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Rebecca Gismondi Oct 2016
king of the sea,
with a rigorous exoskeleton peeling away
moulting causes such distress,
exposed to the thrashing undertow of the sea
and enemies

who protects you?
a callow arthropod poised on fractured shells

it isn’t your father,
balancing a bottle of brandy between his lips
or your confidant,
skidding his tires across your mind

a starfish tried,
she threw her arms round your shell
as you added new muscles underneath
she stuck her tube feet in her claws
as you brittled her skin
she said I love you
and you retreated

when you are 70
and clamouring the floor
put your arms behind your back to beckon her to you
try –
she is the sea and no one owns her.
dj Dec 2012
what on earth is this feeling
(yellowing formaldehyde)
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

a vivisection, never healing
coat & spray on the insecticide
what on earth is this feeling

criminal butterflies stealing
the cogs & screws in my arthropod insides
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

heartthrobs come frenzied then unfeeling
my vague worries preside
what on earth is this feeling

whateverphobia; a personal ceramic ceiling
to myself, is how I've always lied
kind of like old heartbreak reeling

carcass littered webs are usually unappealing
my own web has much to elide
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
what on earth is this feeling
the villanelle has been often used (for the element of repetition in the form) to express feelings of dislocation and disassociation. I've always found it ironic that such a rigidly structured poem could be used for such a feeling. (I completely said '**** it' with the meter, though)
Tengo Dec 2019
you will thrive in your own cocoon—
legless arthropod wriggling out
of its leaved shell, crunching
on the stem of a marigold’s shrivel.
you crawl up the leaves like they’re
the steps of a winding staircase,
circling and circling to one day
step out of your cocoon.

you are your own skin—
a wing ripped in figure
eights of formative tearing.
at the bottom of a
wind-leaned green tower,
you are torn down as if starting all
over again, away from the pace of
a hundred other caterpillar’d creatures.

you are not quite a monarch butterfly,
not yet the zebra-patterned black and white,
but you bloom in the form of a familiar marigold, a daisy’d curve—
thriving as a flower, swaying and alive.
you must visit the filial leaves and trace
their veins gently.

soon you will thrive in your own cocoon;
as those plant’d seeds will
soon leave legless arthropods wriggling—
for how would a caterpillar’s cocoon wither
without your leaves crinkling beneath it?
beginning to love a change i initially hated.
Dancing in the rain
washing away the pain,
darkness, is a place of true madness;
a place the sun never truly shines
sunset you will only crave to see,
and it only give shattered dreams,
I sit alone on those rainy night
crying my eyes out for true love
to open his ears to me;
but only weaknesses come to me,
I am no arthropod that web traps
because I am the one that has fallen in it,
city of lies is always nearby;
Dark Angels; eyes are always on me,
like a wolf looking for food;
He makes me feel so drowsy
when he kisses my lips
I began to float,
like I was light as a feather floating in
the autumn breeze;
with a sweet shyness about me
that takes over me,
when he plays around with my hair
It feels so nicely touched;
I loved that so much,
He would take me in his arms
and he would charm my heart,
rarely he ever makes me feel this away
then he calls me beloved;
this is where I know to wake up,
he cast a spell on me.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
Luscious Spring is wonderful avian theater ... The cameo appearance of Bradford Pear ,  a fragrant , beneficial Chestnut Tree of April ..

Melodious springtime , 'Creations Opus stage ..'
Voluminous , arthropod soloist , capering
the riparian rivers , break the searing afternoons ,
sing to me , the cool blessing of night ...
Copyright March 31 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Jonathan Scott May 2014
Foolish beetle, rolling a ball of waste,
Do not you know your feces has no worth?

What a waste of the precious gift of life
In light of bright white stars and vast blue seas,
There is so much more in the world than dung,
Alas with indefatigable grit,
Perhaps a curse of Darwinian perfection,
You pack and push your single earthly thing,
From place to place. It is the only life
You know or have been taught to know.
And though I want to pity you, small arthropod,
I too know how it feels to wander on one’s own,
Wondering why and when the time to quit
Amassing an incessant ball of ****.
L T Winter Sep 2014
Staring at endemic
This aráneam friend; crossing-
Few limbs attempting.

Spindle weaving spigots; as-
He levitated eighteen--
Appendages, bewildering
Dainty beauty.

It was his connection--
To sound that; perplexed.
Me-as-the-human.

Watching, watchers, tick.

