Long Worms Poems
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if but and also
all ran down a street
whose cousin’s mother’s sister
legalized love’s distant dream
with in on and beyond
following closely after
a key hole of time’s future now
spooked bejesus out of bounds
when shoes string along
black wholes green with envy turn
worms come out of closets
knots know not to sing a song
who’s to tell this from that
when clocks ring hollow
and all gods feel sorry
for four score is no more
the measure of all that entails
enshrined within without’s about
debts delinquent devout doubt
morrow’s mourning mewing moss
cons an injunction positively plain
predating position’s posture to fame
signing is a song’s sad dismay
crossing is a road without delay
as gold to ash dust turneth brown
merely’s mostly mitigating moves
shakes the earth’s shivering please
bordering boundless broken bones
if the sun’s heart skips a beat
then your turn will ours become
and if water cries life’s complete
put it down thou will be done
tomorrow is a stranger’s rising night
yesterday’s rose incites my light
love plays dangerous games
whose rules bend time and blesses names
the quill of now rests in peace
also how never more then ever
is not who is once was was
trolls never words were whether
I’m just a humble earthworm
Way down low on nature’s list
But life would be the poorer
If we worms did not exist.
We burrow down beneath the soil
And let the fresh air seep
Whilst loosening the earth
Allowing rain to drain down deep.
And though it pains me to relate
Our usefulness extends
To yielding juicy morsels
To your chirpy feathered friends.
Forget organic rubbish
We can break it down a treat
Releasing back into the soil
The nutrients you eat.
There’s more to us than meets the eye
Look past our slimy skin
And contemplate before you squirm,
A world without us in.
08.05.22
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian Strand
Maybe I should have said something but I didn’t.
I thought the ladies there might get upset.
I stared for several moments lost between thought and action
waiting for a sign, but no help was forthcoming.
I thought of Buddhists and worms in the movie:
"Seven Years in Tibet". How Tibetans cannot harm even worms.
Any living creature could have been your Mother in a previous life,
therefore you must show respect to all living creatures.
In the end I said nothing. Did nothing.
I left the daddy long legs spider resting on the metal roller
at the end of the swimming pool where I had discovered him.
I wondered how he had gotten there and what would become of him.
Two days later my wife returned from the pool and casually mentioned
how she and her friend had removed several dead bugs floating on the surface.
One of them, she said, was a daddy long legs spider.
It was a small thing, but sometimes even the smallest things
can make your day feel heavier.
There’s always soap
To kill the germs,
Remove the scum
And wash dead skin cells
Down the drain.
Is there hope
To kill the ‘worms’ inside?
Remove the scum and stay alive?
Clean the head, scrub brain cells:
And with one voice, scream, “We can learn!”
No time for Soap Operas,
No time for dopes.
No time for hang ups;
All hung up on soap-on-a-rope.
Just remove the scum already.
No time for silly fragrances
That cover up our stench and filthiness.
The time is now,
To clean up our act.
The time is now,
As a matter of fact.
The time is now
To take the plunge,
Get baptized!
Remove the scum!
And for goodness’ sake,
Please bathe, or at the very least,
Dance in a rain shower
With rainbows sparkling down
With full flower power.
And don’t be a numb skull,
use sume soap.
They say, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
But I say, mispelling is not a sin
Nor are grammatical errors.
It’s just more proof
That I am ... only human.
I am not a robot,
Snowflake.
It was the night before Christmas,
And all the worms were fasting,
Making room for all the Christmas leftovers,
From tables oversupplied,
By humans with eyes bigger than stomachs,
And Credit cards well over their limits.
It was the time for young worms to dream,
And adult worms to hope for no change to the menu,
Or last-minute venue shift.
Oh what a month of feasting the worms did have,
In patches of gardens,
Full of freshly dug in treats,
Just right for worms with no teeth.
Some humans even prepared compost bins,
And placed the lucky worms inside,
To save them time.
Alas that was then,
Now the worms that can wriggle out from underneath the concrete,
Find nothing dug in,
And few compost bins.
With plastic bags to keep the worms from their feast,
And flies, stray cats and dogs,
The replacement waste contractors,
Are at the disposal of Humans.
Now all that is left for the worms are a few dead birds,
And the occasional rat,
As nothing that is dug in, is without a plastic coating.
It should not come as any surprise,
If a human could hear a worm discussing Christmas,
That the word HUMBUG would be the loudest,
As they migrate to the nearest human graveyard,
And hope for someone to drop in for Christmas.
No one seems to care,
No one even dares to care,
So comfy in their squares.
For circling around their heads
Is a world of wares...
“Where’s my wonderful family?”
“Where’s my wonderful wife?”
“Where’s my wonderful fantasy?”
“Where’s my wonderful life?”
Who cares?
Does anyone dare...
Come out of the closet?
Dye their hair weird?
Demand some damn answers!
Wrestle a bear?
Oh, woeful midgets in my soul
Mix emotions in a mixing bowl.
Carving metaphors into my nose
Indifferent to my magic show.
Very complacent, just numb to it all.
Dumbfounded. Surrounded by crumbs
Moving like ants on a big ball.
Idiocracy bureaucracy bouncing away
Go about their business day after day.
Flailing around like Mexican jumping beans
Invisible tiny spirits poke me at the seams.
Infiltrating my dreams.
Making me scream.
Babbling banter with unwanted answers
Vegging out on booby trapped screens.
Doesn’t anyone dare to care to share anymore?
As the worrisome worms squirm through my pores
One squirms out my nose as if it’s a door,
Is exposed to the world like never before.
Squirming, peeking out in dismay
Squeeks...
“What the...”
All those years of wishes, craving, feelings of wanting to be loved -
Disappear without shadows
But weeping and loud wailing on my grave stone–
Is what remain
Tears falling like spring water on my brick face
In grave with companies of worms and exotic termites
From men of colors in black suits
Singing chorus of we love you
But the messiah loves you more
Love!
That, they never share
Love! I never knew
My life’s journey was like a tempest
Falling and crashing without reaching save harbor
And laughter made of fiction
Only dreadful dreams come true
The heartily wishes never come through
Loosing fate in life
Then death come to take me
To the place of my dream –
In grave
Who are you and who am I
and could it be we’re kindred spirits
deep inside?
And I wonder if this life’s a dream, the matrix
of an endless scheme
begotten long ago,
when time was not
and the only thought
was how long until they know?
How long until they know I’m “We”
and learn eventually to see
that most of what they read and learned
was nothing more than food for worms
squirming ‘round inside their heads
distracting from themselves instead.
So much to understand it’s true
but simple as the sky is blue
all tangled up like string in glue
like who was Jesus in the flesh
and was he really, truly Blessed?
(I hear it now: “That man’s a mess.”)
But not the first to question thus
as truth is written in the dust
by the winners, spinners, sinners deep
luring others fast asleep.
(Now I lay me down to rest
and pray my soul wakes up progressed
up Jacobs ladder to the gates
opened wide to celebrate.)
Even while we wander ‘round
in this mysterious dreamscape land
missing countless miracles
of each moment of life at hand.
Through pages of the ages of
every breath of birth, death,
love and living we extol
through consciousness of the cosmos,
the Holy Grail to our One Great Soul.
Don’t we perceive the universe the same:
Earth, moon, stars, cold, heat and flames?
Connected, yet disconnected,
separate and still One:
seeing the world through different eyes
like separate rays of the Sun.
Inescapable as planets are to stars
while never even knowing that
is who we are.
While sleeping and awakening repeatedly
as we do from day to day,
perhaps to do so endlessly
isn’t so far away.
And if dreams mean anything
beyond awakening at dawn,
perhaps it’s time to reimagine
where life begins and ends
while sitting still
and moving on.
© Terrell Martin, 02/06/2025
Written: January 24, 2025 For contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the galumph of morning breath
a chandelier of dew,
Barely inching through the cobwebs
dreams hammock in gleaming light
A jaded heart finds solace
in this tangled respite,
Lummox magpies whisper tales
crisp with truth renewed.
Magic twilight dolphins
swim through esoteric skies,
Flummoxed by the palette hues
purple crocus and yellow celandine,
Surly winds sweep through vastness
where shadows intertwine
Trapped beneath a cloak of darkness
spying on sighs.
Brambled paths lead to riddles
a sharp needle piercing skin,
Bleak wilderness unfolds its wings
reckless thoughts bear flight,
In abyssal thrall to katabatic winds
that howl at night,
Fodder for desolation grip
where slithy worms start.
A reckoning draft reasons
in cosmic dust and glowing flame,
Juggling shadows and whispers
with each breath eternity bestows,
Bright brambling duets waltzing
where sapphire waters flow,
Obsession's echoes in an alder
tarn untamed by shame.
Straddling the edge precariously
puckered lips exhale pure art,
the trickster stalks among obsidian trees
weaving lucid dreams unraveled tight;
a goldfinch’s trill alchemizes
into hope’s flickering candlelight -
each note dissolving petulance
from placid hearts
in these moments as I wander through
the glistening morning hue
surmounting plummet throes
where orchids boost
raw life on a hopeless slope.
Loaded with spilt oil the tanker delivers its cargo ashore from the sea
Man-woman pressed destiny has relentlessly decreed to forge steel
Rust has settled unkindly by ‘progress’ corroding its soul while wood
With tamed worms could have shed shredded sails for steady repair
Midnight toil from tarred ravens in sable omens omit void and despair
They mock as they engulf soiled meaning tar feather and frighten the light
Depleted the torch has twisted the anchor croaking the stuttering engine
Smeared the sunken tree of beauty fails to seed timid remains of dark timber
Vessels return their burden back to lost hearts blemish inspiring breath
Blood streams of innocence painted in shadows struggle to deliver their
Essence when disempowered streams of kind conscious love’s passion
Miscarry luminous shipments consign a cemetery of grave splintered cross
When the fork in the road waves to wrecked ships and turbulence reckons
As seemingly empty we choose whether droplets of thirst are half full or drained
Cantankerous storms may lead to new compass with the needle carved out
From slumbering lumber setting tentative cruise for the passage of time
06th June 2018
Written for contest: Filled with Ebon Veins