Wormy Poems | Examples

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.

Love Learns

Take me to where love learns
Where forgiveness doesn’t burn
And joy is a wheel that turns
Touching tummies that churn

Take me where green trees wave
And shelters aren’t needed to save
Battered birds from early wormy graves
Where laughing is safe in happy place

Take me where sun is shining bright 
All day and no one has a fist fight
We all sleep safe and warm each night
Where hearts are filled with love’s light

wee willy waldorf

Willy Wee Walldorf warbled wonderfully
We watched Willy’s whacky warbling, willingly
Waketa Wobblemaster wiggled wondrously
While weird Wormy Wishman watched wistfully.

Evil

.Evil

A wormy apple bruised
bread crawling with weevils
Mottled black and blue
Essences of evil
Skull and crossbones warn
 deadly poisonous gas
Tortured cries and moans
Creepy sutured mask
Disguises of light and truth
Hiding grotesque thoughts
Someone follows you
 Security, safety lost
Empathies a myth
I alone am real
Fill your terror with
All that I don't feel
Bodily pain excites
But even better I crave
Destruction of the mind
Making you depraved
A little harmless here
A bit of, only human, there
Deeper darkness steer
Till it's hard to care
I knock a jolly rhythm
To distract you and disarm
You unlock the first one
and Quiet the alarm
Peeking, who is there?
Show all my wicked teeth
Desensitized you stare
And open the door to me.

Tattered

Darkness abounds in my heartfelt sorrow
where she left me stripped of pride
   a battered crippled soul
who aimlessly wanders in darker realms
   of blue
I continually drown in tears of anguish
for being such a fool she used
   to fill her lonely need
and led me to this room of scattered light
where I dance with shadows in my mind
   that haunt me
my pain is captured in my swollen eyes
as I stumble through one bottle after another
   of warm whiskey
becoming an image of self-pity
   wanting to die
from this curse that came from her cold black eyes
that burned my wormy flesh
now being eaten by maggots of regret
leaving a parched skeleton
crumbling in the grave of my heart
   a vanquished soul
whose love was stolen by words believed
   from her hungry words of desire
leaving me a torn and tattered lonely drunk

O Hedgehog!

Hedgehog, O hedgehog
dear spiny, meek and mousy poppet.
In England
where the tickly grass grows
greener
we galumph in our rubber boots
up to your little
Hobbit nests
beneath the thorny bushes
were you rests.

We the ever scampy
nippers
fill tin cups with wriggly worms
leave then there
by your dinky
mossy dells.

All the pricky hogs
come from near and nearer,
to snuff and gobble
by the brittle briery
and eat their wormy mush.

Our mucky paws clap
in gay and giggly glee
to see that munchy feast,
their piddly
licky
muzzles
chomping -
quite charming.

Adults say, 'we will catch a flea'
from their pin pointy pelts.
yet we shrug
our never minds, and
our don't cares,

even bring
one tiddly tyke home,
smuggling it up the stairs
to coddle
while we playtime
with some jolly good
fun....

Breaking Is Down

Vibrant colors
Incredible Light
Flowing source
In void...night

A flash of pink
Caught time off guard
Pause created thought
Flow gathered
Colors mixed
At what  ought not
...be

Accusation came forth
Siting difference as wrong
Desiring to be CREATOR
He was given song

He belted out vibration
Nothing flowed without sound
Creation was in awe of music
As worship danced all around

....throne

Matter against LOVE
Created a solid seed
Unyielding in pursuit
Violence against difference
Birthed need
In wormy fruit

WAR........no peace......no rest

What IS...IS
And can only ever be
Unity with Creator
In the flow from me
.......Pink.......powerFILLED....Pink

Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-18-2023

Passion

Passion

    Passion's born a wormy moon
    Laying waste our good intent...
   As desire brings forth a foolery
   Where we rile in love's torment.

      As novelty stokes our zeal
  And the impetus seems well-meant...
     It quickly dies a pauper's death
     As familiarity breeds contempt.

     If familiarity brings the winter...
       Driving passion to its knees.
   The fault is ours... and ours alone
     As we forget what's soon to be.

                Affairs of Men

  The affairs of men dim evermore...
        Morose they seem to be.
     Buffeted by the winds of fate
              And mediocrity.

Not Fishing

Muskrats are making love-play,
they are disturbing the water
under the wormy bank of the creek.

I am not fishing,
I am just looking at reflections.

I see a swan swallow a cow whole
before a ripple settles into reality,
yet still it remains
something copied from my eye.

