group hugs.
Communion is more of a catholic honey bee paradigm
of win/win resonant satiation;
A winter seasonal anti-climax of body
but ecstatic dreamy democratic mind feeling
perpetual gratitude attitude,
safe ego
within this significant paradigmatic ecosystem
of compassion communication.
Gadflies are more about spring
and sometimes overwrought
over-heated climatic summer,
LeftWings tempted
by win/lose RightWing
LeftBrain dominant communication
competition
win/lose
either military-industrialized capitalism or corporate death
debate
And defensive
unsafe anxieties about chronically stressed economies
of capital-nutrition over-infestment,
political disempowering degeneration,
blind rabid faith prayers sacrificing costs
to be paid by future thirsty
drowning
burning
choking
starving
dying generations.
Gadflies
may not worry enough about death
of Earth's global anthro-elite ecosystem,
too frantic with hungry
competitive need to ego-replicate.
Meanwhile,
honeybees gather pollen
for ecstatic winter's
regenerative
warm sticky climax
eco-communion.
Life on the windward side of our island,
at times, the tradewinds persuade downpour,
still, the sun light's gods and goddesses tanned.
Sailboats adrift, surfers thrill life ashore,
nightlife widespread mingling tingles aura,
at times, the tradewinds persuade downpour,
Fauna ground or inflight abound flora,
gossamers swaying entertain loved ones,
nightlife widespread mingling tingles aura,
Albatross' solitaries north isle runs,
regulars gadflies surrealists' gawking,
gossamers swaying entertain loved ones,
Infamy physicist Stephen Hawking,
come visit a true Paradise like those,
regulars gadflies surrealists' gawking,
Cameras clicking smiling faces pose,
life on the windward side of our island,
come visit a true Paradise like those,
still, the sun light's gods and goddesses tanned.