The waterbug and the ladybug
Fell in love with each other
But they couldn't work it out
They couldn't get it together
Ladybug said " I can't swim "
And water bugs can't fly

Ladybug swung down like a swing
Kissed him with her wing
One touch and the connection was made
Ladybugs love was real
Waterbug cried tears of sadness
For the first time he could feel

The day's turned into years
Ladybugs memories grew
She took her love to the waters edge
She didn't know what else to do
Waterbug was there in his lillypad home
So much his
But still he lived his life alone
Ladybug lived in his mind
There's nobody like her in the water to find

"Ladybug, I'll always love you"
He said very sincere
Waterbug then whispered in her ear
"If you ever need me, I'm always here"

Yesterday I held a ladybug in my hand

Picked it up from where it was,
vulnerable on the floor of the church

The music around seemed to fade away
as I stared at the little ladybug,
hoping it was alive

It didn't move but I held it in my hand still
as I prayed that someday live would work out
praying that God would be there to hold me when times got tough.

And that little ladybug started moving in my hand
Safe from foreign feet that would **** it.

I know this is silly

But I saw myself in that ladybug.

I am this little vulnerable creature
Yet God holds me in the palm of His hand.  

And I know...

I

Am

Safe

I knew it'd happen.
A dead Ladybug over our heads.
But we drank.
Beer,
Champagne,
Sun.
We painted our nails
Black, red, ladybug's dead

Out we went,
In our finest.
One drink down,
New town.
Sticky floors, sticky web, the Ladybug hung dead.

I say something,
to you.
I know it's going to happen.
You fume.

Tick, tick, tick...

You start to shout.
Cigarette.
Here we go.
I'm not backing down on this,
I'm trying to help!

Help me, help me, set me free, let me live, ladybugs free!

*****

I bite my lip

SNOTTY

I breathe

LIAR

I blow

Tears spill on your face,
My truth comes out,
You pushed me!

Poke, Poke, Push!

Poke, Poke, Push!

We hurt each other.
Over nothing.
Over something you don't like?
What is it?
I give up.

Taxi for one,
Taxi for two.
My head is heavy,
Eyes weak.
I'll be the bad guy.
You'll cry to them,
and lie, lie, lie!
Fly, fly, fly far away. Ladybugs aren't here to stay.

a ladybug in spacious blue
splattering specks of red and black
with miniature aerial stunts
that speckle through uncaring air

it takes a keen eye to notice
a ladybug in spacious blue
a tiny snippet of fancy
in the otherwise simple sky

whizzing past wonderfully so
no trail or perfect plan concerns
a ladybug in spacious blue
her patterns flying forward fast

unhindered by specks of debris
fitting an insect debonair
sweetly dressed for a world's party
a ladybug in spacious blue

Ladybug, where does thine own self dwell? Thou art quiet, defiant; a leader of the pack of colorful shells.
Thou hast lined the wall's with thine wing's spread far wide, thou hath tried to flyeth, yet only end back from whence thou began!!!Creature no one understands.
Flourisher of restfulness, gathering knowledge to gain speed. After all no one seeith the smallest beauty such as thyself! Doth thou need help?
Is thy destination predetermined as mine feels? You'd walk slower in heel's if that was the case......
You'd rush the highest branch to calleth the view thine own place!!!
Such a lonesome face, thy cataract's seeith in all views... Old and new, ugly and complete!!! You've seen all brokenness and defeat! Haven't you the smallest of loves?
Angel of bugs, spotted ladybug of mine.......


©Lonesome poets poetry
©brandon Nagley

I found a dead ladybug in the sink
after washing a head of lettuce
the red had faded to peach
and the legs no longer reached for life

~

Standing in the school playground
during a warm fall afternoon
a bright red bug with black spots
lands on my arm

I can feel its little legs trembling
as it shimmies along my forearm
slowly turning my hand over
when it reaches the wrist

~

I hope that ladybug landed
on as many hands as possible
as a harbinger of joy
simply with its presence

short little story I wrote, and it was published in Inkitt!!!!**

I’ve always played the piano, ever since I was a little girl. I started taking lessons from my neighbor when I was seven years old, and on my tenth birthday my family moved- in the living room was a lovely wooden grand piano. My favorite songs to play are soundtracks to plays and old movies. I imagine myself in the starring role, with bleach blonde hair and bold red lipstick. If I close my eyes, I imagine myself playing my piano and singing to the audience. I’m lousy at singing, Mommy says it’s my age. My voice gets weak when I try to sing very high, and I’m not much good at singing low. But I picture it anyway.
When I do math homework, as I am doing right now, the numbers turn to music notes and the symbols to dynamics, and I get caught up in the fantasy- I pretend my pencil is a baton and I am conducting an orchestra, the audience applauding me after we finish and take a bow.
“Dottie.” Mommy stands in the kitchen, looking at me. I look down at my math homework, and I have not written anything down. My pencil was too busy leading my imaginary symphony. She turns back to the onions she was slicing, satisfied that I’ve come back down to earth. I could never imagine having a life like hers. Mommy doesn’t work, she stays at our house while my brother and I are at school. She does all the cooking, the cleaning, the darning, the ironing, the consoling, and every other thing I could think of. I have too many dreams of music and movies to stay in one place like that and dedicate my life to my family. If I even have one- the idea of having kids makes me feel icky. But Mommy seems so happy. She is smiling right now, humming along to “Dancing Queen” as it plays on the radio behind her. She has a college degree, in business. I’ve seen the paper in the frame in her bedroom. In has her name on it in big curly letters.
I look down at my math homework again, but a bright red ladybug is crawling across the page. It is cherry red with little black spots. I often wonder if bugs remember their home, or get homesick. They travel so far and explore so many different homes, it must be impossible to find their way back. Or maybe bugs are just bugs. Mommy says I am “over-analytical.” I think ladybugs are the friendliest insect (if anybody’s counting.) It crawls over my fingers and into the palm of my hand, unshielding its delicate little wings and flying into the air and onto the windowsill. It crawls back through the open pane, and out of my little world. How I would love to be a ladybug.

You shameful lady
Upon your back, stains of sin
Red for all to see

Baby ladybug, how I'll love you when we meet,
From your newly thinking head to your newly tapping feet.
How you'll fly out in the sunshine, pick a petal for your seat;
Lovely baby ladybug, how I will love you when we meet.

Little lady luck
bug crawls up and
stuck, I try to save her
reach for her gently
but too strong and maybe
I should've gone slower
now she is dead
and my heart it has lowered
fix her a nice bed
of dirt
and fill it with leafs
she will sleep long
though her life was so brief
miss her already
though it doesn't matter much
in the long run
but now the popcorn is done
and so back to the movie
pick up and smoke
and now what was I doing?