I fixed the vacuum.
I need to throw the dirt away.
I did it.
I tried not to be careless.
Cleaning with a vacuum.
When nothing is enough.
We give into the loud sounds.
Loud, cleaning sounds.
Throw. It. Away.
It’s not that hard.
Because it’s all bagged up, just for me.
The dust mites tell me to.
I woke up at night.
I’m still living here.
Everything is clean.
I promised myself.
Destroying. Sad. Muddy.
I wish spring cleaning was light and nice.
With feather dusters.
And whistling innocently.
I need to destroy.
These thoughts.
Throw the bag in the fireplace.
There is nothing better on a spring morning.
Along with hair, and stray pieces of string.
There were other things.
He left behind.
His filthy footprints.
I won’t remember him.
He took the pictures with him.
I took out the vacuum.
Every night, I clean.
Filth, dirt, mud, grime.
There is nothing left.
Muddy footprints in my mind.
I howled, but the vacuum was louder.
Spring cleaning, da da da.
Cleaning makes things empty.
He took all the pictures with him.
But my vacuum is louder.
An army of mites reside in our lashes
With mouths and tiny claws
Along the road to human evolution
This was surely a major flaw
Astronauts strangely can't burp in space
What useless dribble is that
Felines can have over one hundred kittens
Now that's one pooped out cat
Some atheists put up Christmas trees
An identity crisis for sure
A cow can poop up to four tons a year
That's sure a big batch of manure
A woman once had sixty-nine children
Talk about barefoot and pregnant
With a dirty big bunch of kiddies like that
She could hold her own beauty pageant
Nose prints are used to identify dogs
Imagine if they used those for humans
Especially during the influenza season... yuk!
There'd be snot all over the policeman
The salary of Toto in “The Wizard Of Oz”
Was a hundred twenty dollars a week
That's a hundred and twenty dollars more than me
Since retiring, my new job is sleep
The tallest people in the world are the Dutch
Must duck underneath the windmills
While kissing, most tilt their head to the right
But there's some who rub noses still
I played music.
Quietly.
My room is a place where they can hear-doesn’t matter.
I played a video game.
I feel like I won.
My room is the only place.
Then I stepped outside, and there they were.
I wrote a book that day.
Doesn’t matter.
When they took me to the hospital.
That place was a little full.
They gave me a bed, and a cup of water.
There wasn’t much writing fodder.
They wake us up early for breakfast.
Two days since having a shower have past.
I don’t count the days, only the frights.
Twilight is when you wake up to being covered in mites.
I used to play music in my room.
Then it was twilight.
If you've been keeping up,
Those who've read me will see
I've been writing 'bout animals
Alphabetically.
They've all behaved well,
Made their entrance on cue,
'til at last I arrived at the dread letter "U".
Letter "U" proved a challenge I couldn't defeat,
After trying and trying, I admit that I'm beat.
The names that I found seemed a bit too absurd,
Like uakari, urutu, and umbrella bird.
Instead, I'll endeavor now to employ
A device that I hope everyone will enjoy.
Not literary art in any high sense,
But a pretty good example of literary license.
My "U" category has villains like these:
Midges, mosquitoes, ticks, flies, and fleas,
Then spiders, and dust mites, and gnats, if you please.
I'll stop naming them here for the list would be endless.
It's no mystery to me why these bugs are so friendless.
It's poor social skills that make them iniquitous,
But lucky for me…'cause they're also U-biquitous.
No more
Mothballs and cedar assault my nose
The dust mites and stale air dry my throat
A wardrobe that is just that
The lion roars no more
Neutered and robbed of his fire
The last time the words were read
In the darkness of this cell I fear the witch no more
Drunk at her cauldron
Slurred words conjure no magic
Snow driven mountains of pure white
Have dissolved into a gray haze
Footprints like bread crumbs dissolved
My desperate escape blocked
Solid wood between me and salvation
My world made infinitely smaller
- When the gateway to Narnia can no longer be imagined, the magic dies
(Trystan Colin Behm- April, 2024)
An army of mites resides in our lashes
With mouths and tiny claws
Along the way during human evolution
This surely must have been a flaw
Astronauts strangely can't burp in space
What kind of dribble is that
A feline can have over a hundred kittens
Now that's one pooped out cat
Some atheists put up Christmas trees
An identity crisis for sure
A cow can poop up to four tons a year
That's sure a batch of manure
A woman once had sixty-nine children
Talk about barefoot and pregnant
With a dirty big bunch of kiddies like that
She could hold her own beauty pageant
Nose prints are used to identify dogs
Imagine if they were used for humans
Especially during the influenza season
There'd be snot all over the policemen
The tallest people in the world are the Dutch
Must have to duck under the windmills
While kissing most tilt their head to the right
But there's some who rub noses still
The salary of Toto in “The Wizard Of Oz”
Was a hundred twenty dollars a week
That's a hundred and twenty more than me
Since retiring my new job is sleep
monsoon
velvet mites appear
roam as though lost their mates ---
blood-red carpets spread
flies sip my teacup
to get a taste of my lip ---
some linger so long
white ants don't enter
as my mesh nets don't allow ---
mosquitoes set, yet...
midst cockroaches creep
centipedes and millipedes ---
calm leeches suck blood
I found a large glass container in an antique store.
My panoptic vision for it became so much more...
A bottle garden that would bring me such pleasure,
so, it grew into a tiny jungle of plants to treasure.
I nurtured it quite tenderly for almost two years
but one morning, what I found left me in tears.
Tiny mites and aphids stripped all the foliage clean.
I'll burn my bottle garden and pests with kerosene.
Grazing upon my hide,
lumbering,
ravenous beasts
farm,
crop, and munch upon
the harvest rich-fields
of my squamous integrum.
The dermatologist tells me not to worry,
that it’s just the normal microscopic
fauna and flora.
They clean away the dead,
vacuuming-up
the desiccated debris
and dander.
“We are not snakes” he says,
“we need help to shed.”
I can’t help thinking of those millions
of par-blind,
pig-like,
tank-shaped organisms
forever thriving,
feasting,
and then they themselves
decaying
upon my skin,
and they all-unknowing
that they are
most definitely not
the greatest creatures
ever to have roamed the earth!
Instinctual animalcules
constantly changing
the density
of the shadows I cast,
the thickness of my shedding.
Mites nibbling away at my silhouette,
until either it seems to be
far too heaped and corporal,
or way too transparent
to be seen in strong sunlight.
Wales U K some parents care..bout childrens
Senses being pared; away with caution, with
Thoughts i'd think not rare.? By any who exist
Out there ! Who have concern who'd like there
To be, in childrens lives sensibility a graduated
Learning climb, content age related is that some
Crime? Sex education cannot be right for those
Of six.' Such precious mites.' Would the same
Be allowed to steer a formula one? In such early
Years? Or perhaps a drone, eqipped for war?
What say you judge ? Who has judged before.!
Judged against a human right, you have aggreived
You cast a blight ' I am aligned I here support the
Caring parents who have rightly fought, for freedom
In context, of better ed ' are the admistrators inside
Just dead ? There can't be thought or reason
Applied ' when such actions versus needs its quite
Aparthied.' And not between species or race yet
Twixt parents and children such a great; disgrace.'
Many moms make a mishmash of marshmallow melon month of rites
Marmie and Magnus mined minx’s minestrone meatball mites
Magnificent Marmaduke mollycoddles minute rice making mush.
Merry majestic Mallificent minced magnetic mimosas in a rush.
Mushroom men marbled Marley’s meatballs mooing with madness.
Muddobber’s melancholy miniscule mites were wooing with sadness.
Magnificence of Manny’s marsh mediates in miniscule rites of badness.
Ma makse a mishmash of marshmallow melons, and it is pure rad-ness.
Once upon a time, I was mushroom
I think I was elegant as mushrooms go
I had a grand head and a justly strong toe
I stood tall amongst my mushroom friends
noble and as bold as I could be
I gave free shelter to the little things
and comfort to the seedling tree
I am told that I had beautiful variegations
and did my best to grow
encouraging all the other mushrooms
that ever I did know
It was hard sometimes being a mushroom
in a forest of beautiful pine
even the rocks seemed superior
when we like children, stood in line
Let's face it being a mushroom
isn't as big or filled with granite as a Rock
but that's why I always tried to keep it kind
and never be the one to mock
I try to be gentle and cover lichen, moss, and mites
especially on all of those rainy wild and windy nights
So if you come upon me holding fast to the darkest soil
I would greatly appreciate your stopping
to admire me for a while
But then if you could step over me
instead of squishing me into the ground
I will hold you in the highest stead
and speak of you with renowned
I bring to you sweet pollen on my wings
You respond with sharp and prickly stings.
For I am here by chance fleeing the crows
While you dance to every wind that blows.
Perhaps for my sake we might sign a truce
for I am like a red light on a spruce,
and in return I’d carry on the wing
a song to praise the beauty roses bring.
And should you build a nest within our thorns
Would this complete the setting of our bonds?
That we might hear the cackling of your brood
While you spend both day and night searching for food?
And yet their hungry beaks would hunt and peck
To snack upon the mites that roses wreck.
So was it sealed this covenant of peace
Both shades of red had lessons they could teach.
©12/25/2022
How long is a short time, a hairs breadth above never
Seen within one eye blink, the lash will move forever
Perception throws curveball's, upon prismatic minds
Yet outside double slits, life-forms live completely blind
And voracious appetites, strip eyelashes of girth
Feeding on sebaceous oil, dines parasitic birth
Nibbling away, watching reality slip from sight
Getting up close and personal, with demodex mites
Making much from little, aiming to create new worlds
Eyelashes warp under pressure, turn inward and curl
Scratching the surface, observation now semi-blurred
Eyeballs driving us crazy, itch cannot be demurred
Lice-like creatures, slither up and down paying no tax
Using eyelids as havens, in remorseless attacks
Recombobulating dead skin, not the stuff of dreams
We rip earths orb to shreds daily, in monster machines
By
David Kavanagh
16x13
The lyric deft and yet bereft, its logic baldly doffed:
an heir in err, a progeny ‘twas not untimely off’d.
In aggregate, the follicles that sprout the facial hair,
protrude a plain that’s primed for pain, as microbes nestle there.
To mow the glade with steely blade creates a field of woe;
the pain-free knight, his own mote smites, so mites midst hair might grow.
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