"pesticidal" poems - Hello Poetry

“The tree has fruit,” Hands sticky, Face smeared, My stomach turning “The fruit is rotten,” Laughing, another in your hand The first bite unearths no worm, no insect Only the soft, wet peach-flesh You’d expect from one of us. “Isn’t it sour? Isn’t it bitter? Does the aftertaste not resemble Pesticidal poison?” Quiet now, Only the sound of leaves shaking, The pull of branch and the wobbly return, The fruit’s fuzz against my fingers, My lips. I do not take a bite.

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Apr 16, 2017

Apr 16, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC

quovi

I Could've Sworn

“The tree has fruit,” Hands sticky, Face smeared, My stomach turning “The fruit is rotten,” Laughing, another in your hand The first bite unearths no worm, no insect Only the soft, wet peach-flesh You’d expect from one of us. “Isn’t it sour? Isn’t it bitter? Does the aftertaste not resemble Pesticidal poison?” Quiet now, Only the sound of leaves shaking, The pull of branch and the wobbly return, The fruit’s fuzz against my fingers, My lips. I do not take a bite.

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Pt. 1 I am a clumsy giant Oblivious to worlds below. *Outside, outside is so nice! Awake, rejuvinate me! Oh! The beauty! Even the air is greener, On the other side here Oh living our lives indoors Was an unhappy accident of genius Oh to spend days with trees and grass!* -- A sudden stab. A pause. Lifted leg reveals Buried, ensnared in foot Handsome bee, Buzzing for escape One more wriggle And it's gone. To die. *Oh! Back we go we go! To hide from the cruel world! Away from bees And wasps and stings Such mildly inconvenient things. - And off the bee went to die.* Pt. 2 Such short lived pain for me Is death for one of the hive This wound I lament Will heal so shortly Yet its cause Will surely die The life the cost A life is lost! Yet my pain is all I can see Hives collapse Honey ramsacked! They're fed with sugar tea Pesticidal pollen Oh ain't disease rotten! The strife of the honey bee. I am a clumsy giant...

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Jan 12, 2015

Jan 12, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC

TuesdayPixie

Clumsy Giant

Pt. 1 I am a clumsy giant Oblivious to worlds below. *Outside, outside is so nice! Awake, rejuvinate me! Oh! The beauty! Even the air is greener, On the other side here Oh living our lives indoors Was an unhappy accident of genius Oh to spend days with trees and grass!* -- A sudden stab. A pause. Lifted leg reveals Buried, ensnared in foot Handsome bee, Buzzing for escape One more wriggle And it's gone. To die. *Oh! Back we go we go! To hide from the cruel world! Away from bees And wasps and stings Such mildly inconvenient things. - And off the bee went to die.* Pt. 2 Such short lived pain for me Is death for one of the hive This wound I lament Will heal so shortly Yet its cause Will surely die The life the cost A life is lost! Yet my pain is all I can see Hives collapse Honey ramsacked! They're fed with sugar tea Pesticidal pollen Oh ain't disease rotten! The strife of the honey bee. I am a clumsy giant...

41

Bruised bitter apple: the horror! To roll across my tracks. Of the crab variety, we decipher what's in cider. Fright, how might, precisely, the worms persisted- when once flesh was tender enough? Now they are dead, the apple dented where butted their unsuspecting heads. When guts are made a graveyard, no Wicked Queen’s power overrules the external grotesque, or the royal inner circle’s internal damage, ringed like trees, like circles of hell. Sour taste, and, more importantly-- wriggling, struggling, self-pesticidal hopes and dreams. Unsightly to fit their environs. Some as parasites, but some only friends.

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Jun 27, 2018

Jun 27, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC

1sadiewrites

Bad Apples

Bruised bitter apple: the horror! To roll across my tracks. Of the crab variety, we decipher what's in cider. Fright, how might, precisely, the worms persisted- when once flesh was tender enough? Now they are dead, the apple dented where butted their unsuspecting heads. When guts are made a graveyard, no Wicked Queen’s power overrules the external grotesque, or the royal inner circle’s internal damage, ringed like trees, like circles of hell. Sour taste, and, more importantly-- wriggling, struggling, self-pesticidal hopes and dreams. Unsightly to fit their environs. Some as parasites, but some only friends.

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