Long Insect Poems
Long Insect Poems. Below are the most popular long Insect by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Insect poems by poem length and keyword.
So fragile, those cricket tunes pulsing through
early autumn's rhapsodic winds, to serenade
unfurled blooms while night glimmers
through a gentle musicale:
how the cadence drifts like a percussion
ticking with air's tempo where notes whistle buzz
about October's exit and prodigal winter's return...
A melody echoes through amber cypress
without purpose, just innately quaking
along street lamps nonchalant as tumbled leaves--
that I, an evening-child
absorb this orchestral play, enthralled
by a mellow alto winging upon my bosom,
until cricket hymns gradually vanish,
this finale softer than soft... how midnight
closes its autumnal fest for a patron
like myself etching this last soundtrack, my balm!
1/15/2019
Music to My Ears : For Silent One
There was a time not so long ago
When my children still ran on little legs
Wading through ocean green evening summer grass
Their faces bright as lamps with laughter
Hop-scotching up to their knees
In polka dotted waves of fireflies
If you can imagine Osiris and Isis awoke from their married womb
Walking wind through chandeliers
When galaxies fell to the mirrors of Earth
Sifted like gold from sand
Oh the reflection of gods we have forgotten
How to walk on water
At my knees in the woods I stir the stars of a small fire
Chant a ritual to bring back the magic
A diamond dislodges from the crown of Oak
Flitter of soul enchanting the shadows
To the children I say dance and sing
Ring in again the vegetable spirits
Swirl your feet with allure of dreams
At your ankles the twinkle of constellations
Comb with sparks your beautiful hair
All may be shared
The return of angels from yesteryear.
Musing with Caren Krutsinger’s musings. I love
our dear poet’s imagination. Thank you, Caren
for allowing me to use your poem and a few phrases
from your poem. Used poem by permission.
My Food Flees from Me
Caren,
A creepy thing I would devour
But wait, wait, wait…
not fuzzy wuzzy in the drain;
are you insane?!
Tickly tasty, i won’t wasty,
wiggles and waggles -
the hashtag “what am i thinking?!”
I watch it move - stomach’s sinking.
My food flees from me…that might be
just what i need!
Don’t be hasty - tastes like cookie?
My brain reacts like a rookie.
Cookie doesn’t slide nor slither
on my pink tongue.
I’m persnickety and picky,
quite realize this snack is icky.
Though your friendship i encourage,
i’ve no courage
for bugs that bathe in the sink
or crawl on the floor. I need shrink!
No! No! No bugs at all, my friend.
My skin’s crawling,
as i’m spitting out the thought.
I’ll eat good things, as i’ve been taught.
4/28/2023
Find Your PS Muse
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Not as Picky as I Thought She Was
If I was hungry I would devour that creepy thing I think.
It is something tasty that crawled out of my sink
You don’t even know what it is my friend says.
She is persnickety and picky, my pal Inez.
Look at its legs, I reply. They look tickly tasty.
Not so fast! Says the crawler. Let’s not be hasty!
Inez says “I never eat food that speaks to me.”
“I will make an exception,” I say, “That thing is free.”
Inez is not as choosy as I thought that she was.
I begin bathing the sink creature, fluffing his fuzz.
"Wait!" the crawly thing says. “That brush is too short for me!”
The second I stop, he scuttles down the drain to flee.
Caren Krutsinger
The Master taught the ancients,
the brilliant art of making fire;
Losing the art in imprudence,
they also forgot the Master.
Beliefs, doctrines, rites, rituals,
Have, no doubt, elements holy;
Deeper than these peripherals,
- Is true Spirituality…
Signs, symbols, worships, and scriptures,
Have been indicators of - Truth;
Indicators are path-pavers,
Can path-pavers be: 'The Path?'
Lotus, swan, Vedas, garlands, and
Holy beads are simple symbols;
'Brahma' dwells in the farthest of far land,
Within inmost heart's citadels.
Every flower, every plant, tree,
Each bird, any animal be;
Every insect, every fly, bee,
Are all spirituality.
Spirit has no forms, shapes, structures,
And tangible anatomy;
It's in and around all creatures,
In symphony-like harmony.
It's that lets me alter, detach,
That tells me respect, tolerate;
Tells always blessings to dispatch,
And with God to cooperate...
It prompts me to face and accept,
To truly my duties perform;
To love, let go, wholly respect,
To always discern and transform...
May 18, 2021
Religion or Spirituality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
My sporting parlay tickets are locked away
In the draw where they will stay
Due to a bug
That stopped the world from giving a hug
With nothing on the Las Vegas Sports Book board
Not even a score
Tables and slots are still there
If that is one’s fare
Of course for short term fun
A quick fetish that in a few seconds the life savings could be done
There are many televisions around this desert oasis social place
That will be turned to rhetoric programs that build the bug’s terroristic case
Repeats of sporting exhibitions
That were played by one’s own decision
Are also being broadcast
To remind fans of the past
Leaving the dice and cards behind,
Off to the beach and its sunshine
Won’t be back
Until the Starship Troopers are done with their attack
Kill them bugs was the cinema state mint
Maybe the masses will take the hint
Eradicate the Corona fear
Then Have that Mexican beer
Then enjoy the nice feeling of cheer.
