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William Eberlein Feb 2013
Long has been this night.
With the wind
and it's freezing white.

Long has been this night.
With the moon
and all it's gleaming light.

Long has been this night.
With the dark
and all it's endless might.

Long has been this night.
With the silence
and it's unrelenting bite.
Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
As the moon shines
And the stars decorate the sky,
A lonely owl hymns
While the bats fly.
Lightning bugs scatter around
Like will-o'-the-wisps at night,
Without any sound
Oh, what a delight!
The neighbour's hound is on guard
She will not allow anyone to pass,
No one is allowed in her yard
At this hour, only a fool will walk on her grass.
Her howl pierces the air
Bringing an end to the silence,
She announces she won't share
She will not tolerate any form of violence.
Across the street, few floors above
Two players are taking their turns,
In the famous game of push and shove
While a tiny candle burns.













Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
As usual, I will not explain this poem. I think it is evident by now that I won't explain any of my poems to you. I want you to perceive it the way you want to. Happy reading!
I L U like my ***** clothes
Love being forgotten
On my bedroom floor

I L U like chores love the
music that helps them
forget they're chores

I L U like ***** dishes
Love hot showers and
the other side of the sink

I L U like I love spilling
Salt, and warding off the evil
By tossing over my shoulder

I L U like I love
Breaking rules about
my own supposed
Bulletproof non-Superstition

I L U like black cats love
Bad luck, cause to them,
It's just Friday, you know?

I L U like the hot dog bun
Loves staring at the beef patty,
Wishing "if only, if only"

I L U like bread loves
Being forgotten till we're really hungry
And then we're all ungrateful, like
"Hey bread, you remember us?"
And bread is high above us, like
"Always."
Not even a hint of scorn

I L U like the first time I saw
Jurassic Park, The dinosaurs
Were real enough for me,
Even sans chicken feathers, and
Who needs modern science anyways
when love has no fossil records?

I L U like the weather loves
Surprise parties.
I L U like painful
surprise party memories love
being forgotten on my bedroom floor

I love you like Mayflies love living,
oh so briefly, once a day, every single day,
Chapter one to chapter none

I love you like mayflies love themselves,
brevity and all, stirred by nothing but
the glow of Dawn's light,
Dead by dusk, the Mayfly never fully
completes metamorphosis, so it dies
in complete incompletion,
but that's okay.

It drank the salt ocean,
it breathed the living air,
And that's how I want to L U
Mayflies are cool little buggers.
Nicole Ashley Feb 2015
I am blue
I am black and white altogether
I can tell today is not my day
Not my day
Not even with you
Not my day
I feel trapped like an insect
Under and inside a glass cup
I am the insect and cup altogether
Transparent but unseen
From the inside
No one can hear me
I'd rather that so
I'd rather them not hear me
All the white noise
Clicked off from the world
I shut down
I'm under and inside the cup
Squirming yet staying still
Never moving evermore
I am blue
I am black and **white altogether
I can tell you this
Today is not my day
Even as I write these words
Not my day
The world's noise was clicked off
As I was put under and inside this cup
Not my day
I hate being in and under
Bug in a cup
Not my day....
I don't fear your darkness
surreptitiously speaking
With a condescending voice
you think you're keeping
My eyes gaze is never far away
and the glint in your eyes
tells me more than it has to say

The fact that some would run reeling
At the side of yourself shown
you find less appealing
Is a cynical fiber
which you've taken to reeling
While weeping and reaching
for understanding and feeling
I can only display what escapes
from concealing

Revealing to you
my own demon's caress
And how it yearns for intervention
and feigns duress
Until you show up with your mess
In its subtlety
And it admires your candor
Right there where you lay
How you live with fear
Yet still show up on display

And not for a moment
Do you hide from the past
With a heart stitched on your sleeve
It remains steadfast
So I'll reach for you
Here and now at last
Before the intoxication fades
and we think too fast
Will you come play with me?
This was written a few weeks ago but still holds true. I haven't stopped loving you. Even if it feels like you don't want me around, that may just be in my head.
leyla Aug 2018
we leave the crumbs of our breakfast
on the windowsill, where we can watch
the ants arrive, and carry them away,
to their hills at the base of the maple trees.
they can't talk to us, but we can sense
their tiny gratitudes.
skin against skin, and tongues against
tongues, the glow from our faces is just
enough for the moths to recognize, for
them to want to dance around our heads.
they bask in the light of our love, and we
know they feel it too.
i live to see you smile, the kind of smile
that shines so brightly, like the way a leaf
beetle's shell does, when the sun decides
to hit it in a way that's exactly right.
they don't notice their iridescence, or how
perfect they are.
<3
Pure of Stars Oct 2018
i wrote about a girl who always looked for lightening bugs
she took her time to smell the roses
march with gentle care and love
and oh how i broke when i realized this wasn’t all she was
she wasn’t really in her garden of pretty flowers and exotic bugs
instead she was a place that no one knew of
dark and gruesome painted walls
with words so nasty pointed above
it must be selfish for me to think that
she must be alright
when really all those lightening bugs were light in my life
I keep losing poems
To a bug
And it's bugging me
Thanking the
Heavens
This one posted
swaggmaster Feb 4
they say showing your true self can be scary
and that people like to avoid it
like bugs crawling under your skin
sinking their teeth from within