Patiently pretending my dear-
Arthropod; that scares.
Dancing in the rain
washing away the pain,
darkness, is a place of true madness;
a place the sun never truly shines
sunset you will only crave to see,
and it only give shattered dreams,
I sit alone on those rainy night
crying my eyes out for true love
to open his ears to me;
but only weaknesses come to me,
I am no arthropod that web traps
because I am the one that has fallen in it,
city of lies is always nearby;
Dark Angels; eyes are always on me,
like a wolf looking for food;
He makes me feel so drowsy
when he kisses my lips
I began to float,
like I was light as a feather floating in
the autumn breeze;
with a sweet shyness about me
that takes over me,
when he plays around with my hair
It feels so nicely touched;
I loved that so much,
He would take me in his arms
and he would charm my heart,
rarely he ever makes me feel this away
then he calls me beloved;
this is where I know to wake up,
he cast a spell on me.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, I regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir-faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by a spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature.
--------------------------------------------------------
A Place Revisited Within The Mind
(an illusory escape during dead of winter).
The shafts of a golden veil, spring sun at noon
break through the heavily coated
overgrowth of leafy foliage
and cause shadows spar upon the forest floor.

In a field of wild
a mosaic of crystalline color
from the prismatic play of sunshine
upon the silently talking heads
of the swaying stalks.

the scintillating and sparkling rays
in unison with the weft
(and warp across an invisible loom)
weaves a delicious tasting warm breeze,

(which sways the boughs of treetops to and fro,
akin to an unseen baby being cradled)
brings a ladled spate of cool freshness
from the map-cap world (webbed wide)
of a manmade existence.

The grandeur of the fallow spring meadow
a pageant of exquisite dignity
by the graceful movements
from the un-choreographed fall and rise
of the unplowed acres

eyes orbit, ear re Canal,
and twitching nostrils of sensate beings
to the mellifluous sounds
and sweet smelling aromas
that gently teasingly assault the senses
beguiling the sight,

and lulling ears into a transcendent state.
A buoyant airy tonal plume
rises into the surrounding heights
touches the breadth of cerulean sky
and scythe lent lee gently tumbles back down
like a merry widow waltzing flowery waterfall.

In quiet circumspection
the antics sans plethora of BuzzFeed ding
busily buzzing foraging insects,
which contentedly hum and alight nearby

flitting to and fro
oblivious to plaudits encore
harmoniously thriving
within the living laboratory

of Mother Nature,
sans, Insects or Insecta are by far
count as the largest group of
hexapod invertebrates
within the arthropod phylum,

where simultaneously
underneath the earthen surface
the ground this abustle with
glorious heartthrob
of one micro universe
comprising architects, builders, and weavers
engage in all manner
of natural devices for a livelihood.

This brilliant splendor tantamount
with top-notch operatic performance,
a sensational visual and audiological feast
hypnotizing one humble human (me)
into an inebriated state of bliss.
Koel Jun 2020
Ripples in a contrasting sky
borrowed from its red twin
the obelisk stood in black relief
a windmill motionless despite the
whirr of arthropod wings
suddenly a flop and a splash
Ghostly vessels under the paint
who sink, bringing together
disparate moments
the puzzle separated by decades
find each others' kin
Norbert Tasev Mar 2020
You have to stay inside, strive for the right. Turning to ourselves, we still need to know, believe, and hope: Deliberately conceal the hidden sufferings and secrets of humans to more vulnerable souls who, with understanding, can go on another string. Over the years, striped Adam costumes have been covered with a bunch of hair bundles, and the Heart is throbbing confidently and discreetly among the gray strands that hide here and there!

- Inside ourselves as a groping mole, like under the extended hats of vulnerable hedgehogs and mushrooms, in search of nourishing insect-arthropod delicacies! All will! It binds to itself like hardened concrete, wounds like velvet stubble,

- we feel crushed, sized and broken under the weight of responsibility, broomstick eyelashes, a wardrobe of barbed wire: Watching hands beg for unbelievable opportunities!

- Yourself Faith: Yourself Existence Or Or Breathe Like A Natural Formation From The Harmonic Crossing Of Biologies - It's never too late to find it again! You must not lose - inside your broken pots - if you can rebuild, even in the last line of battle, to go forward against the savage, squeaky hatching of bullets, but with the ignorant herds of sheep not raised, but in cover, even by outlaws !

The Great Bottle: A Reflection of Our Conscience Often - It Happens To Be Blooded, Often Rips: We Can Leave Our Adam Costume - Believes The Equalized Equation Of Our Birth, Crisp On Our Bones, And Tense: Our Weakness Concentrates! We are silent, incorruptible Ancient nature will not have mercy now - we are stumbling across the thorns of vulnerable human taunts - and Man, if done well

not only will the memory of his earthly life be merciful to him, but his creative charisma can be realized under the creative hands!

— The End —