Who dictates what is cool
He who drops out of school?
Who sets the tone for what is hip
He who gives the fuzz the slip?
Who decides what is in
The fellow with the cheshire-cat grin?
Who gets to define success
He who is given to excess?
Who is a veritable magnet for sex
He who stands for hours erect?
Who writes cutting-edge couplets like these
My dogwood, but he has the fleas
I think that I shall never see
A bug as ugly as a flea.
A flea whose chewing mouth is prest
against the doggie’s hairy chest.
A flea that bites the beast all day,
And lifts its bristled legs to prey.
A flea that will in summer tear
A bloody hole where doggie’s bare.
Upon whose body germs abound
And parasites throughout are found.
Pets are kept by fools like me,
But God knows I despise the flea.
Once was a man called Brice
Known for having head lice
At the swap meet for fleas
No one buys despite needs
Fear of fleas lice is curse twice
Lie down with dogs
everyone knows
and get up with fleas
so the story goes
or if falling from a dizzy height
the gravity of the siuation might
have you near in a tizzy
calling out in fear and fright
atho' wallow with pigs
below by the hollow
or in some such place
as a sty filled with crud
and if you shovel the stuff
for long enough
it will stick to your shoes
and on your face
you will have mud
but not only that
you'll have egg on it too
so keep it under your hat
whatever you do
I think that I shall never see
A bug as ugly as a flea
.
A flea whose chewing mouth is prest
against the doggie’s hairy chest.
A flea that bites the beast all day,
And lifts its bristled legs to prey.
A flea that will in summer tear
A bloody hole where doggie’s bare.
Upon whose body germs abound
And parasites throughout are found.
Pets are kept by fools like me,
But God knows I despise the flea.
I think that I shall never see
A bug as ugly as a flea.
A flea whose chewing mouth is prest
against the doggie’s hairy chest.
A flea that bites the beast all day,
And lifts its bristled legs to prey.
A flea that will in summer tear
A bloody hole where doggie’s bare.
Upon whose body germs abound
And parasites throughout are found.
Pets are kept by fools like me,
But God knows I despise the flea.
I like spiders and I like black ants.
For fleas and lice, I take another stance.
Sometimes, I wonder if they admire us.
The same question goes for a virus.
Neither foolish fleas and lice, spread by mice,
Nor black ants and spiders, heed my advice.
Disgusting dirt and dust cannot defend
Against a vacuum cleaner's business end.
I'll add one more stanza in this edit
To give that nasty virus credit
For being both invincible and mean
And evading vacuums - COVID-19.
In magnificent memory of Vee See’s zaniest chimpanzee
Probably discussed by merry monkey’s chipping chickadee
Readily and aptly apparent by three who seldom agree
Incredibly supping with Mamie, Marjorie and Mr. Paul Klee
Please pass the honey and the light brie said brazen bumblebee.
No one capably eats brie with lemon tea said a flickering flea.
Advice is free but listen, skinny skeleton, I dare you to try and oversee.
Chimpanzee and chickadee fell down laughing at this on one knee.
The Israelites fleeing Mt. Sinai
like children at the final school bell
When the Lord quickened their pace to Israel
'We can't run fast enough,' they yelled
______________________________________
See Numbers, Chapter 10, verses 35-36. Then
view Chapter 11, verses 1-3, and commentary
thereto.
birds with many bees
had been fleecing fleeing fleas
who were in tall trees
I need no dog, the arrogant, annoying flea biter said.
He promptly did a summersault on his sweet head.
Well don’t look at me, said the old man flea Lee.
I am biting flesh right now, but no dog I see.
The dog gave a yelp and scratched a hole in his back.
But he was not as quick as the flea known as Yak.
Yak jumped out of the way, for he was a jumping flea.
Haha! Yak yelled with a shout. No creature got me!
Let’s go for the cat, the flea biter suggested.
They don’t taste very appealing said Sue, who had nested.
I think this is a giant, maybe a mollusk, or a squid.
It cannot be a dog; he died. His name was Kid.
He sits and scratches
With endless scratching
They cover him in patches
Hope they aren’t catching
He struggles with them
Longing to destroy their eggs
They darken and condemn
Creeping and crawling with long legs
He dreads this affliction
Which comes to him often
Yearning for their eviction
His heart would surely soften
He is the dog of my dreams
Yet he begs and he pleads
For relief from the regimes
Fleas he sometimes feeds
He is weakened by their angry pursuit
They chase him round and round
The struggle is so very acute
Until a cure is finally found
He is the best friend I’ve ever had
When the dreaded fleas leave
There is such joy – he’s so glad
For these insects, he will not grieve
If you happen upon my sweet dog
Scratch his ear and let him know
His heart won’t be in such a fog
Without this angry, dreaded foe
Insects Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
January 15, 2022
Soon after we'd taken in the third stray
hordes of fleas came into our lives
and they came in waves.
Infesting everything in our wake.
They infested our sanity.
Even the downy of our dreams.
We scratched away that entire summer.
I've forgotten what the antidote was.
I think it was a series of flea baths
I remember well the stillness of my skin.
When the madness finally came to an end.
Time has pared our family down.
No cats or children scumbling about.
The house is running on, below empty.
I miss our summer of cats and fleas.
DON'T LOOK FOR FLEAS ON ME
Poet’s life is not at all easy.
Nobody seems to need his poetry.
For some people he is cheesy –
An ape fallen from a tree.
I decided not to be a poet.
«Attaboy, better save your nerves! »
Said my wife when I told her that.
I gave her the respect she deserves.
I realized: all women are bit..es,
Sitting like worms in their niches.
I do not want anyone's pity,
I must do something on this earth.
It has to be something pretty
And something that really has worth.
The winter turned me into a wreck.
I must find a path or lose,
Or put the rope around my neck.
But it’s hard to sing with a noose.
It’s the winter’s fatigue to blame.
Nightingales start sing in spring.
I haven’t that talent, nor a name.
But roosters also can well sing.
Nightingale as the singer is best.
I’m the loser, let it be.
I don’t want to sit in my nest.
Do not look for fleas on me.
07.05.2005,
February 2019
On the isle of Bora Bora
Ancient are the crafts that lie there.
White beaches beckon those who linger
and those who taste the salty air.
I met a girl there on that island.
Later she became my wife.
Now aged and wrinkled yet still a beauty
my companion for all my life.
Now our grand sons, four moreover
dig sand fleas on that lovely shore.
They play with them a while, then release,
only to hunt, and catch a few more.
My hotel keeps me surviving.
It does more than keep me afloat.
I have time for fun and relaxation
aboard my golf Cart, car or boat.
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