There once was a tower made of flower
It stood in the village showing power
Until one day
It was invaded one would say
By a buzz looking for a quick pay day
Going from one bud to another
Pollen was picked up taunting the Governor
“Where are you going with our seeds,” the Governor said holding the deed
“I need to feed, my fellow bees!” was the response from the buzz doing the taunts
Quickly the buzz made the escape while the Governor filmed it all on security tape
“Watch you little buzz with the fuzz,” the Governor screamed knowing who it was
“Those flying critters who are not bitter take our Flower Tower Pollen back to their wives so the workers can stay alive,” the villagers replied knowing something good could come out of this hive.
“They have nutrients abundance that is ever so sweet this could turn into a lovely treat,” they continued to explain to the Governor who at first complained
When the Governor finished meeting with the people inside the colorful garden steeple
They decided to confront the steeling of seeds by the neighboring community of bees
For months they watched and learn
Staying vigilant and firm
Using an investigative scent to discover where the missing pollen went
Results were the bees had plenty of honey and the villagers were budgeted since they had money
They came together to strike a deal and add real honey to their breakfast meal
After everything was decided and everyone signed it
An agreement that stated the flower provided the seeds
Satisfying the bee’s needs
Then the honey was made
And the villagers fulfilled the contract that they made
By bringing the honey home after they paid
Making a peaceful cycle when all the red tape was done
Resulting in an extra loving factor on the picnic table under the sun
Jimmy crack corn I’ve been told.
Why would Jimmy crack his corn?
It gives kick to liquor bold,
makes you wonder why you’re born.
Yet, that mean ol’ blue-tail fly
makes you want to stay inside.
Its bite’s so bad, makes you cry
like a love that’s been denied.
Jimmy likes liquor it’s true
braving nasty bites he gets,
goes and keeps that still a’brew,
protects his liquid assets.
Jimmy’s fate sealed one sad day
as that ol’ blue takes a chew.
Hurts so bad, he senseless lay.
Cracked corn fell off his menu.
So if liquor is your thing
don’t crack your corn to make it.
Stay where ol’ blue, he can’t sting.
Admit that you can’t take it.
NB: Loosely based on the 1846 minstrel song, Blue-tail Fly (Jimmy Crack Corn). There are many speculated interpretations of the song. ;)
The night rain cooled the following day, making it feel like winter. Climate change continues to wreck the weather, and spring days bloom in winter. Earthworm carcasses rot in drying puddles. Freshly cut grass soaks the air and drowns the lungs. A murder of crows pecks at the bloated insect bodies floating atop the grass. Their joyous caws echo across the overcast sky. The feathers on their swollen bellies gleam from my car's headlights.
"I'll have the 3-piece chicken strip combo with hot sauce, and a medium Cherry Coke." A crow waits below the drive-thru window.
"Here's your order." Medium Cherry Coke crosses the facing windows. "Than—" The crow strikes the brown bag and spills the order on the floor.
"Please pull around to the front, and I'll redo your order." The crow's laughter reaches the front of the building and follows the fast-food server back inside.
Once upon a time, this obstinate beastie boy
(i.e. yours truly, or none other than me)
fought tooth and nail,
(hence the reason I wear dentures)
against maturation, and sought
self starvation as modus operandi.
Adept at balking,
plus delaying, stunting and thwarting
transitioning toward adulthood
(mine spindle shank legs
to show and tell as proof positive),
yours truly fell short
(and stymied physical growth
regarding lame rascal
with size nine little feet to boot)
never to attain requisite
emotional, financial,
and spiritual independence.
When mysterious processes
courtesy puberty foisted
one garden state variety
(think generic) *****sapiens
transformed puny young slip of a lad
into adolescent long haired
pencil necked geek,
the genetic blueprint
already sabotaged prospect
for musculoskeletal framework
to attain maximum potential.
As an extremely shy,
(nay socially withdrawn prepubescent person)
strong aversion awoke toward segueing
from docile average non prodigal son
into grownup with
attendant responsibilities thereof.
Fast forward decades later
namely July fourteenth two thousand twenty,
when self condemnation
laments forsaking positive growth processes
(ordinary run of the mill bodily changes)
indeed nsync with linkedin social development.
If you were at the zoo today,
Perhaps you also viewed
Some bison and a tiger
With a regal attitude.
Some antlered deer and tortoises,
Some lemurs, fish and snakes
And every creature making sounds
That Old MacDonald makes.
But if you were observant
Then you might have seen as well
A tired foursome riding
On the insect carousel.
The 3 year old delighted
In his up and down-type bug
With his nana standing shotgun,
Arms protecting with a hug.
While the 1 year old and grandpa
Sat behind and took it in,
Both enjoying as they circled,
Each displaying quite a grin.
Yet upon a close inspection
You would say, and you'd be right,
That the 4 of them will very likely
Sleep real well tonight!