Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Heaps of praise showered  
On the firmament
On planets and stars
Hearts overwhelm by beauty of nature
Poetry in abundance
Worms face stark discrimination
No one writes about them
No one sympathizes with them
For they're lowly creatures
Inhabitants of sludge and sullage
Stinking gutters, places suit them
Mankind loathes them
For they live in toxic environment
Toxic not for them
But for humans
Humans think
Worms are pitiable creatures
Live in helly conditions
Worst kind of creation
Undergoing punishment
Curse anyone?
Say with bitterness
Be a worm of a ***** gutter
As if it would
Be a worst kind of punishment
Foolish they're
Worms live in
Most favorable conditions for them
Making hell for humans
Sense of sight
Sense of hearing
Missing for them
They live happily in their environment
Humans blessed with
Sense of sight
Sense hearing
Turn blind and deaf
To human misery
Worms living in human form
Teeming millions
Slum dwellers on this earth
Befriending worms
In stinking gutters
In reality
Lowliest creatures
Flush out stinking gutters
Let's bring them to better conditions
Make humans
Of worms in human form!
A bold density of memory anchors,
scattered across a past
where colour saturates
like someone sat on the remote control,
holy hand grenades on loose afternoons
with the slap and bicker of passing the joypad
in blithe ignorance of washing piles
deadlines and empty pockets

Drifting in the now, helium light,
well-heeled but drab,
absent fingers trace the slight links
on the line around arthritic ankles
as they gently, surely give
morseismyjam Apr 12
i spent
the afternoon on the
lawn in a clover patch
plucking the 4th leaf off

because last month
was so clouded
and i shone too bright

too gaudy

but now i'm here
fixing these little *******
taking their 4th
leaving 3

increasing their chance of survival
like i did with that worm
on the sidewalk this morning
i
picked her up and
hurled her into grass and
I didn't look back.

sometimes salvation is violent.
eat this **** up you ******* emos
Francie Lynch Mar 31
I was told if I ate worms,
I could fly.
Ever since, I've stepped over sun-baked sidewalk worms.
I recall eating an orchard apple from the ground.
That didn't end well.
Rockwell suggested frying them.
Hamlet punned about worms travelling through a King.
Don't be called a worm.
Don't worm your way in,
You'll likely find a hook.
I'm forever grounded.
The worm hasn't turned.
Thomas Rockwell wrote How to Eat Fried Worms.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 22
Let's say,
you're an apple,
but you'd rather be a pear.

The internet recommends
phoning the produce gods,
in hopes of being replanted.

However, there's a catch:
it's a collect call
to another dimension.

And so you sulk and rage,
and pretty much bruise your skin,
until it dawns on you:

Wormholes are
spacetime's phone booth,
and it just so happens,
you're full of them!

Yes indeed!
Going bad never felt so right...
Maria Mitea Mar 7
the body of the world dies slowly under the blue sky,
- ants are also in competition with death,
they recycle their ***** in plastic bags,
sunflower seeds chew their own shell,
the sun dies slowly on terra”s body pierced by white worms.
Zipper Mar 5
My head is full of worms
They squiggle around
making little indistinct noises
and i can't understand what they say but
it sounds nice.
Like a soft rustling
that wants to alert me of
their presence
but not be distured by me.
"I'm here!"
they say,
"But don't think too hard!"
"Or we'll disapear."
And you'll be left with
an empty head
Andre Vrdoljak Oct 2020
Wanna rescue earthworms
All about on the drive?
Throw ‘em back on the grass
To try keep them alive

The rain has come down hard
And flooded their worm home
Beneath where they all live
We can’t leave them alone

Before the hot sun welds
Them all to the cement
And long before their last
Squirm and wriggle are spent

Hurry and grab a twig
We’ll save ‘em, you and I
We won’t get them all
But be sure we will try
Gabriel Herrera Jul 2020
I hate cut grass

It is only a reminder that no matter how hard you shave it down

It just grows back vengeful

The due process only settles with the bag of worms let out

Airing out all the dirt

Making an already tense situation now uncomfortable

Like prickling grass between your toes when you've lost your chanclas

I hate cut grass

Love the smell

But that's besides the point
Next page