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toleomato Oct 2020
A paper wasp
Is stuck on my bus.
She is whisked away from her nest,
Miles and miles away.
I watch her,
Pensively,
As she crawls across my hand.
She will never make the trip back,
I think,
We have gone too far.
I look at her,
And in pity,
I dab a bit of juice on my finger
For her to drink.
Henrie Diosa Sep 2020
a wasp upon a flowered branch,
around and round she flew —
her carapace electric black,
her wings electric blue.

of nectar-drops inebriate, she
swerved from bloom to bloom;
i tarried from my errand, but
she wouldn't, i assumed,

but for a while. so i went on
and she went on her way;
the busywork of insectkind
their flutterings belie.
26 June 2020 — When I went out to buy a bouillon cube from our neighbour, I saw a beautiful blue-winged wasp in our white angel flowers. So I wrote a little thing for her, in imitation of my good friend Emily Dickinson.

I love how she uses these serious Latinate words for simple natural things, the badinage birds and the emolument of the sky; her work has been and continued to be an unexpected wellspring in my journey to enrich my vocabulary. I used some of my new words here. Maybe you can learn some new words with me too.
Navi Aug 2020
Can I be your honey with my stinger bunny?
Sting away those ill willed emotions and make you laugh at all things funny
Help that smile glisten a little more
Isn't it strange?
For the Sunshine Sunrise to feel butterflies
All fluttering around thoughts of you
How do you do? Firebird
Naturous charm, who ever thought a heart could be captured as such
Run with me in this meadows, lets play hide and seek.
Let us feel the energy between us, of us as separate beings.
My job had always been to help the growth or so I thought
You have taught me to grow within myself so that I do not Rot
Your arms are such a safe place, although I feel bothersome
Shane Roller Jul 2019
Your waspish smile
     Stings me
Like a hypocritical barb from a jaded glance
     A subtle trip, within a slow dance

Alas…

Your Poison ain’t what it used to be!
Rowan Oct 2018
I’ll look up and see a wasp
Or a bee, hunting around,
Ready to die.
Collaborations simplified in rivers abreast
Oh, the shores of Lethe are so delightful
With their ash marked eyes and solitude beggars
Potted plants of desiree, coal jutted shouts cross
Blanket crowds shoved in a bruised corner
With a madman screaming something about
Lasting generation and forced collaration.

See the basket cases? Claimed they were
From the devil, Dee did, muttering about kingdoms
and collard greens
With her stuffed, shrunk coat waddling round the
same Dickey’s, a corner from Westboro Baptist.
And kitty corner from the statues no one’s taking down
Cause Mr.White said nah son, that’s not right
As he bombed Bethel Baptist one more time.

And these shores are so delightful, don’t you see?
Harpooned sticks and scarecrows, oh sorry,
I meant social expectations, but who cares anyway?
Wondering why we all say “i want to die’,
Have you looked at the government mandating
People inhuman, or the money situation,
Should be on the news, but
No we here at Fox and CNN don’t believe that’s important.
Say, I don’t think we should have Onion headlines
On the New York Times.
So we say ‘i want to die’ and the Gazette tells us
it’s those **** video games again
or maybe it’s the stigma and lack of empathy from
The Powerful.

And you hear on the street,
“****’s ending this country,”
Sorry, I wanted a break from all this ******* noise
From a country pulling apart at the beaten seams
Of another unwritten book.
Anger, you’ll say, irrational, I’ll add,
But pointing at the statue in the park

And you wonder why all those wasps
And bees we look down on, the gerbils and
Hamsters
That we never pull a punch on
Why they escape through the way they know how,
Why, wouldn’t you too? But that’d require empathy, sir,
And apparently you lack more than morals, sir.

Look, there’s Dee, getting her collard greens
In her stuffy, shrunken jacket,
Round the corner from Dickey’s and cracked roads with
littered breezes blowing past cars open windows, honking and
brazen calls.

Welcome to the Lethe shores,
Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing,
Slipped a bit of Liquid X in your alcohol.
Genevieveish Jul 2018
The alligator in my swamp
The hornet in my nest
Whispered softly under the meteor showered sky,
I'm the only one who'll know.

Because he never had a soul,
He never could remember mine.
Poetic T May 2018
a finite moment of time,
stings under garments

dies happy knowing life had purpose.
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