A willow tree closes like an umbrella
which will be bad luck for the sky
if it rains upwards.

The brain sees upside down
and the mind sees inside-out.
Water adjust itself to both perspectives
as it swirls in the mouth of a rainbow trout
developing more pictures of itself.

The fish darts away
from the spears of a hunting sun.
Rainbows are not easy to catch
under water

and the muskrats are after it.
They dive into the colorblind air
creating abstract art
with their muddy paws.

Meal Manipulation

Letter from the Beeb
Addressed to me by name
Should I grasp the chance
Should I strive for fame?

Hello Fellow Food Mauler
Come and join the Eliite
Bring a clean pinnie anc
Come looking clean and neat. 
To Great British Dinners where 
I really pissed off the host
No matter what they asked for
I served ‘em Beans on toast 
My entree toast and marmite
With just a smear of Marge
With the bread sliced in four 
So it wasn’t all too large.
 
I served treacle on toast
For my simple sweet
A glass of iced water
Made my offering complete 
My menu got ‘em baffled
They didn’t know what to do
It was only by a whisker
They didn’t let me through
I should have been more daring 
And enhanced the main course
Offering  choice of Dark Soy,
Tomato, or Heinz brown sauce

Come cooking on the Tele where
If you told ‘em all it was good
They’d eat fried Elephant dung
Served  on a bit of wormy wood

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.

Oracles of Oblivion

Absent any arrogant disdain and curses 
O where are the oracles of oblivion?
Were they transformed into scattering electrons, 
Doomed to roam a panoply of multiverses? 

Will black holes pull such souls into witless demise,
In a penumbral, mindless quantum destiny?
If they placed their life bets for an eternal prize,
What a paltry payout to win for eternity!

Among all those who faithfully opt to believe,
Rejecting lifeless prophecies as do deceive,
They fare far better, oblivion or multiverse - 
True faith knows oblivion is a devil’s curse.

Mephistopheles' paradise is wormy blaze; 
Spurning devil’s delights, offers heavenly days.

Angelic Appetite

Gorgeous gobbledygook in a babe’s mouth
— masticates with angelic appetite.
From your mouth to his hearty-grumbling ear,
the stomach of his mind chews up the light,

spits out uncomprehended-oatmeal curd,
but favors the cadence of rolling tongue.
The surge of warmth in the sound of “Ma-ma,”
and often the playful silliness, strung

on a baby’s beads, tickle the tired lead.
Like an emaciated bear, he points
to the people and things he longs to pop
in his potato-famine mouth. His joints

well-oiled, never spoiled - the silver spoons’ croon.
He tastes the bittersweet of maturity.
Hears the crude erupting sounds in their vowels,
ferocious consonants - he chants with glee.

He knows not the shock value but learns quick
by the unhinged jaw drop of his mentor.
Did they think he would not repeat such pluck?
He spits out appleseeds -  wormy encore.

7/31/2021
Anything You Want
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke

*Pluck - guts, nerve, fortitude or persistance (definitions.net)

Inside Garden of Anemones

Anemones are the symbols of anticipation and fragility. 

Daffy bent down suddenly, and picked a small startled white flower. “Anemone,” he said, handing it over; he made her repeat the word until she had it right. “Find me a silk to match that.”

—Emma Donoghue


INSIDE GARDEN OF ANEMONES


   inside garden —

its wiggle of ultra fine threads,

pastel blue and pink wormy stems.

   full-frontal petals, contiguous.

blossom’s cerulean, buttercup and bittersweet.

  the velvet sky, black.

            its vibrant neon flowers

      bright, float in the canvas-night,

though a few, unopened, droop

      like indian pipes.

spread of unscented paint —

   dry, flat, spurning soil,
a floral garden
   surrounded by
a golden frame.

          its wall is white.

3/12/2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form
Sponsor: Constance La France

anemone — pronounced “uh nem uh nee”

Home Soil

vivacious roses pose

in air

oxygen free from the stem

arising like balloons

resurrection of rosies

blushing brides at peak

before their spoiling

before their mistreat

their passionate gowns sweet

wormy stems
await greening apples
Eden’s eschew

the ladies wave bye-bye

preferring the troposphere

fear of flying

ain’t there

angels, palms up,

invite their climb

up golden stairs

heaven is a lighthouse

waves crash on dry and crusty land

petals fall like rain

dowry to the grooms

wives look nothing like the brides

kites tied to home soil

desperate for heaven

a few grooms

smooth

the bed

water the roots

the rose thrives

2/24/2021

*Salvidor Dali’s Bleeding Roses

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