"stingers" poems
If you were reincarnated as an animal
Knowing everything you do now
Would you treat humans differently than animals already do?
Or would you bite the hand that beats?
Or would you bite the mouth that eats?
Would you treat humans kindly?
That could be a bullet finding
I come across a shivering raccoon
Stuck inside a winter monsoon
It's too young to survive
I could help I surmise
Its coat can't protect its form
In my car it's nice and warm
But I don't understand the raccoon
And I fear it doesn't understand me
Though I'm not proud of it
I travelled around it
Mosquitoes want your blood to survive
The same way I want your love to arrive
There's a pestering orbit
Your teeth grind and grit
I feel the need to feed
I am overcome by greed
I want you inside me
So I insert my proboscis
And you turn into colossus
It's an animal process
When you squash us
So animals grow stingers
And poison that lingers
When we use our fingers
To smash them
And detach them
From our humanistic existence
They have a reproductive resistance
So we keep fighting
And they keep biting
Because there's no end in sight
When we see animals take flight
We define anything different as animal
This is our excuse to act tyrannical
They feel our wrath
When they're in our path
We turn them into roadkill
This world becomes a landfill
Our hollowed humanity on the shelf
We treat animals as we treat ourself
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
I have secret skeletons
That haven't seen the Sun
From things supposedly fun
Now all they do is make me run
Skeletons exit my closet
And enter my jury box
All of whom I've met
Then put behind locks
Now they throw rocks
Or find ways to mock
They are ruthless
Until I'm toothless
I face a skeleton jury
I face the skeletons' fury
They seek vengeance
Or perhaps repentance
I play lawyer in my mind
This job has become full time
And I must laboriously linger
Through skeleton stingers
Until my mind is rattled
By skeleton saddles
They come from my past
To shatter my glass
The skeletons are attacking
My bones are cracking
Under their weight
They are my freight
They judge me
And begrudge me
I made many moronic mistakes
I left laying at the bottom of lakes
Now they are at the surface
Of my fruitless furnace
Skeletons remain
Like a stain
I look across the plain
To see skeletal rain
Precipitated by my dumb decisions
Droplets make numerous incisions
Each one callously cutting me to the bone
Until the skeleton jury is my humble home
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
I’m rather fond of chocolate cake
I’d like to learn to knit
But I can’t abide Celine Dione
And Celery is ****
I find a book most comforting
And the odd banana split
But I hate celebrity look-a-likes
And Canadian singers
And celery are ****
I’m happiest by the fireside
Some music, I’ll permit
But I grit my teeth at gossipers
And dead ringers
Canadian singers
And Celery are ****
I love the air about my hair
And the grass beneath my feet
But I've never been too keen on wasps
And **** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are ****
I’m partial to a cup of tea
With a biscuit next to it
But I’ll never vote conservative
And insect stingers
**** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are ****
I like to bake a birthday cake
Or build a Lego kit
There are many things I truly love
But Right wingers
Insect stingers
**** slingers
Dead ringers
Canadian singers
And celery are STILL ****
**
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
it was a kiss on the lips and a tinge of pink
rising on the cheeks
it was heated, warm, wet
never comfortable
yet so exciting and thrilling
it was risky and terrifying
but it was easy and cool
it was a few little blue words
on the screen of a monitor
little bee stings
to a boy who was far too allergic
it was easy to be
naive and stupid
and so
hopelessly endlessly wholly
holy
holy
wholly in love
it was so hard
trying and hurtful to pluck the stingers from my
skin
not my heart
never my heart
because im alive still alive
alive to this day
it's now a low tint
not quite enough to be a blush
not quite
**h
h
h
o
t
t
t**
enough to
make me stir and squirm and
want more more
please more
oh love,
to be so carefree and happy
to fall endlessly and heavily into your arms
it was so beautiful
and so ugly
and so
so so
...
i dont know
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
She felt she was a jellyfish, floating round, manipulated easily, seen through, landing where she landed and leaving when she’d leave. But occasionally she’d hurt those that got too close.
