"pest" poems
Disappointment is thrown strongly at my direction.
Blame gathers in large quantities like a pest infestation.
"It's your fault" and words like "You always make mistakes" evoke anger.
Anger which I want to take out on myself and take out on others.
I can excel in my work of choice, I know I'm more than average.
The bad gets pointed out more and little praise is given for the good.
Stunned by unmoving words. I'm like a prisoner sentenced to jail, released and expected to do worse.
Destruction emerges from my enraged emotions, i wish your words could offer a solution.
I want to be an alchemist and turn things into gold.
It's ironic how I am a creator of words but cant create better words in my critics.
Conversations lead to arguments because i want to be heard.
I'm sick of revolving doors, sick of being slammed by your atrocious comments.
"You have no common sense" you say to me, maybe I just prefer to be in a daydream, my mind drifting away because life is too dull.
Realize that what you say has an effect and that effect can drive somebody or stop them in motion.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
he was her world, her whole life depends on him. She didn't care about the ups and downs, hell or disaster. He was her happiness.
but he didn't pay attention to any of it. For him, she was dull, empty and raw. Like she was the core of the earth or even the asteroids—a pest to the universe. for him, she was madness.
their feelings are both opposite. it was like hate and love trying to bond each other. like a volcano erupting but it was insanely beautiful.
the more you hate, the more you love—a myth from our ancestors.
hopefully destiny can find true love. hopefully he will realize how pure and lovely she is. hopefully they find true love to each other.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
12k
His soft touch,
His deep grey eyes,
His heart melting smile,
And make-believe lies.
The way he talked,
Day and night,
About our future,
Not so bright.
His presence,
Breath taking presence,
His utter words of love,
And make-believe lies.
The way he left,
Forgotten the rest,
What the hell did I do?
You pest !
Other than his lies,
And his smile,
Only then did I say,
Baby, you're mine !
Now that he is gone,
I sit back on my chair,
Thinking why'd I love him,
And his make-believe lies !
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
It plays again filling me with dread
it's melody plays like a jackhammer in my head
I just want to run and get away from
that annoying song
Worse yet it seems to play everywhere I go
that annoying song
The lyrics make me feel sick
I want to throw a brick at
that annoying song
After hearing it all day, it plays through my mind
like an uninvited pest
it is disturbing my rest
that annoying song
It plays through my mind as I lay in my bed
I can not seem to get it out of my head
I can not seem to control my feet that tap to the beat of
that annoying song
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
I might be dying.
I don't know yet.
The doctors are still deciding
if I will meet Death.
I can feel
all the weird thumps.
I just don't know...
I'm in a slump.
The doctors have done the tests,
but no one knows yet.
Am I the subject of a pest,
or a huge destructive mess?
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
Feeling so worthless,
Worthless,
I can't digress,
I'm just worthless.
I never take the gold,
This is getting old,
All the racers pass by,
Me,
You see,
I'm worthless.
Wish I could repress,
The fear in my chest,
That I am just worthless,
Worthless.
I'll never be there,
For all to stare,
Lifted high above,
I'll be alone,
At home,
No one there because I'm...
Worthless,
A pest,
Retreat to my nest,
Where I am more than less.
Can't escape that bar code,
Bars me to a price.
But feel free to take me for free,
Since I am a grain of rice.
Worthless.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Yesterday
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….
Remember?
Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter guards
On the pandal
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.
We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
Scared
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.
The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.
I am like the faces
In the house of deceased
Sobbing
At times
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.
Sometimes
I am all the faces
In the house of the dead
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.
Sometimes
The wedding house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.
Just like you.
My dear bitter guard,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk?
Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
Of wholehearted love?
Translator - Shyma P
Shyma P : Works in Payyanur College, Payyanur. Translator and film critic. Has translated poems and articles in Malayalam Literary Survey, The Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Literature, online magazines like Gulmohar, Readleaf Poetry as well as scripts and subtitles for short films.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Pained like windows,
Widows hang on walls.
Eight-legged nightmares,
Trying not to fall.
Knitting webs,
Made of lies,
Trying to be clever,
Trying to hide.
A tangled mess
Of silken strings
Homes filled with knickknacks
And mismatched things
Always rebuilding
What was new yesterday
Relentless pest,
Find a new place to stay.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
The devil sat upon his toasted grieving red throne
Gulping his tongue, the devil never stressed
She seduced his powerful taste
He knew she was a lost soul, out of control
She was a walking mess, who was taking her toll
He had no business taking a hit to his statured entitlement
He promised to distinguish her from the rest, implicating a battle every dawning blue sky
His threats do not scare her passion to fight
She's a rampage with braided hair and an innocent glare
Zip up your sweater vest, here comes Hells pest
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
you always complained
that you were a dandelion
in a garden of roses,
a pest, a **** --
something unlovable.
and maybe you weren't perfect.
maybe you were a bit
rough around the edges
with a crack
here or there.
maybe your seams had come undone
and, if you still insist on being a flower,
maybe you had lost a petal or two.
but what you failed to realize
is that every rose
has thorns.
so maybe they didn't have
as many cracks as you,
as many tears as you,
as many rough edges
as you did,
but god,
they were nowhere near as pure,
nowhere near as lovely
as you were.
we wish on dandelions, dear,
because we trust them.
nobody's ever wished
on a rose,
now have they?
no.
they're too afraid
they'll get pricked,
stabbed,
betrayed.
so maybe you were
the dandelion
hidden in a garden of roses.
maybe you were the outcast,
the misfit,
the odd one out.
maybe you were just a little bit unloved,
and unfairly forgotten.
but what you failed to realize
is that i would have gladly picked you
over the brightest rose
in that silly little garden.
(a.m.)
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
How long must you stay a Snail in your House
And thinking this Starter bellows out Air
Chance yourself a Door and try to get out
Then see such Fields breed Good Germs everywhere
This only true if Bland Pasta constricts
Yet flipping a Mirror for Crystal View
Mind the Artist. He's just facially fit
But chip the bones a Soft Marrow does spew
Never by Saint's Good Deed I took to Theft
To force your own Arrows and fumigate
A Candid Word which I thought was a Pest
And strained such Friendship to confusticate.
Let's start again. And adjust the Vinyl
Put the Record on-hold; And I Mingle.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
If I could be a fly on Einstein’s wall
I’d buzz about from chair to curtain
watch him check out plans and gadgets
and scratch remarks on his papers.
When the clock edged to noon
his stomach would growl,
he’d fold up the prints and say,
“It’s a relatively short walk to the café.”
With Albert out I’d take the run of the place -
practicing banks and dips and vertical lifts.
I’d munch on scraps of Brie and fowl
left fused to the edge of his table.
When the tumblers turned
I’d buzz back to my wall, eager to witness
whatever this sage would chance to say.
He’d go to his desk to file reports
and stack them neatly into a tray.
Without warning he’d rise from his chair
scattering papers across the floor.
“MASS AND ENERGY ARE ONE, ” he’d shout, -
“CRUSHED TOGETHER BY TIME! ”
I’d buzz and swoop and fly circles and loops
and taxi in on his collar.
I’d beat my wings to cool his brain.
But wait…Whose voice do I hear?
Oh, it’s you gentle reader.
“Stop, hold it right there, ****** pest!
It couldn’t have happened that way!
Have you no shame or respect for God’s truth? ”
But I’d stare you down with my compound eye
and scornfully twitch my wings.
Consider this, troubled sir,
you’re the one scolding a talking fly.
July, 2006
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
you are the Pres
Oh Donald Trump
it seems like America
has hit a bump
your pitiful braggart
mean as a cuss
a bludgeon for a mouth
with a mind full a ****
its understood
you hate the press
you like the shadows
to relieve your stress
well big boy
you are the man
some people say
your loved by the clan
thanks for telling us
about the size of your *****
while conservatives smile
and give it a lick
your a star studded pageant
of confusion and lies
do you work for Putin
are you one of his spies
show us your taxes
are you a ***** for a foe
are you owned by a devil
we need to know
your purging the swamp
is that what you say
Exxon and Goldman-sax
so thats how you play
you talk so big
why not give it a rest
lets see what you can do
besides be a pest
it doesn't bode well
that you don't pay your bills
let subcontractors go under
so what if it kills
break up some families
of Latin decent
with a heart like a razor
are you really that bent
are you big blabber mouth
but don't a have clue
about our constitution
that keeps us true
we trust you completely
let your kids to the job
no problem at all
are you still friends with the mob
are ethics for others
ah to hard for Trump
will America wither
are you cancerous lump
we need some one
who can help us out
not a reckless fool
that fills us with doubt
you are the Pres
Oh Donald Trump
it seems like America
has hit a bump
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
"That quiche was delicious and - Harry Potter!"
Oh no, not him again, what a bother.
"What time should I pick you up to take you to - Harry Potter!"
Seriously? I suppose we'll pretend like he already got her.
"Did you finish chemistry and start your - Harry Potter!"
Oh, i wish we could just stop talking about that rotter.
"Do you mind getting the laundry for - Harry Potter!"
Umm, you know the clothes smell, we really otter.
This boy is worse than Peter Pan
He lives in my house and rides in my van!
My girls all adore him and his glasses
And the more he talks, the more he attracts the masses.
Whoever is this Dumbledore?
I really don't want to hear anymore.
Snape just looks like he's evil
All I know is he's causing upheaval.
Ron, that poor redhead
And Hermione that bossy big head.
Edward somehow got mixed in
And i hear he died in the end.
But I couldn't care less, please go away!
I will get rid of them all one day.
I know what must happen when I hear Potter,
I must become a pest control plotter!
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
How does it feel to roll in your own filth,
Stupid human beings never learn,
Nadda- zip- zilch ,
Tie your muthafucking mouth up with duck tape,
Two of you ******* wouldn't last,
Instead you contemplate,
I mean,
Ones desperate,
And ones going thru post dramatic stress,
But I guess it doesn't matter,
Cause beneath me lies pest,
With ****** female organs,
Excuse my french but is this be a grandma really important,
That's why I don't allow stupid or old people in my groups,
Cause they know about everything,
Including you,
**** **** it,
I don't care if you join the mafia or make your thing,
But there's no discussion,
Of a big mistake you two dummy's are making,
**** ya!!!!!!!!
So when everything is kosher and its time to pay dues,
Hey ! Poetic mafia ! I'm giving them to you,
These two :-)
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Shakespeare would have failed Naplan,
That was not in his cunning plan,
Yes, his folks would have him tutored,
To ensure Billy became learned,
He would have lost his homework,
Billy did so not want extra work,
Shakespeare, that teen scallywag,
It was total fun, such a lad.
Now Shakespeare is a wraith,
Why, Billy, why? Teens sayeth,
As they serially fail literacy tests,
Why not abolish that Billy pest?
Tragic heroes and drama queens,
That's the teens writing essays on such scenes,
While Billy failed in literacy,
Teens do sense such hypocrisy.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
The movie shows
an innocent man,
misguided, perhaps,
but well intentioned
killing a creature
he thought to be a pest
and full of remorse
for the unhappiness he caused
In fact,
the man who killed Mijbil
never confessed
never repented
did it for gain
as otter pelts
were worth a bob or two.
A tiny ghost
haunts a ditch
by a single track road
in Scotland
And the vanished marshes of Iraq
know which version of events
to believe.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure?
The lost become found?
The weak become strong?
The introvert extrovert and all things in-between?
The ugly more beautiful?
The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke?
The sounds in the background become solid and free
Chuck out the garbage
The ties that bind thee
Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind
The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge
Taking out pennies from someone else's den
Is there someone decent and cool
To help get along in the life of a fool?
I am the pest the irregular verb
Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds
All comprehensive found sometimes expensive
So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside
Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall
Am running amok for the sake of it all
Sinderella what a fella
He went to the garden zoo
Played hokey cokey
Oh what a jokey
He even drank the soup
Happy Halloween you creeps!
© Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
give and follow traces,
decion-making behavior is my god
light may lead sometimes,
but night is my flight.
i conclude i am a pest for the sake of many,
great faith bestowed upon me.
by boiling? oh yes!
but remember, i am a cockroach.
and i need friends.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
If it's the farmer's will to harvest this ****
Fill it's heart with anger for it to feel no thing
Before the sap from it's core flow out of it's leaves
The blood on its vein dry up in the heat
For wrath makes a good reliever
From all the roots that was beneath her
Dig it up from it's grave to deliver
And rip it up from the soil and repocess her
For a **** that brings no good
A pest that steal for food
A Vulture that rejoice in death
Is there such a thing as regret?
For the weeds were made bad
From the earth exhalted
To the heavens departed
What mercy can this **** plead?
A **** that churns good air we breath
A rat that for others is a treat
A vulture that completes the cycle of death
Is there a room for forgiveness and help?
If the time for this **** to take a bow
Send it of in ways where no pain is allowed
Like a switch of a bulb turn off it's light
Stop it's breathing in an instant
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
I must really get under your skin
Maybe that's why you are mean
Why don't you give it a rest?
Am I really a pest?
I am not insecure
You have a heart that's unpure
They call me a *****
It broke my heart, now it can never be stitch
They say, "you're full of crap!"
PLEASE MAKE IT STOP
But, you can never bring me down
Nor make me frown, not anymore
I know I'm going to be a star
So, thanks for giving me this scar
Please bury yourself in the tar
And watch me as I drive my fancy car
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 4:15 AM UTC
Insecticide.
Does anyone know where I can get some insecticide?
I need it, the sensation of that cold, sleek nozzle pushing inside me
My belly button will be heavens gate- inside are those **** butterflies...
Butterflies that tremble and quiver whenever you walk by.
That fragility is my enemy.
The only solace I can ever hope for, is in the desolation of such weakness.
My heart, it would often seem, is on a suicide mission.
So eager to climb up my throat and plunge into your twin pools of blue.
Those dastardly insects are fighting like hell,
Their wings the color of your lips-
The beat of their wings, a mockery of my own heartbeat.
I guess no one told them, their wings flutter for no one but me now
And I have had far enough of their nonsense.
Desires of a lonely heart are fantastical at best.
But nothing can argue with the cold steel of that nozzle
Wedged firmly inside, its mission realized.
And finally it's a feeling that I want to feel, not any of this involuntary ******** "falling in love".
Because I really can't help falling in love with you.
I'd stop it if I could. I'd throw the train from its rails, toss the plane from the sky, sink the ship out at sea.
To forget I ever loved you.
The flowers of June no longer hold that same color.
The bitter taste of the pest control will be the only taste on my tongue.
Not yours any longer, my dear.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC