Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
s1mpl3po3t Apr 16
I sat upon an anthill
The ants were not amused,
They called me inconsiderate
I was threatened and accused,
When I discovered my grievous error
I leaped up to apologize,
Brushing my clothing vigorously
Much to their surprise.

I discovered sometime later
Ants are very clever,
They will sneak inside one's clothing
Like a military endeavor,
A nibble here, a nibble there
A crawling sensation in my hair,
Getting their revenge
For disturbing their home and lair.

Ants are devious
That's for sure,
Tea tree oil was
The cure,
A lesson was learned
For future use,
Be more careful where I sit
To avoid ant abuse.
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.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2021
Living on the toilsome trail
A mere speck
Without flight
Or even the aid
From a friendly leaf blower
I make my way
Upon my belly
Born to struggle
But shaped to endure
Sara Feb 2021
I could stare at myself in the  mirror for hours.

It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.

The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.

It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.

When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.
Susan N Aassahde Feb 2021
prosecco wasps
drift on claw songs
for roots of hiccups
Man Nov 2020
these words fail
to capture any such real emotions
we talk and we talk, sure
but you can't feel my anger
frustration, my sadness
left to wonder
in a wander
through the maze that is the mind

with pen put to paper
the characters resemble more inkblots than letters

and so

yielding myself to the misery self-induced
that has, as of yet, only ate at the heels
my chrysalis burst
but no winged thing emerge
only pus, bubbling out my pupa
Hello there

insect buzzing through the air

why don't you come & sit in my snare...

                                  ...I mean chair            

I have six legs, see?

I'm just like you

oh, these?  my arms?

why yes, there's two

so come, little one

dawn has begun

take refuge from the sun

in this hammock I've spun

there, isn't that nice?

what?  your legs?

you said they won't move?

there, there my winged friend

I know just what to do!

Beware of insects with arms.
Mitch Prax Jun 2020
The love bug
is not kept in a jar
but left to roam from afar.
The love bug
must be set free
to see if it was meant to be.
jlf Mar 2020
half asleep i carefully place
lemon slices on top of all the walls and sprinkle
tea tree oil around the door
i read it wards off
or cockroaches

my roommate complains of a familiar smell
and we discuss the insurgence of nostalgia
against the monarchy of the endless march of time

the way the what could have been gilts
the grass we walk through with guilt
towards happiness

i’m singing “off with the heads
of the things i can’t forget”
tiny feet in the passage whisper

“no one has crossed a meadow
& emerged with clean feet”

i remember cursing dew as a child
for dirtying my shoes as i walked to the car
and slowing me at the start
of races i was never going to win

out in the corridor i encounter the king who
doesn’t move as i raise my foot
only laughs and says

“a cockroach can survive a week
without its head
and a memory much longer”
Next page