#pest
White butterfly, white butterfly,
You fluttered in, and I
was captivated by your flittering dance;
Was it an eternity's trace
that I thought you were beautiful —
I said to another,
“Have you but seen a white butterfly?”
I noted that I have seen:
ones with streaks of purple in between,
Black and white ones,
And brown and yellow ones,
What delight!
Curious, I searched,
And found that they are, in fact, besmirched.
Like the White Witch,
In The Lion, the Witch
And the Wardrobe, ******* you in,
Lulling you into a deep sleep,
So you could not keep, and they devour your harvest!
Armed with water
Spray, hands in garden gloves,
I went without delay,
Into my garden,
I let fly
Copious fungi repellent,
And promising fertiliser.
I weeded and shovelled,
I pleaded and grovelled,
And sent up a prayer.
To the One who is higher there.
Now, look who’s boss,
I will delight in you.
Without loss!
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 7:39 PM UTC
Gurgles of agitation trickled down your spine
Reflexing motion
Your timing made it die
All of it for nothing but peace is embedded in your mind
As long as you’re happy
Everything should be fine
Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 8:55 PM UTC
Oh gawd it must still be mating season for hooligans
cause I just saw another 10th year trend setter
trying to wear hand me down XXL retail theft pants
Which obviously impeded walking and running
In addition to exposing kool-aid hickey on trend setter baboon ****
Feb 25, 2023
Feb 25, 2023 at 3:33 PM UTC
hollow.
sunken.
depressed.
what a mess
in the flesh.
and i contest
you to confess
that i am in fact
a pest.
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 10:27 AM UTC
The Desk
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
of things sometimes.
I wonder how
he learned at all . . .
He saw T-Rexes down the hall
and dreamed of trains and cars and wrecks.
He dribbled phantom basketballs,
shot spitwads at his schoolmates’ necks.
He played with pasty Elmer’s glue
(and sometimes got the glue on you!).
He earned the nickname—“teacher’s PEST.”
His mother had to come to school
because he broke the golden rule.
He dreaded each and every test.
But something happened in the fall—
he grew up big and straight and tall,
and now his desk is far too small;
so you can have it.
One thing, though—
one swirling autumn, one bright snow,
one gooey tube of Elmer’s glue . . .
and you’ll outgrow this old desk, too.
Published by: TALESetc, A Bouquet of Poems (for children of all ages), Better Than Starbucks. Keywords/Tags: desk, school, spitwads, glue, teacher’s, pest, broke, golden rule, failed, test
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 5:55 AM UTC
From the thick green canopy
The rain oh how it wept
d d d
r d r
i r r
p i i
p i
p p
Creating a sad mucky galaxy
Where the mosquitoes brood is kept
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
i’m a fish out of water
drowning in the air
throw me back overboard
i’ll be fine, i swear
even if i sink to the bottom
it’ll probably be for the best
i’ve heard that death by drowning
is a good way to get rid of a pest
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
Roses symbolise her appearance,
but deep beneath her façade lies a poisonous pest.
Society.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
A bullet
so small and strong
struck right where
my lungs met.
Embedded itself
this insult of occult
fake tidings riding on
elitist snobby attitudes.
A bullet
or was it an insult?
Either way, I am plummeting
towards humiliation street
with my tail between my legs.
A bullet
was that woman's sharp words
cutting through my skin
like a paper cut gone berserk.
She was a joplin spider
stuck in a ditch
and I should have
smashed her spindly
weak legged body
under my heavy black boots
creating an ugly stain
that looks like gunpowder
or left over oil
spilled over
with the utmost disrespect.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
I hate you, my love.
I hate how I will always be misunderstood
I hate how much I struggled
After trying so hard
If dying was my saving grace
Will my angel take me away?
Or will the devil pull me down to the ground?
I hate you
But I could never do
Hate is not my saving grace
It is what will doom me when my life is taken away
And for you my dear,
It will not be your pleasure.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
House prepare for the attack
This will be an ongoing combat
It will be a more Raid than the Roaches would expect
Roaches may think the hotel house they have checked in
But the mission is **** them until the end
Block every moving path
Leave no turn undone
Let the victory be that we have won
Your house is your own separate place
It doesn’t require roaches to take up space
It’s time to completely erase
We could be outnumbered
But let our defense be unmatched
Let the roaches feel our attack in catch
Let’s make sure the roaches don’t check in
Let the forces begin
Our mission will be complete, and there will be no thinking defeat.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
The life span of a housefly
is approximately a month
Imagine if that was the lifespan
of everyone in this room,
from birth to death--
in just a month we grow;
learning to walk, talk, eat pancakes, perceive god,
light fires, play guitar, make coffee, cook lobster,
learning to hula-hoop, to snap, to use the toilet
and/or discovering your favorite shades of red,
the first time merging with the opposite ***
all in the span of a month.
How intense must that life feel?
Not to mention the physical growth
of bone, skin, heart, feet all the way
from birth to death in a month.
I think people would live quite differently;
laws would cease, save for the natural ones,
like the lifespan of a month.
Such learning with great intensity
compact into such a short time...
In this way I envy the housefly;
the fly that lands on dog ****
risking a shorter life swatting death
to drink some sweat or
warm up for a spell in your home.
What a life,
the life of a fly in time.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
I am far too tired:
No time for foolishness now,
Stop pestering me.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC