Squirmy Poems | Examples

Bugs

I am afraid of bugs, but not because they’re creepy or squirmy
I fear bugs because they’re so tiny that when I hold their bodies
And feel their beautiful, vulnerable beating hearts
I’m afraid I’ll crush them
It would be so easy to squeeze and break them
Like I squished the little bug I used to be

fish caviar versus ant egg caviar

Caviar is fish eggs and I think so blobbish and ugly
Squishy and squirmy looking; they do not tempt me
Mexican caviar is supposedly ant eggs, definitely not free
How they capture ant eggs, I really do not fathom or see.

Squirmy the Worm

A worm gets the idea of oscillation
and just moves—
aimless, dirt-laced, unbothered.
Regenerates its body.
Takes orders from nobody.

So I humbly approached a worm:
“Hey worm, you seem to know a lot about this specific area of town…”
She replied,
“I’m Squirmy the Wormy.
And everything you’ve lost—
was hidden inside.”
The rain poured.
She turned.
Kept oscillating.
I shouted,
“Wait! Where are you going?”

She stopped.
Did a 180° turn.
Stared me directly in the eyes
And said,
“Wake up.
You’re gonna pee the bed.”
Then vanished.

But damn, a talking worm?
That’s one of a kind.

SNEAKY SLIMY SLITHERING SERPENTY SNAKE

The sneaky, slimy, slithering, squirming snake silently sat shamefully,
Stupendously-stumped.

The seated, sizzling, sneaky, slimy, slithering serpent still stupendously-stumped,
Squirmed slowly searching signaling scents.
With no stopping the squirming, silently-sneaky, slithering, shamefully-stumped serpent searching sign, the snake slithers sizzling surround sound.

Only with punishment, the slithering, slimy, silent, shamefully-stumped serpent stops sin-searching.

Now, be a bumble bee, buzzling big bumble bubbles and not a sneaky, slimy, squirmy, sin-searching, soul-scary, shamefully-stumped surround sound serpent-sizzling, sazzling, skimmed-scaled snake..•

do dogs and cats dream

Do dogs and cats dream?
Yes! Scientists say with confidence.
Is their brain swimming downstream?
How can they determine that, not on the fence?

So if they do dream, is it about chasing down food?
That could be both cats and dogs when in a prey-chasing mood.
Cats only would be dreaming of squirmy, smelly fish.
Dogs might be dreaming of a beef and noodle dish.

Do dogs and cats dream? How can we truly say?
It is not like they can write down their dreams every day.
It’s not like they put their dreams into our minds.
Dog and cat dreams, it makes me think of fun rhymes.

Glads

Spring rain was forecast,
it came.
showers licking the earth,
also the bald spot on the top of my head.
under my collar, down my back,
skin gets squirmy.

In the store,
I’m thinking of buying an umbrella,
but end up buying Gladioli,
because you love them.

The tall flowers are soaked through
and getting heavy,

I could have forecasted that.

A Lone Ranger Mask

I'm feeling rather silly today
Not that that's so unusual
But I'm feeling even more silly than usual
Read on and methinks
You'll understand exactly what I mean
Have thoughts of what it would be like
To be a ravishing female
Rather than this hunk of male virility
That I am now
Of course I would be an absolute stunner
With a body to die for
Must stop... I'm getting all squirmy
How about if I became the ruler
Of a large African country and signed into law
That sex is officially permitted
In public places as long as you're wearing
A Lone Ranger mask
Oops! Methinks I may be stepping over the line
Alright, how about becoming a
Standup comedian with my own late night show
Now that's more up my alley
Good thing Leno and Letterman
Decided to call it quits
Guess they knew I was about to take over!
Perhaps I should go lie down a spell

Word Poems Wriggle

It rained last night
and it will rain again and again
after each dry spell -
the planet has always understood
the benefits of hydration.

The ground of being, being mind-clay
will reconfigure a muddy tale,
then poetry (or whatever speaks
in riddles and earthy visons
claiming to be the most profound
of witless squiggle’s)
will surface to inscribe its thoughts
upon a fluid reality.

Writhing, writing worms
will raise their blind heads
in praise of the compliancy of all deconstructed worlds;
they will carol in the newly wetted shallows
as God muses together
all potentially squirmy realities,
ones that can be read as an outward appearance,
and evidence
of yet more superficial churnings.

Cold Winter Is Not Forever

Within the oak tree, I have settled here
Whilst aureate sun peeks between the leaves.
My chirping song is heard roosting from top;
Can you see me; beguiling is the day.
Inherent nature's rhyme, a placid scene.
Winter has passed its chilling visit.
Spring with twelve hours daylight, nights my shortest.
I am three years old with reddish-orange breast,
Unbound and quintessential of them all.
Tugging squirmy earthworms out of the ground.

Cherubic is the flanking mockingbird
Has alone flown away now is silent.
I rule the passing hours of night and day.

Good-bye, good-bye the fiddle months last flit.
Summer nearly done, Autumn outburst late
With fruit bayberry, cherry, pyracanth;
Around the lattice to set pudgy grapes
Budding flowers for fructifying bees.

Lingering on a branch plume with winter
First snow my wings are spread quickly, fly off.
A glow of warmth I bring on winter's day!

1/27/2023

Winter is not Forever Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley

No One Yells Hey Hey Hey

Loading up on the holiday bear with gifts and the sleigh
Christmas elves said “you have to yell out ‘hey hey hey!’”
I thought it was “Snow! Snow! Snow!” the bear stated firmly.
His pants were too tight, and his junk was all squirmy.
“It is ho ho ho!” a voice said above a long white beard.
Now get off my sleigh, or you’ll all be afeared!
Santa! They hollered. We thought you had infection today.
That is not a big problem, I had medicine every right way.
No one is going to be yelling ‘hey hey hey!” on Christmas day!

Epochs of Life

A lake is slumbering beneath a halcyon sky,
This land has no daybreak nor blackness vie.
Angst crusts float on their substrate surface,
Able and pallid, it defends an idyllic space.

Gray granite emerges from the dreary edge,
A half-light day adorns a barren field hedge.
The aimless times seem to last forever,
I am that bright poor fisherman together.

My boat and I sailed hastily over the lake,
Viewing the tones flow as if for the path's sake
I soothed and spread shade over the water,
A mild wave from the sea hauled it over.

When others stare at me, I get annoyed,
A stage of the ethereal, hazy sky was poised.
I shift my focus to the rocks around me,
You're defined like a rising sun's beauty.

My fragility and hunger are pelted by the tide,
Working very hard but never finding a stride.
Shine often skims over the placid water,
A light may be noted moving like a marauder.

Yet, there's no sun or hours, so the sky is murky,
I am that angler whose heart is still squirmy.

Written: August 07, 2022

If Not Cremated Then What

Don’t bury me in an eco-pod
for I am biodegradable already.
Don’t bury me in the earth,
or animal feces I might birth
nor in lead
because while lead is harmless to the dead
it is after all lead.
Don’t bury me under stone,
beneath a stone all alone.
Bury me in fermenting compost,
you may leave my feet 
sticking out just for laughs.
Yes wormy me, good an
germy, awfully squirmy,
until all is dank and smelly,
the I will grow roses 
out of my belly.

Starting Somewhere Nowhere

The morning has no news of me.
I may have to dig out words
from their squirmy underground nests,
look for a hungry starling
in an imagined tree.
Envision my upside down figure
legs waving above ground half buried.
Something to get the turgid blood flowing.
Now I see a thread, and now go quickly to follow it
to where these lines abruptly end,
in order to begin.

Squirmy Little Night Crawler-

squirmy night crawler
how a little, dirt digging
digs the morning lawn
~
squirmy night crawler
little a dirt digging worm
burrows in morning



8/22/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©

My Love, Aaron

Oh, my  boyfriend-on-demand

I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of mountain dew.

As my fists fall from its grip, I am reminded of your squirmy nerdy body.
In the hushed, I listen for the last sounds of pee missing the toilet.

My heated Mad Face breathes inside my hardened soul.

I wait in the kitchen for your Ugly Head so that we may break up as one, Mad Face to Mad Face; in search of the glorious breakup, it's almost sensual saying the final goodbye of love.

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