theres no way to escape the mites
that pump you full of frights
they linger and quiver
until you're stuck wondering
why you're getting thinner.
Evan Palmer Feb 26
His garden was full that day
    butterflies flying around
but not flying away - here to stay
    or at least he hopes !
But he always hopes
    sometimes too much
a hopeful man - he always was

smiling when the sun is up
    a happy man - he always was
that is until the night crept in
    without the sun his light grew dim
griefs shallow drum beats deep within
    but do not fret - he'll dance again
to get over his mood of groans and shrugs
    he just needs some help
catching lightning bugs
L Sep 2018
I cant stop crying.

Theres lemon in my eyes.

Something flew into them.

Bugs.

Lemon juice.

And im cutting onions.

I just bit my tongue.

It hurts a lot.

Everything hurts a lot.

Why does it even hurt so bad.

Lifes not that bad.
CK Baker Mar 2017
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Charlotte Ivy Oct 2017
You're a piece of my dad
Sometimes I find him in your laugh
But then your smile goes crooked and your "bugs" act up again
You find clarity for a moment and then your thoughts become distorted
Was the habit to hard to break or did you think the promises I made for you were fake  
You always told me every day to never give up why can you not wake up
Dad, Jake.. ?
What's your name ?
I feel like we're strangers and I feel like your love was fake
You took a piece of my sister's away and for that I'll never forgive you
Can't you see your own ****** mistakes
You're blind and they were right you are a snake
You fried your brains and I'm afraid it's to late
I can't save you unless you want to be saved
BJ Donovan Feb 10
Thoughts flow freely
through the ether like
fireflies in early night
as we children capture
and make them ours in
jars with holes in lids
so they can breathe and
pretend to live normal
firefly lives. Dead by the
time we wake as if they
cant live in a light brighter
than their own.
We wonder at the cruelty
of our own innocence.
L B Aug 2018
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices

Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes  desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
My daughter desperate on the phone-- she and her stepson have just been witness to this scene.  Now what!  Now what!  Call mommy! Quick!
I give the household, "hunter man" the job and duty of relocation.  He objects, "But it's the way of nature!"
"Not on my watch, good man!
Not on my watch!"
The underdog gets the hand.
CK Baker Jan 2017
Under the old house
cast in conglomerate mix
the cataract window
and cracked sill
broken joists
and cross beams
wringer wash
and saddle set

A draw string light
brings life
to the corner bench
fowler toads
and fingerlings
jitter bugs
and dazzy vance
dirt planks filled
with mason
crown classics

Buggy whip
and whippletree
shelved on the
chopboard
tackle and mucks
stacked at the back
horseshoe and jack rod
bend the pike pole
a sawhorse placed
for the Martindale push

Gallon jars
and growlers
prepped
for the taking
ropes and reins
for transport
and fest
goggle eye
jumps the flyer
setting up nicely
for the
Haldimand town fair
Andrew Nov 2017
Am I attractive, hot, or ****?
Or just a forlorn idiot flexing
In order to join the *** scene?

I put a towel down
And set up a picnic
My head spins round
From the dirt they kick
On my meal
To make me feel
Scared and alone
With nowhere to roam
So I stay here laying in the sun
On the other side of a Gatling gun
I searched for a savior
Who's willing to say words
To me
For free
My search was fruitless
My eyes turned youthless

I grazed in the grass
As time quickly passed
After I finished my food
And was left there to brood
I became a floating satellite
That was accustomed to night
Because of my frights
That reflected all light

Now I see ants trying to feed on my crumbs
They must think I'm pretty desperately dumb
To not know they enforced my segregation
When I had naively sought validation
I waited there silently salivating
They responded by not validating
It's for that bitter reason
During my new season
I reflect my light on the approaching ants
So I may thwart their encroaching dance
My humble heart yearns
As I watch bugs burn

They wouldn't partake in my feast
So I morphed into a brutish beast
Now they're here to eat what's left
If they can survive my dragon's breath
They put out the fire in my heart
But ignited my mind
My useless humanity parts
As I focus on time
A time that keeps passing
While signs keep flashing
As burning bugs dying
Or sad satellites flying

My life was no peaceful picnic
After they noticed my sickness
And left me alone
For that is my home

When I don't need validation anymore
I search for love
Unfortunately I know what's in store
A picnic in the mud
Gemma Apr 2018
A field
(Grass, mud, flowers, bugs)
One winter
(Hats, coats, scarves, gloves)
Was one of my favourite walks with you.
1,2,3,4 legs running full speed
Like they were designed to.
You were thirteen
and I know age is just a number but it means a bit more now there's something wrong.
Everyday your still mistaken for a puppy
but maybe it's because that's what age you are , forever, in my heart .
Who knew, cause I never did, that a dog could finally give a hectic family a meaning ?
Who knows , I don't know, whether when it happens I'll ever be able to pass the stage of grieving ?
You were always more than enough ,
more than a hug, a walk , a fuss
You are a part of the family
And you have served us love.
From whence we tip to toast the Cocktail new
Too pricey for a Sip, if you ask me
Still, those Pubbers demand your Freshest Brew
Either for Show or Truest Cheers that be
Now who composed the Price which I complain
May rob my Wages on half-month's budget?
You have Defense, though: Is that my Domain
To liver that Sign out of my Pocket?
I suppose either way Purchased or not
Those Senses concerned will take no Notice
With Baskets fare, Bread and Butter forgot
Mix the Lager still Best Friends acquiesce.
The Currant still topped, which to Celebrate
Ignore the Side-Bugs; Light the Good Debate.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Josiah Israel Jul 2017
Deep in a magic forest, with big old magic trees
And all the magic creatures that live inside of these

There is a magic island, upon a magic lake
And on the island stands a stool, the like no man could make

And on the stool from dawn to dusk, resides a little man
Who spends his days in deeper thought, than any mortal can…

How does he think so many thoughts, well you must realize,
That though the man is small, his head is twice the normal size.

And as for food, well first of all he quite likes eating bugs
Beetles spiders, grass hoppers, slimy snails and salty slugs!

Inside his beard he keeps a hive, so honey he can eat,
And sips the dew from roses, which he grows atop his feet…

And when the night time brings the cold, the old man doesn't care
He simply covers up, with all his long and tangled hair!

Regardless of his oddities, the man is still renowned,
For being quite the wisest man, who never can be found.
This poem was told to me by a young Fairy on the road to a Wishing Well near my house.
King Panda Sep 2017
I find you
the lappet moth
like slug or bat
with fuzzy ears
stuck dead with
nothing except
the toxins of
my fever
abnormally
high and
boiling
how

perfect it is
to be under
your legs
bugs
or none
my fingers will
do the
crawling for
any insect
camouflaged
in the skin
dig

the nails
now
bits of flesh
under
tiny specks
of blood
gather
and your net
snags
words I’ve
never uttered
saige May 2018
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth

plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back

now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?

who needs a screwdriver
without a *****?
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
Mel Williams Mar 1
In silence, I pray with a reference never before known to me.
It is soft and fragile,
tentative, like a child,
small, like a grasshopper.
It floats from one ray of light to another,
with a loud whoosh that does not ask for pardon for its sound.
It speaks in a tight whisper,
throat raspy from lack of use,
or maybe too many cigarettes.
It flips onto that same cloud it floated on earlier,
moth wings flapping like some incandescent bug
lit up by the electricity of a bug-zapper.

Fear does not silence it.

--It rings its glamorous wings without entropy--

And so I offer a call into that wide madness of space.

It does not answer.

       I did not expect it to.

And that is okay.
CK Baker Jan 2017
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (womanlike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine
Deck Painting
chrissy who Nov 2012
There are certain times
Like when I’m sitting up
In the wee hours of the morning
With tears running silently down my face;
Or when I’m sitting at dinner,
But I’m not really at dinner
That I just…
Need you.
I need to know you’re there.
I need the warmth of your arm,
You sitting next to me.
I need to know I’m not alone.
It’s times like these
That I want to call you.
Hear your voice
Hear you pick up the phone.
Hear that it really is that easy.
But I know that I can’t.
You wouldn’t pick up.
The line would go dead.
For me anyway.
The lightning bugs outside my window
Would cease flickering their tails,
The sky would slowly turn
It’s breathtakingly beautiful rose,
The world would awaken
The symphony would begin
And still
The phone
Would ring.
Bryce Jun 18
All of you below
Are little tiny ant-people
Bumbling through these funny streets
Hidden beneath my shadow.

With their cut cuticles of hair
And those knotted clumps of muscle
Around the pebble streets they roam
To destinations unknown

All around are towers of steel
All air conditioned and ventricled
Made of stone and office drone
They are the buzzing hives of employables

On the street the blood cells meet
On embolic artery of Battery
On varicose Vein of Sansome
The exoskeleton of this city
Curbed with Grey
and auburn streaks

Far away
Beyond the bay
In the neck of a wood's decay
The tiny ants feast on bark
As cars fly past on an interstate.
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