She’d sting them. She didn’t want to. And was sorry ever since, but her tentacles were made. Made with the stingers ready for anyone that got too close.
She tried to stay away from the sea but needed it to survive, so she’d drift in the same currents, the same as everyone else just kept distance, kept them safe.
Until that brave turtle came along, nearly impenetrable. So protected from danger and he lured her away from loneliness. There was a moment of convincing. He had to show her that he was strong enough and he seemed strong enough to resist her pains.
But he was too strong, too bottled up in his shell. No communicating with the inside, and it was tough for her. After a while he let down his guard and with one quick motion he slipped on her tentacle. He was hurt and left.
Now left alone to face the current with few jellyfish friends who had chosen the back path, but she needed someone close and as much as she loved her friends, they weren’t enough.
She hasn’t forgot that turtle to this day and she wished upon a twinkling coral that she may have him back. But maybe it isn’t meant to be.
Back to reality now, enough with the fish metaphors, as much as I like them. I guess I like them because they make me feel like I could be close to her. Maybe even close enough to be her turtle. One problem.
I can’t swim
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
I could write an entire poem
about the way it felt like a million honeybees buzzing around my insides when you'd grab my arm as I walked past you
and how it felt like each and every one of them stung me when you stopped noticing when I walked past you
or about how I felt like I could talk to you forever when we sat in that coffee shop for the first time
and how I learned that there's no such thing as forever when I found out that it would also be the last time
And I could write a billion stanza's
about how I can understand Darwin's theory of evolution, and why you should never fight the current if you're drowning, and why the moon seems like it's following you on car rides
but could never understand why you loved that girl for 2 years when she stole every bit of your innocence and everything that made you whole
And I could probably make a long list
of different words that describe how you look on a Monday morning
like tired
and sheepish
and unamused with the slow pace of traffic
Or write a novel
on why you stopped wearing your seatbelt the day your mother stopped wearing her wedding ring
But I suppose
that all I'd really be trying to say
is that I miss you
and that I still feel the stingers of the honeybees stuck in my skin.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
swishers aren’t so sweet when
our teeth are banging together
tongues fighting for dominance
gin burning our lips
hungrily seeking
an escape from ourselves
selfishly burring our stingers into the back of the other
******* are aptly named
La petite mort
because i want to die and be reborn
& i was foolish
for ever thinking that you could be
different
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
Woe to the one,
Who is stung by a bee.
F*ckin hurts a bunch
Makes one want to flee.
Even after he dies,
The bee knows what to do.
You might not realize,
But the stingers in you
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
Late one evening on a stroll
I was feeling mighty droll
I came to the big open meadow
And decided to sit down and mellow
There was nothing but grass for miles to see
Nothing at all but this one tiny bee
He looked in a great hurry
He's wing's buzzed with a mighty flurry
So me being me
I decided to fallow and see
He ziged and he zaged
I tried hard not to lag
At the top of a small hill crest
Is when I seen all the rest
On one side the bees, the other side the butterflies
And right in the middle their prize
It was the only one left
Frost had taken all the rest
It was tattered and torn
But it's beauty none could scorn
For it had stood times test
It had been stronger than the rest
It had been pearly white
Such a beautifully gourges sight
Now a dingy gray
It's nectar still as sweet as that very first day
And that's what started the war
That one little flower is what they where all here for
The big strong bees
Thought they could bring the butterflies to their knees
The fragile brightly painted butterflies
Behind their backs had a big surprise
The bees flew in first, stingers at the ready
Their stingers polished and sharp, flight was steady
The butterflies spread wide their colored wings
Hiding behind them their evil means
The first bee to the flower was shot down
I watched it spiral and hit the ground
That was it, all out war
All those flying fighting insects shook me the core
The bees had brought knifes to the butterflies gun battle
All I could hear was buzzing and tiny gun fire crackle
The air was a sea of colorful wings
And the yellow and black with the wings that sings
The bees were out powered
With the guns the butterflies advanced on the flower
The bodies of bees soon littered the ground
And when it was all over, it was sad what was found
The poor flower had been beaten down
It was laying with the dead bees on the ground
The butterflies realized the war had been for naught
For neither side would get what they want
But the butterflies had tasted power
They forgot about that little flower
So if in your town the bees are despairing
Then know the butterfly revolution is nearing
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
You storm the kitchen like livid soldiers
in hollow combat
brandishing stingers,
no camouflage is cunning enough
to cover up your lethal colours -
sinful stripes of black, yellow.
Beads of ink, eyes of malice
flash as you swipe and violate
skin, in painful *********** - an evil act of love;
hateful wasp, what is it that you want?
What makes you lust for human blood?
You are the waste of summer:
the wretched lowlifes, airborne brats
and savage lads inducing fear
amongst both dogs and cats.
You circle workers
with your vicious sneer, possess
an uncanny absence
of all natural innocence.
Pleasure-seekers and noise-makers,
you ******** of August
buzzing at honey traps;
a sugar addiction your weakness,
your final collapse.
Flailing, you flap about
furious at human trickery;
Immersed, all syrupy
your wings weigh
like lead, and then
motionless you float;
at last, your crisp carcass
black and dead.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
When I get nervous my tongue and palms itch like ants in my mouth and handfuls of spiders anxiety crawls up and down my spine
as my heart and mind race against each other
I shake as I freeze from the inside out
and ice feverishly pumps through my veins
it's not black inside my head but a putrid yellow
Gelatinous and pulsing and clouding my vision all I can see is a spiraling blur
and I don't realize how I'm clawing at my palms
Scraping my tongue against my teeth until I taste blood
I try to exhale the hornets nest in my chest and spit out the stingers one by one
there are so many voices, none of them mine and I want to scream over the chaos
but it gets stuck in my throat
with all the other words that won't come out
I stare down at my trembling hands, and realize how much panic it's under my fingernails
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
I can thread it through my fingers
Running it in between my fingers
Going over the material of events
Perpetually stargazing what went wrong
Maybe because we were both Scorpios
That's why it didn't work out
Our stingers would both fight for supremacy never getting along
I was always debating every possibility every wrong turn every right turn
Hell even the left turns and the right turns and the U turns
I always wanted to have a plan A
And C
And B
And Z
But I know that even with all of my plans I still had the main plan to love you
So much so
That I loved you better than I ever loved my cracked reflection
The lines spreading out from my eyes
Grazing my throat like a choker that always fit too snuggly
Seeing you is like seeing a quicksilver flash
Just pain and happiness holding hands and dancing in a circle
Making love in sweet July rain
You were always the crashing thunder
I was always the lighting
Illuminating what you never wanted to show me
Because you put me in a glass case
Not because you thought I was delicate
Too delicate for this world
Or because I was a shining object graced by time
You were putting me behind that door
So when you walked away I wouldn't be able to follow
Locked away to be stared at whenever
Avoided after
But I think you forgot
We both kinda forgot
That lighting strikes back
And when I finally got fed up with your ****
I destroyed that glass case
And handed you your *** and never gave you what you wanted
Which was funnily enough
Me
But I was tired of that and I got exhausted from always putting you first
So I decided to break it
And yes
It cut deep
But after everything I've seen
Those shimmering shards that drew my blood
Used it as paint on yet another one of life's canvases
Was worth it
So take as much as you need
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
Its not my day today
The girl i liked did not say hey
Got paint on my shoes and fingers
Are there dues i have yet to pay
Bad luck has its stingers
But now i am all alone
Hoping im prone to luck
Oh well it ***** to ****
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
The Brooklyn Bridge is
an array of lights
stretching limb to limb
across the water.
It slaps tiny sequins on the east river,
as those give way
on that anything but black and steady
to blinking eyes on the barges
and the flittering stingers of heliccopters
zipping from cloud to cloud.
This orchestra of human expansion
reddens the black walls
of my apartment,
with light.
The scratchy comforter
and starch-hardened pillow
scramble on my bed
in a mess of rifts and fabric mountains.
I love getting up
in the middle of the night
and staring out of this window,
but when I go back to bed,
the voices of the wasps,
mournful barges,
and falsetto of the old springs
give way to thinking
and restlessness.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
memories of the back of the car hang onto my clothes and I can smell them in my hair
you'll always look out for me because I'm 'your girl'
ha, yeah...
and honey bees are pretty
but they leave stingers in your skin
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
The intricate words
Of a killer.
Woven like
A spiders web
Intertwining,
And when you are caught
It is hard to escape
They come like a
Looming spider
Fangs dripping with venom
Closer and closer
You feel the tension
Building and Building and Building
Snapping at you
A shark
Biting and stinging
You can bandage the wounds,
Pull out the stingers
But underneath,
Scars still remain.
Chardon, our hearts are with you
in your time of need.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
Late one evening on a stroll
I was feeling mighty droll
I came to the big open meadow
And decided to sit down and mellow
There was nothing but grass for miles to see
Nothing at all but this one tiny bee
He looked in a great hurry
He's wing's buzzed with a mighty flurry
So me being me
I decided to fallow and see
He ziged and he zaged
I tried hard not to lag
At the top of a small hill crest
Is when I seen all the rest
On one side the bees, the other side the butterflies
And right in the middle their prize
It was the only one left
Frost had taken all the rest
It was tattered and torn
But it's beauty none could scorn
For it had stood times test
It had been stronger than the rest
It had been pearly white
Such a beautifully gourges sight
Now a dingy gray
It's nectar still as sweet as that very first day
And that's what started the war
That one little flower is what they where all here for
The big strong bees
Thought they could bring the butterflies to their knees
The fragile brightly painted butterflies
Behind their backs had a big surprise
The bees flew in first, stingers at the ready
Their stingers polished and sharp, flight was steady
The butterflies spread wide their colored wings
Hiding behind them their evil means
The first bee to the flower was shot down
I watched it spiral and hit the ground
That was it, all out war
All those flying fighting insects shook me the core
The bees had brought knifes to the butterflies gun battle
All I could hear was buzzing and tiny gun fire crackle
The air was a sea of colorful wings
And the yellow and black with the wings that sings
The bees were out powered
With the guns the butterflies advanced on the flower
The bodies of bees soon littered the ground
And when it was all over, it was sad what was found
The poor flower had been beaten down
It was laying with the dead bees on the ground
The butterflies realized the war had been for naught
For neither side would get what they want
But the butterflies had tasted power
They forgot about that little flower
So if in your town the bees are despairing
Then know the butterfly revolution is nearing
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Double negatives
Triple positives
Tattoo artist
But hey at least he still prays
Bible so strong it stings me sometimes
Mosquito bites
Stingers
Just hungry for blood
Sinners
Ain't hungry for nothin' but love
Dear God
Oh God Almighty
Teach me the reason for why
Gays sit on bleachers
But sacrilegious straight people
Become preachers
That boy ain't evil
He just wants to be accepted
But doesn't expect he'll ever get respect
So instead he accepts that liking boys is WRONG
Certain straight people act like their marriage is at stake
Eating steak off their plates
At the empty table of their passionless partnership
Gay is real
It ain't no trend
Closed curtains
Closeted hallways
Judging something you can't feel is wrong
So how can you judge those who are in love for all the right reasons
While right wing it and act like religion is the real reason
Do not destroy those who could never find it in their hearts to hurt you back
Love is love
So leave it alone
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
In between the crevasse, the edges of two fingers,
Two boldly jutting stingers perpendicularly putting
A slick gripping upon a slim tantalum cigarette,
A discreet bayonette from weapons that should have kept
Their secrets, saved their wars, retained their scores
To themselves, mourned in their shells, sat in the corners of their skin and bone cells,
Weeping through fingernails.
The acid cannot wave between the lips,
Absorbed, contained inside their grips,
Decidedly encased inside like bottled ships
That cannot sail from inside a deafly, deathly speaking slip.
Those circled, muscled sinking feelings
Driven cold by air, the scarab dealings
Flying flus, thus rabid reelings,
Blades cantankerous on wings revealing.
Bottled, at stop, on gums that go.
Bottled razorlings, at stop, on gums that go.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Dull silver silk slipping through my travelling fingers.
Metal bees buzzing past others with upright stingers.
Concrete flowers bloom as a final plea to the heavens.
But they are hushed by grey rainbows as their pain deepens.
Colours of the rainbow? They fell on to steel boxes of function.
But as they fell, they turned ugly around each intersection and junction.
Flowers abundant only in temples and no more do they grow wild.
Like a mother being offered her wounded child.
We ate all our cookies all these years in plenty.
But now we are stingy as the jar is gradually empty.
The inspirations of many were adorned by diamonds and gold.
And today they walk with black ear buds so cold.
I want that teal horizon splattered now and then with red.
Just beyond my black slumber slowly creeping on to my bed.
But when I turn over I want the silhouettes that zigzag across grey.
Bearing pride and promise for tomorrow and every other day.
Can’t we have both worlds, grey towers as well as vast greens?
Maybe if we try we can hope for a world that preens.
Will we ever give up preaching the things that we don’t do but know?
Should we ever give up teaching and let them learn as they grow?
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Baby, angel, I have begun
growing chamomile on the left side of my mattress:
you left it warm enough to grow something
as impossible as weeds. And I know
I am preferable to the sun
at least to you, but what about the moon? There is just
something about luna, the moon, lune.
Sometimes I want to talk to it the way I would
you: moon, oh my stars,
I did not believe in naturalism until I believed in you.
Baby, angel, we are only embers
of what we once were. I heat us up as tea
and grow herbs where you once would breathe.
Warding off bumblebees by
taking their stingers into my paw, the air can hurt us.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
Our bones were sticks,
and we grabbed 'em all together;
threw 'em in a pile,
and lit 'em all on fire.
I thought we'd
keep 'em burning,
but your shadow kept blowing out the
blues and reds and yellows.
I was
wrong.
I thought you'd stick around
I thought you might try to have some fun,
but you left the check for next month's rent
in the mailbox;
not even on the kitchen counter.
I was
wrong,
And now I got a tongue,
real slick,
and whiskey to chase back daggers;
red stingers, stretched and fresh,
holding in between my copious veins.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
Cloud of gold and night
And hurt, swarming around an
Oily dumpster filled with sacks
Of torn receipts
And polystyrene fish-stink boxes;
Yellowing bags bloodied from
The butcher's counter.
Plastic sacks the gulls have sliced
Open with grease beaks and lard white skulls
(The optimal greed of bird)
But it is the wasp's tornado of
Stingers
And beautifully armoured torsos,
The heat of them and the buzz wing
Drone below the clang
Of the scrap yard next door;
The hum of something you could call anger
In a woman or a man,
But which is nothing more than wing
Against heat, it is that which strikes me,
That meaningless will to go on.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Sometimes
I'm a passive pastime aggression past life regresser.
Sorry I'm such a sad excuse for a screwdriver,
you silly suffering succatash!
But really, I'm only sorry
because apparently
I'm the one who turned you into ****** tunes.
Maybe I'll come into your television with
new waveforms and let society tear me apart
steakchewsteakchew American diet and
then you can be a little less frayed.
And was I afraid? Hell the **** yes I was!
What are you some kind of beekeeper?
I've got half a mind to herd the hive and
two to love it for it's honey.
I haven't dove into a swarm of stingers
without a welt or two lately lemme tell ya.
Lemme show ya a lil somethin' somethin' cold
somethin' simmerin' somethin' like that
old house of cards filled with sickening soulsins.
Flutter flutter fly and the kingdom falls, *******
That was all that time?
Remember the last one of those I never finished and
there was no excuse for letting the time tick?
Bomb and tock when I had the right shoe.
Even if I've got two left feet
I've gotta make it werk!
I'm lip synching for my life
annd whattt!
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC