Long Beetles Poems
Long Beetles Poems. Below are the most popular long Beetles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beetles poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s 5pm and sunny in Ohio, 40 degrees
and dropping,
by dusk it will be grey turning to red
then black.
Where is the oyster shell now?
The heavenly picture
of a pale spume-tickled .
An unmarried Tudor lady
applies more cosmetic beeswax
to a Monarch butterfly.
I will see the road from my front window
for another hour.
At some time I will eat a cheese sandwich,
At the same time
Consequently I darkly develop
a sunny-side up dawn
casually dressed omelet.
A Siamese cat, coats a Knight
with heraldic tar from a nightjar.
A clay Madonna carves out
epicanthic folds
from an African twilight.
I believe in chains of associations
leading to all possible outcomes.
House plants rent a niche of bedrock.
Plumes of cigar smoke flutter
in airless Mayan canyons.
Factory farmed Quetzalcoatl’s
hustle the leafy bustles of housemaids
as they feather dust aspidistras.
Mind can join together
one probability or another,
one word to another,
words that seem unrelated
yet together trigger an image
that feels newborn.
An iron skillet, crushes walnuts
on a coffin of dead elephants,
a black casket casts kitchen shadows.
Here’s the thing, this power
that may seem like a weakness,
actually
is the way the multi-universe works.
Camels swim an underground sea,
sand dunes wave over a once boozy tavern.
Humpback whales
recite the scriptures
of aesthetic scarab beetles.
The laws of poetically possible realities
operate for you when you follow
your imaginative mind-stream,
all these co-dependent transitional factors
want to link hands.
A speckled moonlight
chases a hen
around a weather vane
while a barnyard tornado
whisks a can of English beer.
Congratulations, you are now a creator,
demonstrating clearly
that you are a child of God.
What do you write about? She asks me.
Her jowls are hanging down her face onto her knees.
She has not smiled for a long time.
Freckles, grizzly bears, paint, lipstick, joy, success,
Jewelry, Stonehenge, life, positivity, snakes, dung beetles.
She looks shocked. “All in one poem?”
Sometimes. Depends on my mood and my muse.
I only have one theme, she tells me “Abuse and sorrow.”
I think that is two themes, but I keep quiet.
“What about joy?” I ask.
“I don’t remember any.”
“Not one second of joy in your forty-three years?”
“No.”
She slithers back into her beetle nest and
I run off to type this.
I heard a rich whistling sing-song echoing from the trees
rising and falling and flashes of bright orange color
the bird was sturdy with a thick neck and long legs
he had a very sharp pointed bill and a black hooded head
and his body was a bright orange, his tail feathers long
he was medium in size, bigger than a hummer lets say
After some research I discovered he was an Oriole,
they migrate to Canada in the summer months
from late Spring to around August when they leave
nesting in forest edges, in stands of trees beside water
or in backyards, like mine, to take advantage of feeders
eggs are laid in a pendulous nest made of plant fiber
I read they love fruit like oranges and grape jelly
and sweet sugar water just like the hummingbirds
they eat beetles, grasshoppers, spiders, and worms
and like millet and seeds from the feeding stations
so, I set up a place to put their orange halves and jelly
and enjoyed the show . . .
When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as geese cackle, small hares peek.
They see a jackal, squeal and squeak!
Near streams are snipes where hoot owls hoot.
A nightingale pipes sound of flute.
Frogs croak and play as pigeons moan,
and rhinos bray through beetles’ drone.
Snakes hiss, and apes start gibbering;
no beast escapes this daily fling!
In this clatter, swallows twitter,
magpies chatter; every critter
can join in. Hyenas laugh
while in the din, each tall giraffe
begin to bleat. What reverie
of primal beat - this jamboree!
July 2, 2020 for Brian Strand's
Strand Completely New(4)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
I: Sheep
next door to 19 chimneys
and 'the dark satanic mills'
a flock of sheep is grazing
oblivious in the hills.
II: Other Animals
venezuelan poodle moths
sea pigs, star-nosed moles
mata matas, sugar gliders
shoats and water voles.
aye-ayes, dik-diks, wobbegongs
chicken turtles, loons
shoebills, snipes and yeti crabs
and cozumel raccoons.
pink fairy armadillos
bilbys, 52-hertz whales
the red-lipped batfish, panda ants
and emperor helmet snails.
the pleasing fungus beetles, thrips
hellbenders, great potoos
lilac breasted rollers, bongos
glass frogs, kinkajous.
the rare long-wattled umbrellabirds
chubs and munchkin cats
satanic leaf-tailed geckos, shads
gars, nits and fancy rats.
In a province exploited
by prejudiced seasons,
a minority ebony rose
is taunted by prominent
i v o r y l i l i e s.
Biased blossoms ridiculing
tones of its charcoal petals,
yet blooming in the same
quilt of soil as each other.
Soothing raindrops
never discriminate though,
as scents of petrichor
fuse with floret elegance,
nor does the sun only shine
for the privileged,
as all flora sunbathes in
the passions of its rays,
refreshed by the same
migrating gentle breeze.
Scarlet beetles
munch upon lily leaves,
whilst aphids suck
upon rose sepals.
Creepy crawlies
unconcerned with
a p p e a r a n c e,
massacre and spread
like an epidemic.
Until the arrival of
feathered immigrants,
who feast upon an
assortment of morsels.
In any garden,
birds care not for
whom they sing.
They defecate on all flowers,
aware all will wilt eventually.
Winter frost oppresses
regardless of culture,
so birds flee.
But, when roses crumble,
they re-emerge
fresher and brighter,
as their red thorns remain
protecting their right
to flourish freely under
fresh blue skies..
F O R E V E R
It’s, for me, not nature’s just one aspect or the other;
But, each creature of nature is greater than the other.
An ant moving unnoticed under any leaf or flower,
Rolling food, even under feet of animals much heavier;
An earthworm incessantly tilling anyone’s land,
And unassumingly lending farmers its helping hand;
The bee hummingbird that drinks nectar from flowers,
And by way of pollination, its gratefulness reciprocates;
Beavers that in their masterly way reducing soil erosions,
And said to be improving the quality of water streams;
Llamas while making easy the mountaineers’ transportations,
Offer their hide and wool as fabrics, crafts, ropes, and rugs;
Rats that cooperate with human beings as regular rodents,
Though not considering themselves as contributing agents;
Squirrels that consistently shape plant compositions,
And impulsively burry seeds and enable plantations;
Crows the commonest of all scavenger birds in India,
Together with vulture, eagle, hawk, kite, and jackdaw;
Butterflies or dragonflies, or beetles or ladybirds,
Moths or bugs or bumblebees or leaf miner or spiders;
Animals domesticated or in the wild that might hit and kill
Who’s great, who’s small, in the mysterious life-cycle?
7th May 2021
ALL YOURS (May 9) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
A pair of new shoes in the thrift store,
the old shoes would shuffle away
from them if they could.
A ragged man struggles
carrying a large plasma screen
in outstretched arms.
He is walking it home
but he has no home
still, he is walking it.
There is little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a damp tree trunk.
A muffled clomp of boots,
a drizzle of slow traffic,
sludge iced over with iron
all this keeps away
unnecessary movement.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
No one is curious
about the thinning daylight,
how it falls listless
upon new shoes.
An old woman,
hands wrapped in fingerless wool,
takes the new shoes home.
She walks them home
in a burlap bag
recycled by blind beetles.
Many humped mounds of shoes,
now rest in an unlit solitude.
An oversized plasma screen
struggles with a ragged man
as they walk past her dark window.
The new shoes do not fit well
with the old heaps -
not yet.
There is no more walking
or loose ends
to fray
by the end of the day.
donkey ungroomed doomed a wicked whirlwind
grains of wisdom wrinkle sand, dust devitalise
L a n d
here there everywhere _______ nowhere
in eyes, on kitchen table
parched lips pouting, tears tormented fell
drying …
dry gin in glass ghosted verbs, adjectives metaphors, s o n n e t s
a rake on untended farm stood patient
soft sobbing sorrel soil insipid stood
debts piled manic manure mounting
scalp itched his wordy craft crumbling
haikus, verses, vignettes spotted louder
than waiting w i l l o w s
white hair falling, skin f l a k e d
he failed to vision journal, his altar dismantled
an ODE to rip from protruding ribs
too much unsaid, torrents tortured gestate
epics waiting to birth cannot speak nor write
cannot read nor recite
dusty throat bone dry, doleful a fugue lay
faraway in another land, a wooden room
in her fist tight, his voice she secretly held
l e f t his heartfelt poems on dilapidated shelf parcelled with cracked crockery ________
her scribbles on a sheet of toilet tissue he flushed away with dried beetles ~
hens cackled unfed, goats roamed untended
fish-moths party under Victorian linen bled
dust on books, pamphlets, photographs
letters speaking to women dead - - -
Pablo Neruda winked from a harbour along with broken spectacles
his shattered mind broke open
alliteration absent without leave
poetry unspoken fell like beads from silent noose
around neck oozing sweat
an escape beckoning
where to, where from, how long…?
a one-eyed pond with geese watched their
Dusty Poet with his wreaths of unraveled poetry writhing
water lilies fading, dragonflies floating with dust
a buried diary and on farm to be found
skull
_____________________________—-______-
The light is thinning.
A ragged man struggles
to carry an unboxed
large plasma screen.
He is walking it home,
he has no home
still, he is walking it,
but now it's raining
the TV becomes
a slippery umbrella.
There is so little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a dripping tree trunk.
A TV slides down
a slick grassy bank.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
An old woman,
hands wrapped
in fingerless wool,
tugs at an abandoned
plasma screen.
After sliding down a grassy bank
she gives up.
Beetles spill out of a ruck of turf.
Her heels disappear into a gray light.
The beetles take shelter
under a large television.