"crawly" poems
my dad would say,
I was found under a rock.
worse things have happened.
there's life down there
we forget to see,
important work
to us all.
so maybe I count all the more
because of my
*****
creepy
crawly
grunge-eating
tiny
wet
ugly
crowded
fight-for-survival*
origin.
I'd say
I came to life
prepared.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and ***** wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'
Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!
*And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
i would like a pizza topped with cheese
then sprinkled with some gnats or fleas
some centipedes and slimy slugs
and other creepy, crawly bugs
i want to add some fingernails
and oyster ooze and crunchy snails
and chicken bones and spoiled meat
and smelly socks from ***** feed
i want it topped with lots of mold
and gooey boogers that's not too old
a lot of snot, a little spit,
and guts with grainy grit
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
In the Name of Allah the Magnificent the Beneficent, Allah you show me much of You're Gratitude, my prayer are never sufficent.
Allah my heart and soul pleads for Your Grace, my life has turned for the worse please have Mercy on my soul and all my sins erase.
Deep in the valley in the darkness of life, so difficult to find an exit that would lead me out of this strife.
I supplicate, my soul cries searching for guidance, so deep in this worldly life while crawly out of subsidence.
Reconciling and searching for the better things You offer, forgiveness in my vocal cord is stifled, my soul suffer.
Allah, Your Greatness is so sound Your Creation is so perfect in Your way, my Lord hear my prayer don't let me go astray.
The rain You bring upon us fulfills the rich supplement of life for mandkind, the lost gratitude and praises we leave so behind.
Forgive me Allah of my pass and coming sins, I beg for Your Compassion from now and till my new life begins.
Cleans my heart and soul, with Your Heavenly Grace make me as white as snow, forgiveness is the best that I know.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
bugs are scary
creepy crawly legs
trek up my own
biting my skin
feeding on my blood
for nothing but sustenance
when it comes to
bugs,
and me,
and the meadow im lying in
there simply isn't enough room
for all parties involved
so i took shrooms
there is no pain
i feel no bugs
yet we see all bugs
all bugs are dancing
in a constant state of dancing
they dance and they eat
we dance and we eat
in the meadow
for the meadow is home
there has never been another home but the meadow
the meadow encapsulates all beings that matter
the bugs
only the bugs
for i am the bugs
WE are the BUGS
THE BUGS ARE US
WE ARE THE CHILDREN
WE ARE THE WORLD
WE WILL SING UNTO
YOU, THE MEADOW
ANCIENT HYMNS FROM THE UNDERGROUND
LISTEN WITH YOUR SOUL
WE ARE DANCING
and we have danced
we danced until the sun stopped setting
for the sun can never rest
will never rest
in the presence of us, the bugs
the beautiful, beautiful bugs
we love the bugs
i love the bugs
bugs used to be scary
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 1:58 AM UTC
“Zoomy zoomy zoomy zonch, crawly, crawl **** youzy you.” the caterpillar said. She was tired of wrapping and unwrapping herself for him. She knew how much he liked it and needed it. But it was ALL he needed. Her pudgy little flesh, ready to chew and spit out. Nothing ever hurt more than that. “At least swallow me.” She said. “At least end me. But, no. Now when I go to cocoon, I’ll be sad and cold and covered in spit. “ But he nibbled her and gave her a squeeze and a slap and called it affection and went on away.
Poor little caterpillar. Her butterfly-self better be beautiful and fleeting. Because if you come round again, poor little girl gonna fly away swiftly, you best believe.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Stapled conscious to the floor again
and wrestled with warped wood panels
on paint stained cement.
Briefly for a moment, a paused paradise
emerged just beside the swinging rope light -
cobwebs.
In the basement their thin beams are darkened -
ageless art and ancient evolution converging in ****** of creation.
Sit still my friend and watch the leg ballet.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Itchy Itchy
Crawly bugs
running through your hair
1,2,3
pick em out
4,5,6
is it over yet?
Drown your head
nasty smelly shampoo
Attack on the
creepy crawlies
Itchy, itchy,
crawly bugs
Dead at your feet.
Creepy crawly
FREE
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Is there a sound for rain?
A children's book would describe it as
A pitter-patter
A soft drumming on the roof.
But these things don't seem to be
Enough
Rain.
What is it?
What does it sound like?
What does it feel like?
