"pupa" poems
I.
And my hair became too much
It overtook the walls
made its way into the office on the sixth floor
and then hung
like a dripping willow’s branches
over the desks
By the time they thought to find me
I’d already been wrapped up in a cocoon of brown hair
indistinguishable from the walls
that was now
also covered in the thick strands of undulated hair
II.
everything and everyone became consumed.
III.
In hairy chrysalis, the scissors uselessly
hung on some poor frantic pair of hands
forced into pupa
IV.
It was on the third day that the streets surrounding the corporate buildings were once again
populated with people, that a young woman in heels swore she heard a
faint choral singing coming from the 5th or 6th floor of a dreary grey building.
V.
everything cocooned
everyone consumed
all in pupa
VI.
During metamorphosis, a caterpillar digests itself leaving only behind imaginal discs
that shape it’s adult body.
everything becomes consumed.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
*"Claim me,"
she whispers in a plea
"claim my soul as I wilt"
Crimson lips parted,
head thrown back
in ecstatic ache
jugular bared
she needs to feel
that sharp -edged love,
skin and barriers broken
as she melts into
the underworld
of a new grace
a magenta cry into
the inky sky
sacred silence penetrated
as only gasps are heard
milky ******* decorated
with red liquid ribbon,
his nourishment,
her demise
******* pierced with
beads of her sunset life flow
as he ***** and bites...
and howling
into heaven's delicious gate,
she writhes
Her soul dissolving
into his night
and as his spirit
absorbs her vermilion soul
their power rises,
black as coal
…………….
your lips
stick black
sanguine smile
tremulous murmurs
oh happy blood blossom of deaths surrender
sacrificial lamb
cats sparrow entranced
thighs on fire
sobbing from a thousand needled kisses
******* tearing blood
each wound a weeping mouth licking
milky white alter of cold stone
saturated alizarin rust
legs wide
feet and ******* trussed
in chains and drenched rags
for cruelties arrow
o crimson queen,
pomegranate half eaten
mouth smudge black
agape
snake tongue dancing
through cherry lips twisted
darkened eyes of fire and blood
a wash in devils incense
beloved veiled
in evils cradle
bind not the demons kiss
then face down my love upon the crypt of mist
black heavens gate
pupa
vampires bate
a blood moon shaking
a scourge you are now
goddess of pleasures wretched
in the Tuileries of the abyss
consort
your every piercing fang
duck tail ****
a boiling cauldron
desire
spills out
dark cupid witch
legs tied to throat
devil ***** twitch
******* in a mote
ive got the itch
feet scorched in rope
hot ******* *****
hells dark pope
vampiress *****
dark girl feeding
the sun is no more
loves the bleeding*
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
*Nothing is permanent
Everything is ever-changing
Change is inevitable*
The dark shadowy clouds of Sorrow
linger over the horizon of our Mind
only to usher the rain of Happiness
And then a Sunlit sky to find
With Moon and the Stars as a guiding light
comes Night after a Day
Only to call upon the Sun
Illuminating the world, to keep darkness at bay
The shower that gushes through Mountain springs
flowing as a River it merrily sings
becomes one with the Ocean, a depth to attain
then evaporates into Clouds, to usher the Rain
The Flower that blossomed is meant to wither
the Pupa is meant to become a Butterfly
That what Arises is meant to Cease
That which is Born is meant to Die
Pain and Suffering is there but to pass
Delight is not going to forever last
One follows the other in Circle of Life
like a rhythmic pattern in Vitality vast
Matter is made up of tiny atoms
we are but merely Nature's vibration
An entire Universe resonates inside us
Realisation of which will lead us to Wisdom
Time, the bird of change, has taught
impermanent in itself it always flies
Things as they really are should be known
without craving or hating the feelings that arise
Ignorance, Conceit, False Hopes and Self Deception
are the very causes of Human Suffering
Consciousness of it all removes the Passion for Existence
in it alone lies the secret of our Well-being
Desire gives birth to Sorrow
nothing else can be so true
because after all "*You only Lose
what You really Cling to! "*
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
cracked nose &
watching moose beside the river,
on video,
he cocoons himself
in room and drug elementals.
boy pupa.
boy biking thru fog
& urban light.
city mystics, city-wet faces.
primates.
he works the grill and grins
in back. lollipop jar.
he pours grease into trap or teeth of great beast.
bucket cathedral.
corpse of bird,
decomposing in the alleyway ravine.
he packs luggage for the exodus
to northern california.
wicker owl
burning in the woods on a solstice
drunk, or moon.
the fire & the girl & his tongue to her neck.
bathe;
drain the dirt and blood of weekend off
to porcelain.
combed hair.
to appear in the lawn of withered fruit.
he wheels his father to the zoo. the old man
is bent beneath a blanket and tapping his fingers
for elephants.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
EGGS,
Why don't we go back from the start?
Where we met near the leaves.
CATTERPILLARS,
The stage when always being fed with love.
PUPA,
We started to change.
Our love was becoming mature and continued to grow.
Always afraid of being let go.
BUTTERFLIES,
You spread your wings and started to fly.
All you did was to make me cry.
Our love was full of colors,
But you flew to another flower.
Just like a life span of a butterfly,
It only lasts for two weeks,
so our Love is.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC
Smile
an indentation that can change the mood
Smile
an indentation that can change the feeling
Smile
an indentation that can change the bud become a flower
Smile
an indentation that can change a pupa to a butterfly
Smile
an indentation that can change the rain into the beauty of the rainbow
Smile
an indentation that can change winter become summer
Smile
an indentation that can change everything
One person smile, two people smile, three people smile and everybody smile
Smile
an indentation that can change everything
Smile
an indentation that can change some words into a poem..
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
It was warmer inside of the cocoon
Until the day the door cracked open
Letting in the cold
Nothing left to ravage
Nowhere but out
(C) Tiffanie Doro
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Still a child; fragile, undefined -
trembling, timid and shy -
a body curling inwards
- petals and moonlight -
we're magnetised:
this shared desperation and
fumbling adolescent shame.
A throbbing, suffocated silence -
lost hands and strangled hysteria.
Achingly tiny,
shattered-glass bones flutter,
colliding and entangling;
causing the skin to lift
and contort. To ebb -
a fluid - a pulse.
His shoulder-blades
(the crushingly delicate shiver
of butterfly wings)
cast splintered, mosaic shadows
(sharp and electric
to trace) along
the gasping, groaning spine...
Pharate, we're demolishing ourselves
in a gorgeous, stumbling,
careless collapse -
colliding in cold frenzy, desperate
to hide - burrow - entomb --
to bury ourselves - his mesmerising flesh.
Rasping out - teeth and lip
and tongue - ravenous,
animalistic despair.
With timid breath - to rip, devour, engulf --
to hiss and **** delicious venom.
An ache - a yearning - for absorption,
for skin, for blood -
to be consumed and to consume -
to feel every pain of it -
to be wrecked - to become
the same debris.
I spill out into his shadows,
his indents, his cuts and curves -
their fervent whimpers, electrified palpitations -
and he to mine:
It's as though we're eclosing,
these golden deodorant nymphas - we're quaking through;
tearing apart every sad smother of silk - and now
desolate; forever nothing
but drifting, lambent dust.
Skin like porcelain -
cold and wrong to touch -
yet stomachs hot,
hurtling hot.
Flesh winces - ripples - under
premature pain.
("I'm sorry. I")
He crumbles, cuts
my thighs
and leaves us both with
scars that we, as scars, forever treasure;
and with veins seeping Hemolymph;
to heal, to beat, to grow.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
At one with eagle's mind,
I wish, to do this:
concentric circles around
sun's windy light.
Forest's kind,
my mind speaks in zillion voices,
yet craves for more stillness
than all that put together.
Pupa's struggle
I feel deep inside my
labyrinths,
to break that shell
and fly out on my colorful wings.
Then, eschewing colors, smells
past the night that surrounds,
I long to be the light.
Serpent's wriggle, I become
to find that precise moment
to mate, with the ultimate
get liberated and come to terms
with all that ferocity
that raises it's hood,
life after life.
The quest that continues
within the endless labyrinth,
is the art of finding sea's tranquil heart;
becoming the
still center of the cosmic storm.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
This useless meat sack. I am the thing watching behind the eyes of this empty meat sack. I am the one piloting this sausage of a body, directing it to walk, talk, smile.
Sometimes I wish that I could reach into my chest and tear it open. I want to rip and tear and slice past the epidermis, watch the white fatty cells and veins and arteries moving. I want to see white, bone-white, a cage for my useless heart. Watch my heart pump like those sheep hearts we used to dissect in science. I remember how they looked, white fat clinging like ivy, and greying in the cool room of the labs. Nothing but a cold, clammy lump of flesh. Maybe death smells like the butchers. Like bleach that can’t cover the festering smell of rot and ammonia.
I’m heavy on my ankles. I remember the last time I starved, and I felt as if I could fly, balanced on my tip-toes, poised to fall. And maybe falling felt just as good.
It’s so unbearably soft. My chest, my arms. I can feel my cheek meat. Fat on bones. Scrape it out with a spoon like pork cheeks, soft, tender, delicious.
A chrysalis. A cut-out, a hollow man wearing hollow shoes doing hollow things. How did that pupa feel, I wonder, trapped in darkness? No way out but forward. The growing pains, tendons and bones and muscles warping. Twisting and crawling but transforming, little by little. Into what, you can’t possibly imagine. The uncertainty, it’s almost as bad as the darkness. No change even when you open your eyes, like colours have frozen into little dizzying pixels. You can’t stop, but do you want to? On the precipice between weakness and a terrifying something else, what can you be but monstrous? Not one or the other but neither.
What are you turning into? A butterfly? A monster? Neither?
You can’t stop.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
Petals in the water
flowing silently away
broken roses shedding skin
abandoned stains of failed decay
so numb from all the darkness
fluent once in labelled halls
nothing changes anymore
except the shadows on the walls...
No butterflies rewarded
by the rigid pupa stage
no stained glass wind-chimes left amongst
this gilded locked-up cage
no longer allowed the privilege
to get picked up when we crawl
nothing mutates here anymore
like the revenants on the walls....
Angels left in snowflakes
on the barren winter sand
breath we release with pleasure
as we touch a lover's hand
loneliness that grips you
when they forgot about the call
we're nothing but the puppets
of the shadows on the walls...
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 3:17 PM UTC
1. Egg
[This is my hatching
thought, which you cannot
see.]
2. Larva
The moon shines,
a pretty pill.
It couldn’t fill me with more.
It couldn’t
spill its light more
brightly or cover me more
tenderly. My chalky
smile smiles back at her more
sweetly for the pain-killing.
It’s magic.
3. Pupa
La lune brille,
une pilule assez.
Il ne pouvait pas me remplir de plus.
Il ne pouvait pas
répandre sa lumière plus
vives ou me couvrir plus
tendrement. Mon calcaires
sourire sourires de retour à son plus
doucement pour la douleur-massacre.
C'est magique.
4. Imago
The moon shines,
a pretty pill.
He could not fill me with more.
He could not
spread its light over-
bright, or cover me more
tenderly. My limestone
smile smiles back at its,
gently. To the pain-killing,
it's magical.
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
it does not seem to be a complete love
this love that seems to grow on me
that grows over you;
for one day like today it is your smile I remember
as I drive home
and it is that which hovers in my dream;
and the other day was each eyebrow
its shine and the arch and the way each flickered like leaves
a while on the ground;
and what was it the other evening?
they were the gentle hands you placed on the table
in asking a question;
and Saturday
your shoulders followed me home;
it never seems to be a complete love
it never seems to complete itself
and it’s so focused on parts;
O could it not take all of you
all together
in one integrated love
one complete love?
and still it grows like a seedling or lava or pupa
or even a tadpole
this my love for you
this evolving, this growing
(I did not know if I wanted it
but growing, there is no longer one’s will)
and your voice for example,
the way certain words come off your tongue
the dialect and regional difference
and like my name too sounded like no one else can;
and that accidental brush between us too
(and each uttered “Sorry”
and each reached out to steady the other)
and the sensation
was transported through my flesh
and pleasure
and flesh became part of the love too
and so it is never complete;
like a jigsaw puzzle this love
though the parts all fall together I must say
and the picture is clear at the end
like a classic ****** mystery too, just as tense;
and there it seems the love is complete –
and yet it is not complete, for it is still in silence
and impressions and wishes unspoken and unexpressed
that is the genesis and growing of this love
like a soap-opera
that comes in installments and is never complete
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 2:05 AM UTC
Leaves of beautiful awakening
If only I could have experienced them longer
But bones are bones, shaking
Now my life is a pondered situation
I don't blame him for her fears
It was just a game
Just a game,
Just a game, no more
If I could have stopped her, would the pupa be alive?
Would Her Judge not fall in melancholy?
But I am just a ghost of time,
A maid of his destruction.
Though, only a couple survived the moon explosion
And she was there with me, the one who took my life
I forgive her,
I forgive her,
I forgive her,
But if only the killer could forgive himself.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
how do you do that-
catch my breath,
stuff it in some glass jar-
as a pet;
watch it grow from a pupa
to a butterfly,
then let it go
just like that?
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
I sleep hoping to find that when I wake this is a dream,
That my veins are seams to some other human being.
That one day my words won’t cling to my teeth,
And my tongue won’t be a platform for broken speech.
Let this skin not be a larva bound to grow from ****
But to form into a pupa of beautiful metamorphosis;
I want to shed from a cocoon and emerge a butterfly
And for once be held in the beholder’s elusive eye.
Strip from me this visage, this form, this sin;
All the ugliness that penetrates my surface, and writhes within.
Purge me from my own skewed expectations,
And I shall be renewed, a fetus cleansed- born again.
-SLuR
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
Change the change,
the pupa became
the butterfly.
The cocoon became
the carcass.
Change must come.
Darkness must turn
into light.
The victor in battle
became the victim,
and the weak became
the dominant one.
Change is needful,
for the weak
and frail one rules
the mighty.
The elites and the
influential became dumb,
walking around
without directions like the
zombies.
They became like the robot,
a methodical machine
without a heart.
There must be change,
because the generality
of people are ignorant.
Change your acts and
priorities to allow
change take effect.
Change has arrived,
to mend the errors
of the ignorant ones.
This change must change
hands to restructure,
and restore.
It has come to rebuild
with your help.
Articulate and obediently be
useful to make it right.
Be the change you want.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
I try to kindle a sweet pupa
As I bring it here to my room
And I keep it there on the floor.
Then I start to observe it regularly.
Soon one day it starts to stir up
So I try to help the moth inside
And I cut its pupa with a knife.
What came out was a beautiful butterfly!
But the butterfly would not fly,
Instead it started squirming there,
And it looked quite pitiful grounded.
The natural struggle had been absent.
It was a sinful mistake at that time,
My helping it break open its pupa,
It had not learned to struggle.
I watched it staying so grounded there!
I could not make it learn anything,
My helping it metamorphose was bad,
And it was actually criminally awful,
Now it will spend its life thinking,
And only thinking that it is normal,
Lying & squirming was its capability,
I hate myself for ruining the pupa.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
this old key that fits your eyelid
came in handy. more than I did.
all thumbs; i had you to my cell
a pupa on a pin
thrashing at crystals, a chrysalis would call God !
this fits the dead calm
of how you left
to get right.
did you **** it ?
the one thing you slept with ?
the dread spike
your lips wish
would say
" yes "
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 1:39 AM UTC
In a wood thick with wild flowers and fern
I first saw you
Hidden inside a caterpillar skin
wriggling to get out
I watched as you twisted free
from your pupa
unfolding your wonderfully coloured cape
as the wind picked you up
and carries you
from flower to flower
nectar still dripping from you tongue
The wind rose again
as you perched on the branch
of an Alder tree
I watched as you slipped out of your cape
slid down the trunk to dance
on a fairy ring
I’m sure you smiled
at me
as you ran home down your fairy path
I've been back many times
I do believe in fairies
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
White like the North
and the cold places on the earth
my great grandfather was fond of
over-proof *** and
caribbean sailor blue waves
His Nigerian goddess bore him
nine children
pretty little barefoot toffee skinned children
scampering through sugarcane fields
and tall tropical grasses
the lilting sound of their voices
playing on balmy breezes
My Aunt Glo remembers him well
strolling about with his switch and
stiff upper English lip
he governed the immense rural
Jamaican plantation in St. Elizabeth
around the end of the Nineteeth century
Everyone called him Pupa and his
wife Muma
I don't know much about Muma
except that her mother was an
enslaved person and that she
had to tolerate the insult of ritually
hiding her mixed children when
Pupa's mother, Lady Bush
flounced into town with her entourage
There is an old photograph of
the two of them:
Muma in white frock seated,
her eyes drooping brown sparrows
Pupa with his switch, pocket watch
and far away eyes
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
- At the liquor store
dense with nocturne.
My hair smells of domestic expense. I can feel the geography of my face burn when the man behind me tells his friend how far he'd stick his tongue up my *** I leave without buying anything. Outside the air is thickening: the atmosphere hardens itself into a dome. Not even the thunderheads can hide my embarrassment. Under the dark sky my truck looks like a rusted pupa, ready to burst from its oxide swaddling. I pass more liquor stores but I am distracted. The moon is absent. My wholesomeness is bothered by voyeurism but my vileness gets off on it. Once home I notice the neighbors have cut their lawns and it is imposing. I admit my faults. I become needy too often - and weak the moment I see another insect cacooned in my driveway. There is shame in standing silently against torment so I kneel and confess my vileness. I beg my visitor to take me harder than he thinks I can bear.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
Bee Plus
Sure it’s nice to learn, but I could never sit still…
(Humble! Sit up properly in your chair and stop moving about!)
I had my head in the clouds; never my mind on the quill…
(Humble! Are your listening!? What was I talking about!?)
The teachers liked to talk and I would nod my head,
But I was only there in bee form;
My head was elsewhere, so I would forget,
Everything they taught.
Humble wants to go outside!
Not bee stuck indoors.
There she goes again,
Talking about subtraction and multiplication, or something.
The truth is I never listened.
She could bee saying something really interesting,
But the sun outside, it glistens!
The sun calls to me and says come out and play!
So when the lesson is over, I am the first bee away
And out of the door,
Like a flash of lightning through the corridors.
I know I’ll have to come back after lunch,
But right now! In this moment!
I can fly once more!
Somehow I know the answers to the questions they set,
But all the knowledge in my head, when they ask me, I forget.
If it ain’t right now, then it will never bee needed;
So can’t we, just for today, just leave it bee?
They keep on talking about the future of the bees;
But dude, I just want to have fun, so give me some peace.
Yeah, I did the homework and I didn’t even get paid.
I read page, after page, after page, after page
And at the end of the day…
This ain’t that great.
“Well maybe you should get up and teach the class!”
So I did; I got it right and I even made them all laugh.
Then the teacher gets annoyed and tells me to “Go outside!
With the other boys and wait for detention!”
I guess she needs to bee the centre of attention.
Aww Man! Why you taking all my toys?
It’s just a bit of fun.
I can’t help being a joker
And then you give me even more detention!
For saying,
“Aww Man, you a beekeeper-smoker!”
I can’t wait to grow up and leave this place.
Sure, I’ll go and sit outside again,
With all the cool pupa’s in the breakfast club group.
That’s ok; we’re all mates
And we’re quite aware of what we’re going through.
So there we all are, just having a laugh,
Until we hear somebody shout “Oi! Get your bumbles back into class!”
We reply, we can’t; we’ve been thrown out again.
Then they tell us “Well, just sit there and bee quiet then!“
Aww Man!
Can’t I even catch a break?
Everybody needs to just, chill out…
At least now it’s nearing the end of the day.
Eventually, the teacher calls us back in
And then she surprises us all with a pop quiz!
Aww Man! We don’t know the answers;
Why you always picking on us?
And of course, you know the result…
I was third in the class;
I got a humble bee plus.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 4:15 AM UTC
Arrow loves the prey
Rope adores the bull's neck
Ocean loves the gasping fish ashore
Sky yearns for the shooting star
Root loves the drained well
Flower likes the empty pupa
The Destitute loves himself
The girl washing clothes in the river says:
My love is to this finger
To erase dirt from hidden creases
To wipe the soap-burned eyes
To point at those peeping eyes
Amidst the bushes
What else I have?
In the idle hours
Without going anywhere
Whatever has it not shown me
Took me to wherever not
This slender stout finger
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
The years before adulthood
those awkward teenage days
fighting with the hormones
emotions from apathy, to rage
Changes in chemistry rampant
thoughts tangled, misconstrued
adults don't remember or understand
words and advice, intrude
Times like this I have to wonder
does it know? as the pupa's made
becoming moth, or butterfly
and does it feel, betrayed?
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC