"junebug" poems
I stood in the sun
and thought of you
and of my junebug heart.
It clings on, unshakable,
even after it’s death.
And you like that about me,
my junebug heart that is.
You think you have one too.
I know that you don’t.
Yours is fleeting.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
a loop of spume immune to fumes of eastern tombs
a burnin'; a mad flash of candied wrath
and junebug randy newman;
what rumbles jest in vestments yet
to loom a knit or pearl two... a ****** crest
of ***** wrecks and rubber necks
to view you...
a nop of lopsy,
fever pitched in thicket rich begonia;
and roman roads
too golden
kicks
from hydro
in
your hedge
row.
a droop of noon in cool remove
from gypsum dim sum laude.
a drowning witch on boney creeks
of needles and salami.
untongued. a pool of fringe
rhymes with orange,
yes a door-hinge,
off it's moorings...
off it's Meds
death beds
for trampolines
in petrified forests...
a nop of lopsy, frogging Gatsby,
greatly famished to the Nines;
an olden toll of wish fits
then nothing
comes.
and that's
Life.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
My sisters thought
we were cruel, us boys,
tying a length of thread
around a Junebug's leg
and having it fly 'round
and 'round and 'round
and 'round above our heads
until Junebug broke free.
Junebugs knew how to
have fun back in the day.
So did lightning bugs. They
made the coolest necklaces.
My sisters didn't like them.
Girls don't know fun from
Junebugs on a summer day.
r ~ 5/29/14
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
did because i well jeez 10:23 farther steeper i'd was a outside 10:24 a junebug
is creaking on the well like a fine cylinder. it's because steeper or 10:27 clunking
a light of amiable is sort of. at 10:31 a common a cool the. into if.
a very sorry long is diacriticly loose with the scab of lunging trees
by the barn 10:31:53 is . it's was almost because i did i well jeez
the june is a crimped fine determined juice. did it seem because or and a breif
i s haloed somewhat or creaking a junebug is big for by the stalls shuffling with legs in the sort of barn by the 10:36 it's gabled a bit. or does it seem a because well did i and meyou. pm well it were 10:37 and longest brown is seemingly. otherwise unmarked a phonetic element. by a 10:39PM leafing softly
the scuttle a. unnerved little scraping. beneath or metatarsaled cadence a the grassed stripping earth went from the basest mouth of timbered certainly to the unskinniest blue. a vanity of wheels or because well did i jeez
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 12:19 PM UTC
One of my favorite
pastimes back when
Spring was Spring,
and not a death sentence
of epic proportions,
was tying a piece of string
to a Junebug's leg.
The hardest part was getting
the restless creature to lie on
its back long enough to
slide the miniature noose
around him in such a way
that when you let go
he would fly around
like Bonnie Blue Butler's
show pony as far as you
allowed his string to take him.
I feel like a Junebug lately.
The process of looping that noose
around my leg has left me
weary and ready for a rest.
My ankle has third degree rope burns
and my wings are getting tired
of flying in exhausting circles.
The child at the end of my rope
is ignorantly unaware of her
imprisonment of my principles.
Or perhaps she knows what she's
been doing all along
and just doesn't have
the heart, guts or brains
to cut the string and let me fly
like the shiny little
Junebug I was born to be.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
recognize the familiar rat-a-tat-tapping on your window,
pull the worn blinds and close the sheer curtains,
extinguish every bright light for the time being,
patiently wait criss-crossed on your bed with book in hand,
listen for the humming to cease (silence),
and return back to normal life
as the junebug survives another night.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
well
back in the day
when
we
were young
i
lived in the neighbor
and
i
had friends
with
names like
pooky
nay-nay
tooky
junebug
big-baby
stinky
and
jeffery
man
those were
the
good old days
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
Junebug June,
gazing at the moon.
Your tail flicks in time
to a silent tune
the stars gently croon.
June Junebug,
the twinkling stars tug
at the strings of your heart
as you gaze in a trance
at the stars in their dance.
Junebug dear,
the night sky so clear,
the melody the moon
whispers in your ear
only you can hear.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 1:13 PM UTC