On a red hot summer's day,
you may see a bluebottle buffet.
If you take a stroll in the park,
the flies eat dog poo like fish by a shark.
A banquet for all those hungry flies
big or small it doesn't matter what size.
There's always some dog poop that's spoiling the sight,
but the bluebottles don't mind as they take another bite.
today a bluebottle blushed ~ when i smashed its face with a sweeping brush
was a great buzz and quite some rush ~ now i’m on a downer cleaning mush
moral of the story’s do not crush ~ best spray their wings then pull and flush
By
David Kavanagh
come sit with me
not so close -
oh go on then
you’re chillingly cute
most mute and pasty
and today
i have the stale mulligrubs
lay and play with me
lap a little
dip the lip if you want
drink -
sip me witless
hop on my knee
now nuzzle nearer
suck all sludgy emotions
tipple me my toothy nibbler
your raven locks match my socks
your eyes bluebottle black
a bruised butternut scents your syrup
i drip for you
dribble over my wetness
all damsel damp and drooly
let us gastronomically guzzle
after all
both suck and suckle
are sweetly the same
mouths wanting
a drain for their pain
dance me drowsy
in your blood flush
and deathly gurgle
oh do that again
my limpid snuggle
A bluebottle’s tale.
Flies, dark a biblical curse flew, over Alexandria
darkened the sky and hummed hell´s song.
This was not butterflies, in a summer glade.
A bluebottle got to a small hole in the window
they were bringing profanity upon the world.
I looked into its intelligent eyes a soldier drafted
to bring wars and hunger to the world,
(No, not a locust plaque that for its own sake
headless exists.)
to make wars and split nations into many pieces.
God had fated humans should remove each other,
he had made the error given humanity free will
and refused to be held responsible for this fault.
Since we are at the foothill of doom
His will be done.
A new breed of mankind, with small brains and no imagination.
of a Zarathustra or Jung, to give us the idea that we deserved
a better way to find harmony and everlasting niceness.
slightly green ~ can’t fly
lethargic bluebottle ~ die
black yellow red ~ bye
By
David Kavanagh
It ducks and dives
bouncing through the air
buzzing for it's life
free without care;
now disappeared a silence,
can't see it anywhere
a mass of confusion
It could be over there?
As elusive as it is scheming,
the lord of all flies,
Who leaves me screaming,
"Why are you so wise?!"
Incognito, always in disguise
It' colour deceitful a deep blue mottle
A skydiver, a rocket, that's Mr. Bluebottle.
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