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neth jones Aug 2023
can’t sleep   in summer night swelter
beetle clicks on its back
the cat (and cause)   watches it 'do the Kafka'
summer 23
no.2

12/07/23
Madeline Hatter May 2023
There is a dead beetle on the floor in the bathroom.
It has been there for weeks.
Someone must have noticed it but paid it no mind.
More than someone.
Someones.
No one has bothered its carcass.
Its legs are curled in at odd angles, not unlike an infant sleeping.
Someone would notice an infant sleeping.
An infant sleeping on the floor of a bathroom.
Or an infant dead in a bathroom on the cold, grey tiles.

The color of its dark body is in stark contrast to the light floor, but still it is ignored.
Have I been bright enough in this life to stand out?
Am I light against the dark?
Or dark against the light?
Will I be remembered?
As I slide through the experience of living, I don't know what impression I've made.
Am I the dead beetle?
Will I be the dead beetle?
My life has not been bold.
One may only presume the same of the beetle.
There are too many people in this world for me to be a true stand-out.
I merely exist.
No matter my color against the background of life, I am simply waiting to be swept away.
As inconsequential as a dead beetle in the bathroom with little attention paid.

There is a saying that everyone dies twice.
First when you leave the mortal realm.
The second time when your name is last spoken and your memory ceases to exist amongst the living.
What if you never live and are paid no mind.
Can you really die then?
What if I am not even the beetle?
What if I'm less than a drop in the bucket in the universe and I slip through the cracks of society?
At least the beetle gets a poem.
Jia Ming Jan 2023
I see the beauty flowers show;
imagine in the wild—
My oversight before July
had been a blindness mild.
The beetle brought her grandness by
erupting sight untold—
neth jones Nov 2022
beetle like foetal
shrink wrapped pebble
peddling twig ticking limbs
shrouded  wings
so sung    into its sorcery  
jewel cracked    meal like  delicately 
delicacy         if commuted to mouth
however    it is committed to the air
strike veins and charge the tissue
sprout the wings    freed
cupped caring breast beats on the air
heavy beetle           upright suspends
carried with pendulum dignified flair
a businessman of the sky till arrival
with a mandible crown in place
of a stiff bowler hat
and limbs flung
ready to greet
or do battle
birdy Dec 2021
glistening,
the beetle gleams.

it looms over.
the shadow darkens,
closing in
and cracking down in a bursting chaos.

lifting up,
reveals a mosaic of remains.

death more beautiful after all.
Elymaïs Jun 2021
Buzzing blue beetle
Tumbling clumsily
Over my head;
Striking my chest and
Falling into my lap,
Apparently unbothered.
How did you get in?
It doesn't matter.
I'll place you outside.
You open your wings
And spring off into the air.
Nick Stiltner Jun 2021
Ah, once more a day in vacant rays
A webbed window, cracked gently to let the breeze by.
Through,
a minute an hour,
a bee lands on a flower
succumbing to desire,
a move with a purpose
It’s assuredness I admit breaks a chunk from my confidence

What is what isn’t what could what couldn’t
Is of no concern to a bee, imagine how free that would be
A beetle crawling up the bark of a tree,
Oh, just for an instant
I wish I could see the life that you see!
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Tell me, my dear,   why      you keep

that golden sun beetle      tied so       tightly around your neck?

You say       that you feel naked without it, as

                           it hangs gently

        over your *******.

                         But let me tell you something.

I feel naked without you wrapped around my neck.

                      I am totally and completely exposed without your love

       to shield me from the night.

But your arms are not a ribbon.

                                  I cannot keep you on

a leash.

             Nor do I want to.

Darling, you are           the most valuable thing in the universe            to me.

And because             you mean so much,                     I must let you fly free.

I cannot keep you tied around my neck like the scarab on yours.

I can only hope that you'd willingly hang around.
This poem was written in 2016.
It's inspired by a golden beetle necklace I had years ago.
J Oaks Sep 2018
Spider
and Beetle
Sun and Moon
Sun and Moon
Sun and Moon
Tired
and feeble
Sun and Moon
Sun and Moon
Sun and Moon
Sun and Moon
Spider
and Beetle
Kevin Castro Apr 2018
He reached into the paper bag his friend handed over and pulled out a small picture frame.

“Do you want it?” his friend asked.

He turned it over carefully to see what was in the frame. Through the glass, he saw a beetle mounted in cotton, displayed along with a strip of paper that held its name. It looked like something good to have hanging in his room.

“Yeah, but why?” No one just gives away nice things. At least no one gives stuff away without a reason.
“Why, what?”
“Why are you just giving stuff away?”
“Oh,” silence, “I just don’t need it.”

It was a non-answer, a truism, something people say just to get people to asking questions without lying. That’s not enough, he thought. If there was anything he knew about his friend, it was that he liked to talk.

“Wait, so why don’t you need it?”
“Just take the whole bag. Maybe just give back the 3DS games”

He turned the frame around. There was a mark in the back, like someone tried to open it up with ballpoint pen that ran out of ink. Whoever made it gave up after one try but still managed to leave pinholes in the cardboard.

“Are you sure?”
“I think you’re asking too many questions for free stuff, guy”

He looked through his friend’s bag, wondering what else was inside. It was clothes, mostly, and ruffling through it wafted up a scent. The smell and the fabric, it was decidedly feminine to him. He had more questions, more thoughts to investigate.

A car, pulled over next to them. “My ride’s here,” his friend said.

He looked at the beetle. Its wing casings were a sickly yellow. He saw a few writhing brown dots come from under it. He felt sick. Maggots, he thought.

“Carlos,” he called out, handing back the bag, “I’ll keep the beetle”

His friend turned back, took the bag and left.
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