Rain is the breaking open of
The sky
High above
The torrential downpour of
A thunderstorm
Rain is the shadow on a
Sunny Day
My favorite shadow
The sound of rain has
no word
no spelling
Rain is the sound of
A million drops of water
Outlining buildings
People
trees
The sound of bare feet splashing
in puddles
The sound of laughter when a friend
slips
The squeak of wet shoes on a dry
floor.
The sound of a child's squeal at the
sight of a worm.
The sound of rice in a hollow log
The sound of late night walks
Louder than drizzle
Quieter than hurricane
Louder than silence
Quieter than noise
Rain is the feeling of a single
Drop of coldness hitting your
arm and raising goose bumps
Rain is the feeling of water
cascading over your legs as you
skip through a puddle
Rain is bare feet running across the
Sidewalk
Dodging each little crawly
That peaked it's head out of the soft ground
Rain is the smell of your conditioner
in your sopping hair.
Rain is the smell of newness
the smell of wet
the smell of a fresh start
permeating your nostrils.
Rain is happy
Rain is sad.
Rain is everything and nothing
In every way and no way at all.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 7:39 PM UTC
Watch this thought walk up the wall.
Watch the creepy crawly creature creeping higher.
His waste trails after him, sullying the paint.
Before long the whole room reeks.
Watch him watch you now as he sits on the ceiling.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
watching your thoughts walk circles around the room?
You used to entertain yourself with lofty notions.
You used to write to some of the thoughts down.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.
Watch this thought form a cocoon.
Watch the sleepy drawling creature sleeping soundly.
He is gestating, growing, becoming while you just sit there.
Before long he’ll be something more than you.
Watch him and listen to the sounds of change.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
in envy of a creature who’s life barely lasts the whole thing?
You used to entertain yourself with clever colleagues.
You used to fool around with funny friends.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.
Watch this thought hatch from its slumber.
Watch the bouncing, buzzing beasty birthed.
His wings spread out and he flies down from the ceiling.
Before long he makes out of the open window.
You ask yourself: is this really how I just spent my day:
imagining a life instead of living my own?
I used to write poems, and I thought they were profound.
I used to tell myself that they might mean something to you.
Now, look at you looking at me looking at nothing in particular,
and try to find something to say.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
A creepy crawling snake
wrapped around a twig
slithering its way
up the rotten branch
remnants of a tree trunk
after termites had there way
the branch snaps
the snake falls down
creepy crawly snake
the vicious venomous snake
it is hurt and it is hurt bad
oh please will no one help it
It tosses in agony
poor helpless snake
everyone is scared of it
yet all it wants
is not to be alone just then
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 3:50 AM UTC
A misplaced youth
My first original rhyme –
take a “truck” drop the head and add an eff –
was hand-me-down crude,
not clever,
but how clever can you be
at four years old?
The chilly blush of it still brings
out a ringing
sound of one hand clapping
against my cheek;
then comes the deflating bawl
from pouchy flesh instantly un-stuffed
of its squirrely giggles and glee.
It put me off cheap sing-song thrills
for decades.
Same age, different flaws:
Can you be too young to develop
a finely tuned sense of entitlement
and the firmest conviction
for redistributing misbegotten wealth?
If anyone deserved a raggedy toy –
don’t call it a doll –
mouse-eared and with cherry-red shorts
cheerily poking out
of a tinsel-topped Christmas stocking,
it was me, not her.
Maybe Santa was suffering
from dementia,
or forgot his reading glasses.
I wasn’t smart enough yet
to cover my tracks,
and I didn't know any fences;
it’s hard to deny a crime
when you’re hugging the goods.
Skip ahead a few years,
and after the regular Sunday
indoctrinations of an uncharitably
faith-based brand of hero-worship,
there are all the tell-tale signs
of a sleep-sick heart
with an over-simplified world view
married to a messiah complex.
Is it normal to dream
of oneself, small but magnificently armored,
supplanting Michael
as the head of that goodly Host
driving out the evil legions?
At least I knew how to side with a winner
back then.
I also dreamed Gulliver-like,
I had been roped down to my bed
by a clutch of creepy-crawly bugs,
and in a tiny voice I could barely make out,
their spokes-beetle cried up to me:
“There will come a time
when the time finally comes,
and when it does
you’ll smack its self-satisfied face
for keeping you
waiting so long.”
My hand's always poised above the clock.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
I remember once when I was small
I’d cut the strands of my hair because they were too long
I’d used to paint my ****** features with waxy substances
But found that too tiresome
Words pained them instead.
I remember turning fear into a form of anger
For every creepy crawly that walced into my door
Deserved every shoe I could toss on the floor
I remember turning a very innocent crush
Into multiple stories that I’d tell myself once the night settled in
And I remember the feel of disappointment when I grew older
To know those stories never came into fruition
And I remember the feel of sadness when I lost myself into that imaginative world.
That knowledge that place wasn’t real
That knowledge that they weren’t real
I remember not so long ago someone once said the mad dreamed up a place
Because they ran away from what they did not want to face
Because the strange understood the way of the world
So perhaps all those strands I tossed out in the beginning
Were the strands that could lead me
To the world that could be
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
Some thing's can get a little hairy
A little scary
A little daring
blood-curdling are the little vermin
Who love to digest down my harvest.
How they got a surprise coming,
With the good winchester model 37.
Take the little vermin to creepy crawly heaven.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
Crawling thing with six legs,
I'll keep you in mind...
Flying thing with big eyes,
I ate you just in time,
Now crawly-bug I eat you too,
I lap my face to clean off your goo,
Screams from heaven, I must hide!
Yesterday my brother died...
I slither into pile of leaves,
I hope the screamer didn't see,
Stay still, prepare and lick the air,
I smell more crawlies over there...
I get too cool and run for rock,
To sun myself,
And in my sluggish state I lie on rock...
“Ahhhh!”
I'm grabbed and now I'm in the blue!
The Screamer eats me and my last crawly too!
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
The gramps today feels somnolent
My gardens eminence is overseeing the weeds
A good cutting for the high grass today
Pesticides to get the bugs high
As I will spray spray spray
And **** those bugs away.
Languid little creepy-crawly's
Will get smallie
And fallie
Down the hole I created for them.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Sometimes I ask myself is this life really worth the fight.
I keep telling myself to keep going to prove that I survived.
I keep thinking that if I make something out of my life
It will prove the abuse did not hurt me.
I have two daughters that I want to teach to be strong independent woman.
I keep telling myself to give up will teach them nothing.
I keep telling myself keep fighting.
I am tired of fighting though.
I am tired of not being able to sleep without nightmares.
I am tired of trying to talk about the things that have happened
And feeling like someone has applied super glue to my lips.
I am tired of the daily battle that goes on in myself.
I have thought about suicide since I was 11 years old
And I continue to think about it.
It would be the easy way out.
It is one of those things that nobody seems to understand.
You are asked aren't you afraid of dying.
Are you not afraid of hell?
Well my personal reply is if there was a hell that means there is a god.
Well where the hell was he when my body was being hurt as a child.
Where was he when I felt like my body was being ripped open
by my father when I was only three years old?
Every religious person says god protects the children.
Was I not a child?
Was I not good enough for him?
So I guess in the end it is not so much about what I believe in.
I really believe it comes down to me deciding the worth of my life.
How much I want to live.
How much I feel like things are going to get better.
If I can stand to live in this creepy crawly flesh that I call my body
Even after it has been used as much as it has.
How much or how little it would effect my daughters.
How hard I want to try and prove to the people that they have hurt me
But they didn't break me after all.
This life is worth the fight.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
I don’t like brown mustard
Or an ice cream cone that leaks
I don’t like asparagus
Green beans, squash or beets
I don’t like to wear new shoes
They pinch and squeak a lot
And I don’t like cold weather
Or when it gets too hot
I don’t at all like spiders
Or other crawling things
Any creepy crawly
That bite…or worse…they sting!
I don’t like commercials
The things they try to sell
Who on Earth would need or want
A digital dinner bell?
Mowing the lawn can drive me mad
I might buy a horse
To eat the grass I have to mow
But that’s absurd, of course
There are some things I really like
I might list them all sometime
But this poem’s already 6 stanzas long
And I don’t like long rhymes
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
Itchy scritchy
Creepy crawly
Something in my skin.
I pick and scratch to free
Fictitious bugs that squirm within.
Whump-a thump-a
Thudd, thudd
Pounding in my ears,
Punctuating every sound
with thrums like stabbing spears.
Wiggle wobble
Swoopy swirly
Motion fills my eyes.
Saturated, inundated,
Stillness its disguise.
Shaky shaky
Twitch-a-twitchy
Static in my limbs,
***** them tight together
Til the chaos finally dims.
In the quiet, darkest, smallest space
I sit and reminisce
Of back when just existing
didn't make me feel like this.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
The clock at his desk is an altimeter
How appropriate I think
Spinning round
As the day ticks up
Like the ceiling
For all our loves
Our instincts are stronger than our hearts
Liquids trickle down
Solids soar
His throat
Up his nose
And of course he fumigates his lungs
To **** the creepy, crawly things
Time
In his mind
A straight line on a mirror
Up into his head
You
A reflection
Of the path
A sum total
Something has taken
One path
There is only
The downpour of neurotransmitters
Your face crickling and crackling
Flooding traffic jammed, honking dendrites
Wrinkling and rolling
The streets
In the fast forward century dream
They run red with electricity and burned rubber
For all our talk
Our instincts are stronger than our hearts
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
I am the unknown poet
Trying to survive amongst the poet of poets
I am always woven word and thoughts
with whatever is on my mind
I go down by the river,
the rocks and
Crawly creatures speak to me in a poetic way
The moon and the stars
Crusade against my poetic ways of
Saying goodnight to them
I visited the highest mountain in my mind
I felt those waves of ****** ecstasy
So I said what it is,
Is what it is?
I am an unknown poet who seek adventure
The one who see the world in colors,
even when the clouds
Are gray and rain never seem to seize
Because
the very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure
I have a fear of deep water,
So, I never allowed my mind to
Take me under the deep blue sea
Where a school of tilapia nibbling at my feet
where the dolphins out bid its leaders for a piece of me
I am the unknown poet
trying to survive amongst the poet of all times
I am always woven word and thoughts
With whatever is on my mind
And it’s mostly for inner peace
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
My nerve endings are infested with spiders
their creepy crawly legs tingle up my spine as I sit in class
teeth bite at my shoulders while I dance
poison is spat into my bloodstream
sharp toes stab into my thighs, my jaw, the palms of my hands
burrowed inside my joints
every morning screaming
as every knuckle pops and aches
daily wars waged in my intestine
rustling in my every pore as I lay awake at night
my sleeplessness makes them cry acidic tears
that run in rivers down the inside of my skull
someone please exterminate me
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Cruel punishment is when your ***** itch in a Strait jacket. Or your issued a rubber spoon. Who can I stab with that! Or when you hide things in your " Prison wallet" and when they strip search you and you spread your naked legs open all of its contents falls out. Embarrassing! (Thought you might be interested).
While in solitaire, yearned for any bright color. Like to paint. Not allowed. Had to improvise. Drew images on the walls. Used my human paint. But a guy gets tired of drawing with the same color brown after a while (passing this info on to you).
I Caught a fly the other day pulled it's wings off. It was like having a little crawly pet. This was the highlight of my week (thought I'd tell you about it).
I've gotten real good using a mop.( Just thought you'd like to know).
If I could just get my ***** paroled for a night, but the wardens a Taurus and I'm a Gemini. He needs a life coach and more of the spice, arsenic in his food. (Thought you would be interested).
Anyway, get this message to Nick. Hopefully it won't be censored.
Tell him ####### when ########## be ###### and ##### #### the ####### can ################ so ############### to ####### He'll understand.
Keep that hidden key handy. I'll even dig around in there to find it if need be. (Thought I'd write you this).
P.S. Send ****
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
The weekend was great the time away was brill, I hired me a cowboy builder to make me something durable.
I turned on the lights to see such a mess with only half made structures and an old feather bed.
I looked up and up and saw I was down a roof. So I orded one a new. A big clear dome to be set up on top.
Stepping around dodging dirt, earth and such. What a lovely site to see it just scatted as such. The rains had been bad, hitting long, hard and fast but lucky for me as my pond was now topped.
I looked around and thought ''hey this place would look good if I set up a ball'' , so out came my disco set, lights. Whistles and bells galore.
As I looked ever closer I spotted thier was nests, bugs, creepy crawly things all manner of other beings living in, out and around my house.
But now my place looked good all it needed was friends, so out went the call for fun times for all. So it started with one, then two and before we knew it was brimming with tons
I woke up in bed all bruised and sore. Thinking ''what a night that was'' then I sat up and swore as I imagined the bill.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC