Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sam Lampyris Sep 10
Date written: June 18, 2024
yisselakh@myyahoo.com

Sacred Beetle

By: Yisselakh

Intro:

The beetle climbs the wall of reality
Rolling the sun into place, into the sky of dreams

Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
And they say we're guided by the stars
Or is it our hearts
Or is it our hearts
Is it our hearts

Bridge:

Is this just poetry, is this just art
Is it really the truth of what we are
I'll never truly know
You'll never truly know
We'll never truly know

Pre-Chorus:

What the wise men say
The fools will never follow
If you say so if you say so
That's how they always go
That's how they always go

Chorus:

But when her heart of gold
Shines warmly on your mold
On countless fateful noons
Your heart and your soul
Your shell like sun upon the moon

Post-Chorus:

You'll know
You'll know
You'll know
And you'll believe
And you'll believe

CODA Verse:

So the beetle rolls around the Sun
Like in dust, our soul rolls around
Like they say we're guided by the stars
And all of our hearts
And all of our hearts
All of our hearts
The Secret Lives of Sam Lampyris 1
Loosely Inspired By:
FABRE’S
BOOK OF INSECTS
RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’
TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES”
BY MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL


-------


Disclaimer:

Sam Lampyris is peeking through time from eternity. Sam Lampyris has all the time in the world. Sam Lampyris wants to know everything, Sam Lampyris wants to do everything, Sam Lampyris wants to write about everything. Sam Lampyris draws, Sam Lampyris paints, writes, learns, sings, thinks.
Sam Lampyris has many facets and many names, many interests and hobbies.
Sam Lampyris is PinkCircleLyrics,
He is Yisselakh.
He is Meynoher.
And more.
He is impulsive, and follows the ebbs and flow of his stream of consciousness faithfully.

All conscious directly inspired pastiche, homage, references, adaptation, and other derivative content will be noted, and any other similarities beyond this I can only attribute to subconscious influence, collective consciousness or unconscious, or pure coincidence.

Unlike previous works by Sam Lampyris under various pseudonyms, these works are less reactive and more proactive. This is to say that the previous poems and lyrics often sprung directly from my immediate reaction to things I have heard, listened to, read, seen or watched, and are usually much more authentic to my personal philosophy, be it intuitive or learned.

These, however, are more proactive in the sense that I voluntarily seek prompts and inspirations from books and other mediums I look to learn from and write with them in mind. I do this in order to fortify my understanding of them in my own preferred way.

However, during the writing process, my mind always, in some strange way, becomes locked in a track and I, again, seem to be always directed to follow my intuition. Thus, most of the works are non rhyming or rhyming free verses, as instead of writing with strict and consistent meters, it feels like my own being is forced to follow rhythm patterns that "feels right."

Thus, though I can't promise these thoughts are anything under the sun, in fact I can promise the exact opposite:

Ecclesiastes1:10 King James Version

"Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us."

I can promise these works are absolutely authentic to the entire being of Sam Lampyris, no matter what his name is at the time.
neth jones Aug 2023
in the worst oppressive nights
breeding chafer beetles
  bead the trees   outside the hospital
they copulate
in their hundreds of thousands

what a release
summer 23
no. 4

16/07/23
Cullen Donohue Jan 2020
So, I’m no good at online dating / That is to say I do this to myself / After a couple days of messaging, a woman asks me to write her a poem / I see this as a good thing / We have a 97% match according to the algorithm / And she says she likes the beetles / And I say I don’t like typos / I tell her I will write her a poem / And I won’t give that poem to you because it was for her / I will tell you, it began with dung beetles / I waxed poetic about how they carry **** around for three things: / love / food / and a home. / Of course I don’t know that dung beetles experience romantic love / Or I don't know that / But I do know they stare at the stars / They are the only other animal on this planet we’ve found that does that / I wonder if they — too — get lost in fireflies / There is a place in Tennessee I haven’t  been to yet / but my brother lives close by / and the fireflies there, they synchronize their lights while mating / I compare this to the planets lining up / How people assign such power and luck to small dots in the sky / How people assign luck to the dots on a lady bug’s back / How people assign luck to lady bugs / How lady bugs got their name and are perceived as a religious symbol / So are dung beetles / I’m sorry — they preferred the term scarabs / They used to push the sun across the sky / We used to give such power to such small things / And all they are doing is searching for is: / love / food / and a home. / The poem I send her is filled with Beatles references, too / Because I wanted her to know I actually knew what she was saying / Because all we need is love / Because all I really want to do is hold her hand / Because I'd just seen a face I can't forget / She doesn’t like the joke / Or the poem / Or me / Or I assume / because she never messages back / I still hope she finds those three things / Love / Food / and Home.
Ashley Kaye Jun 2019
I feel as if Life
has run me dry.
Its vast Opportunity,
my Inaction,
consumed
the last oasis

Now they, dry bones
Brittle hulls of beetles
scuttle amid sameness
We starve
for color
not dripping in red.


Nothing much thrives
In these hills
Natural word poem the 3rd. June 2019
cait-cait Sep 2018
you’re a sick, sick person
my little,
                old
love.

with eyes like ferocious , angry
beetles, you
chew into me and cut out
tiny,
        stinging
                       holes.

if only you knew i wasn’t invincible,
if only you knew
                              you were toxic.

the cement is wet when you bash my head
open,
and
the cement is still wet when it
rains.
my mom said "who cares what they think. theyll never understand it, and you dont have to say this part out loud, but things are different now."
leyla Aug 2018
we leave the crumbs of our breakfast
on the windowsill, where we can watch
the ants arrive, and carry them away,
to their hills at the base of the maple trees.
they can't talk to us, but we can sense
their tiny gratitudes.
skin against skin, and tongues against
tongues, the glow from our faces is just
enough for the moths to recognize, for
them to want to dance around our heads.
they bask in the light of our love, and we
know they feel it too.
i live to see you smile, the kind of smile
that shines so brightly, like the way a leaf
beetle's shell does, when the sun decides
to hit it in a way that's exactly right.
they don't notice their iridescence, or how
perfect they are.
<3
Devin Ortiz Jul 2017
Brown beetles, shiny shells
Embedded into my skin.
Burrowing, these crawlers
Find their home in my flesh.

I tear away, in a frenzy
For fear they'd make a stay
But this twisted dream
Ended, with the sunrise

Yet, much to my demise,
The itch, scratching, scuttling
Many legs, swimming among
All of me, an awful psychosis

I feel the digging, controlling.
Betrayed, I cannot trust where
My own extension , begins
And where insects end.
All around the world
The day comes of deep colours
To rehearse things
That are really trueful.

I care about cradle of clouds
Above my head
Black beetles to show oppression
Into their words
When I am my everything, my friend.

Celebration of friendship on the road
Happy whether they help or not
As the sky give an reflection as pure
Then I will have a day of everything.

                         By K-mari ©2016
I write about this poem about what feelings I has today when my teacher saying something about herself trueful.
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
< - - Housekeeping - - >

Why is there no checklist for life?
Can you say … recipe for disaster …
If you’re planning to fail …
… then you’re failing to plan

I cut my teeth in a house where we could eat off the floor if we so desired
The floor was either that clean or some other innate wisdom was built into that statement

And I thought my inane wisdom came from ...

Do you, don’t you want me to love you?
#9 #9
Now somewhere in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota
**** Sadie you broke the rules
Singing in the dead of night
Obla-di
Why don’t you stare into your own Glass Onion

… Beatles

(My head is spinning, ooh...
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, alight!
I got blisters on my fingers!)

— The End —