Best Stingers Poems
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
Trust, like a pitiless whore-master, grins
as between the sheets and at my breasts, he suckles.
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
The manic moon shivers to shriek-like violins
as trusting seed is split and son-less my knees buckle
mother-less street urchin blanched, impatient, sin.
In sympathy the sun pales night's mood swings
seeking to caress and hold with a fractured chuckle
love's exhausted, and misspent, ripened lingerings
To the dying day and I, cry of might-have-beens
ivory white my ice hands, my bleeding knuckles
Trust like a pitiless whore-master grins
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
Racing along on the Chesapeake Bay
blindly diving into the sea
I met with a sting that day
I shall never forget
I knew not of these strange creatures
Growing up near Great Lakes with no threat
Floating all around me were small white entities
with jellied bodies and stingers several feet
Burned and stung I began to scream
A friend waded out as a savior
Certainly an expedition I wish
to never experience again.
Never again did I jump blindly in the bay
Not even with the dead ones on shore will I play.
For the "Jellyfish at the Beach" contest by Susan Mills.
Terrified, the little girl cries
until her grandmother turns wise,
“All God’s creatures want to survive.
I know you love your small garden.
Now watch these workers work magic”
Those stallions with stingers, hover,
tantalizingly tease petals
of the roaring dandelions.
Those golden gals honey’d sunshine,
with fair upturned, xanthous faces.
Not to be outbuzzed, the blush rose,
her loving cup with upraised hands.
“Drink deeply, my love, my nectar
pleasing to my lord. Drink deeply.”
The succulent sensation sates.
“Well, child, a life without seeds won’t
succeed. Pollination is key.
Those bonnie buttercups happy
to see their buzzing friends come by.
Be patient, Daisy, he’s landing.”
9/11/2019
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rouge colored stingers
anothers’ perfume lingers….
red splattered fingers