"swatting" poems
** “Except for needs I can pack everything I have
into my old black sea-bag.” * **
"I wish I had written that line,
I said loud enough for him to hear."
He shuffled around in his stool
and raised his cup to get
hit with a refill.
Frustration wiggle I call it,
you know like when your dad
couldn’t let you struggle with a puzzle.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
announced his irritation
"Where have you been,
swimming shallow side?"
"I stated swatting away needs
like mosquitoes on sweat
when I was seven."
He peered past his coffee,
furrowed his brow
and rubbed his tongue
over his lower lip.
"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,
why do you keep saying that, I asked"
"Guess you’ve never been in the military.
College man I reckin,
fancy degrees
and you don't know Alpha Zulu?"
* From Alpha Zulu by Gary Lilley
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Clinking of ink bottles
Scratching of quills
Rustling of paper
Pouring out knowledge
Sweating students
Angry teachers
Swatting of fleas
No more patience
Old mad bat suddenly
Shouting
"Bring me the earmuffs!!"
Laughing, crying, farting
Interupting the quiteness
"Why would you ask that?"
Principal Harpy asks
"Surely it isn't winter"
"Goodness me, have I said that out aloud?"
"I take it back!"
"Kindly continue with your exams"
But no matter, nothing was the same.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
Some days I wake up with my neck slick
beads of sweat soak the pillowcase,
my hair as though I've been bobbing for apples.
Perhaps I should be.
I'm starving, I think,
for the kind of knowledge which is dubbed
forbidden or shrouded,
hidden.
Written in redwoods,
eyes like nebulae
and sandstone futures.
If I could read the Andes like braille, what revelations would
erupt?
I'm yearning to greet the haunts and beetles once my clock
runs out.
But I lie
awake
and am greeted by
no one.
I'm frozen, now,
with molasses
feet
like running from the Golem in a January dream.
My fingertips leave damp, checked cotton, reaching out with an earnest desperation, and
I'm left sticky, swatting at vapors.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
You're busier than the crocodiles,
Swatting at the bees,
avoiding mumps and measles
that carry with the fleas.
In the time I could sit,
and bade my day awhile,
but now I've stuck to moving now,
now my soul is defilled!
You were busier than a ***** cat
swatting at the mouse,
and kicked closed, of that door,
that once was our own house.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
The poleax of Paroket
a pietersite soul sheath
the head which is not,
keening like a red horse
between two lions
slaying men and peace
with the hymns of ascent,
swatting humanities darkness
thrilling the sword of Michael;
First Cause , sweeping the graveyard
dust garden of Magna Mater touting
predicant trappings of the etheric
revenant a self compassing
mandala who is all right side invoked
By laudible Yahwistic nutation.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
The life span of a housefly
is approximately a month
Imagine if that was the lifespan
of everyone in this room,
from birth to death--
in just a month we grow;
learning to walk, talk, eat pancakes, perceive god,
light fires, play guitar, make coffee, cook lobster,
learning to hula-hoop, to snap, to use the toilet
and/or discovering your favorite shades of red,
the first time merging with the opposite ***
all in the span of a month.
How intense must that life feel?
Not to mention the physical growth
of bone, skin, heart, feet all the way
from birth to death in a month.
I think people would live quite differently;
laws would cease, save for the natural ones,
like the lifespan of a month.
Such learning with great intensity
compact into such a short time...
In this way I envy the housefly;
the fly that lands on dog ****
risking a shorter life swatting death
to drink some sweat or
warm up for a spell in your home.
What a life,
the life of a fly in time.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
Me and couple of my buddies tailgate of our trucks,
sipping moonshine from coffee cups.
Swatting at mosquitos and telling lies,
getting further from the truth with every sip of the Shine.
Dont be a stranger when you pull up,
yonder is the jug and some extra cups.
Now some folk cannot handle the sip then the bite,
leaves more for others, quite all right.
Here comes another stretch of the truth,
now keep on passing the jug once you're through.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
in the backs of cabs that reek of stale *****
blue salt specks are dragged against their will to rest in the ridges of the floor mats.
fluorescent confused cubicles of light flashing by-
your mind fighting to make shapes out of the blur.
it’s january, this is everyone’s mood.
fingers folded into fists, stuffed into nylon pockets,
catching your breath and watching the scenery swirl past
like the entire horizon is made of melting wax.
you’re replaying day old conversations, analyzing cryptic eye movements
and body language of those people that strike you so suddenly.
those strangers that have pushed and shoved every defense and nestled themselves
into every fiber of your being. you sicken yourself with these sappy adolescent romantic bouts
but they’re the only thing keeping you alive.
you don’t know these people.
you don’t even know yourself.
the cab driver mumbles something over the radio and your attention is brought back to the present.
he’s on the phone-
that’s illegal.
you’re a little concerned-
your life does lie in the shivering hands of a stranger who boredly grasps and curves a wheel, after all.
but you play it cool, you turn to nihilism- it’s easier this way.
death is fine.
the cab driver is passing your house while you’re swatting at questions.
you uncomfortably raise your quiet voice for a few hesitant notes.
“Here is fine!”
you urge to the driver while a fumbling hand shakes down your pockets for a twenty.
there’s your house- standing just as you left it
through the white mystery patches on the back window.
chock full of memories and problems and decay and warmth.
everything seems to rest so calmly in the palms of the bittersweet.
tell the stranger to have a goodnight.
he returns the favor.
everyone needs to hear these things-
it’s january, after all.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
“Look for the soul,
you become soul;
Hunt for the bread,
you become bread
Whatever you look for,
you are.” – Rumi
A glorious magenta thistle blossom
a humpback whale breaching
a haiku by my friend John
a kitten swatting at a bouncing string
a silent moment just sitting peacefully
Debussy’s La Mer
a giggling baby
a golden leaf falling from oak.
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 12:23 PM UTC
you write to me
about our kids and the hill we live on
you write to me
about the "honey, I'm home"s and soft loaves of homemade bread
about making soup as a family
about working from home living on the land
about swatting hands away from dinner until its ready
about eating outside in the light summer evening
picnic baskets soft glances as you do
homemade jam and uncut meadow filled lawns
and even though we haven't talked in weeks
I see it so clearly that I'm overwhelmed
tears of craving that
of wanting that
of wanting you
I had forgotten how quickly I bend for you
gentle words about a tender life
I'm bending
so far, for you
but you leave
long gone
too far to whisper your soft words
I will shatter
like I always do
break in half
even in two
id choose that
id choose life with you
Isn't that terrifying
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
*The red light’s red but I’m turning right,
The coast is clear – no cars in sight.
I make the turn and I make it slow
On the corner sat a huge cop on his hog.
Sirens blazing like he was late for his grog,
Behind me he flew with lights all a glow.
Pulling over to honor this beast's demand
I already had my license in hand.
He brought his big carcass up to my window
Grabbed my license and ask me what I’m into.
Nothing I said, I’m just headed home,
Then he dripped some sweat onto my chrome.
All at once he started swatting at what he thought was a bee
I said it’s just a horse fly so let it be.
He bent over and looked at me through the window
While asking me, what the hell is a hoss fly?
Not a hoss fly – a horse fly – I said through the window
You know – it’s a fly that flies around and around a horse's ****
He got a little closer and pushed down his shades
And asked me if I was calling him a hoss’s **** in spades.
I said – no sir – not at all – I would never ever
Do anything like that at all – that for me would be too terse.
He said something that I couldn’t understand
When then the fly lit on his Foster Grants.
Cross-eyed he handed me back my license
And began swatting at the thing creating the offense.
But the horse fly was faster than he and had more sense
As he slapped his shades off across into a fence.
The fly flew around and around his head
While he backed out into the street like something ******
I reached through the window and pulled him out of the street
For a car was coming and they were sure to meet.
Realizing now what he had almost done
He shook my hand and said I could go that we were done.
But one more time he stuck his sweaty face in mine
And asked me once again if I was calling him a hoss’s ****
Again I said - no sir, absolutely not but that I couldn't lie -
Sir, you know - you just can’t fool a smart horse fly.*
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
fire me towards a career
or something
(any/or/either/neither)
because i haven’t been
playing music
and i’m starting to seem
the emaciate-pit peach on a too-tall
tree of plenty
just out of reach
of tantalus,
waist-deep in a river
of cornsilk braids too
rich for eyes, too coarse for tongue or teeth
garden of goddesses
wielding life-flow
geometry
keep the
hounds and
ghost-things
at bay.
undress a smoky corset,
tendrils, or turgid
rapids, swatting
ceases less
twining strands
than flies.
i wish it away,
woven comfort,
a web of fraying
calico and red tape,
bearing the weight
of an arachnid slew.
yet away with it
yields my downfall,
tumbling branch
to branch,
unfeeling, unthinking,
but for my parachute.
i lost a life
to watching
a mirror and
the marker in my hand,
but it could not stop
the leaves from drifting,
nor the water from taking the leaves,
nor those leaves from disintegrating.
simmer down,
shudder breath,
breathe deep
¢er
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
you are absolutely necessary and utterly unimportant.
you are not important because
everything is important and important means
you are better than the mud
you are not
i can say this because
i want to be content. and to be so
i think i must owe myself to everything. because every little piece makes the puzzle, every tiny drop of paint changes the color, whether
you or
i can see it. down to the atom, every rock that
i step on, every bird in my ear, every bearable sting of guilt felt from swatting a fly, they have worked in perfect proportion, each paint drops precisely suffused to the present shade of my experience. and if
i am to be at peace, my life should not be measured but
i must be accepting of
everything as it comes.
i find this possible in realizing that the stretch in my smile and the tears on my cheek are all just as needed in shading me. no single experience makes the man. and to be accepting of the summation
i must accept that every single experience in my collective past was utterly necessary. every single experience, and each minor detail of each experience, and how they scatter on the surface like little melting beads, and how they eventually sink and mix; all single molecules of paint diffusing in the only proportion to make the present shade of my life, none more important than the other, down to the atom, ultimately equal.
not in quantity, but in quality
everything equal. what it means is that
i love you. but
i love the sweat greased ball bearings of dirt in my boot
i love the percussion of infection drenched nerves in my foot
i love the salt stick of your skin and staunch of your cough as you beat through the barreling wind. and
i love the invisible river of shivering brush waving like cilia down the valley. into the bioluminescence of our L.A. colony.
i love you if you love me and
i love you if
you hate me. because even your hate will drop like paint into me and change the shade to something
i have not yet seen.
i know we have different eyes but
i think this works for mine.
i will love you in equivalence to every molecule
i breathe.
utterly unimportant and absolutely necessary.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:53 AM UTC
i wasn't lying
the weeping and wailing started weeks ago
what i didn't predict was the writhing
literal kicks of frustration
i've never been more serious
more foolish
more desperate
more liquid
what have you unleashed, you madman?
clearly, it's all your fault for starting this
nudging me right out
of ******* rotation with the sun
i didn't know this other **** was out here!
it's dark...and deep...and consuming
and i want to
f
a
l
l
you come and
obliterate
useless, dead cells from my brain
you return
and
electrify
stealing my oxygen
warping my perception
leaving me breathless
and high as a ******* kite
and again you come
prowling like a lion
growling
biting
dominating
sweet mother of god
and again
and again
you son of a *****
leaving me with these memories...
most others i let escape
but these...
i have posted guards
i have reinforced with steel
and song
and repetition
these WILL stay
i'm sure i was but a fly
buzzing around
i can see you swatting
irritated
already forgotten
well, my friend
that was not nice...
to knock me out of rotation
pull me into new space
then pick me up
and firmly plant me back
into the boring old stupid rotation
like nothing ever happened
because of you
i have to forcibly regulate my heartbeat
multiple times a day
these words, for christ's sake
they will not stop
the moment i let them go
i feel others loosely forming
i see glimpses
but there is no respite from this madness
why have you cast a spell on me?
for the love of the light, why do you move like you do?
you know **** well nothing else will suffice
you unleashed a wildness
that will not be contained
i guess i better just
batten down the hatches
with my pen and paper
it's gonna be a long night.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Listen to the bell's toll
It brings solace to the soul
The imps of my fitful slumber
Hope to drag me in the deep of sleep
Awakening to the noon of day
I leave my house with no delay
Hoping to find the one I love, dream of
Upon the stone from where she lays
As I rush into the sea of granite
The tombstones' voices drown my thoughts
A hundred murders, a thousand deaths
Accusations, reveries, pleadings
They cloud my mind
And I embrace darkness.
I feel the chilling touch of winter's baby soft breath
As I rise to my feet
To find myself in front
Of my long lost lover's
Final retreat
A heathen's breath descends upon
My heaving breast
As I claw the cursed ground, oh, the cursed ground,
Away from this place of solemnity
‑
As the final clod of dirt is removed, in an air of infallibility
I hope to obtain a glimpse of my dearest
Only to find those accursed pits of black like a pool of tainted water
With hair like limpid worms in the night
And that ghastly nightmare grin,
Mocking my very existence to see whom I seek
In a terrible rage, I shred, I tear, I smash, and render the Beast
Indistinguishable in any form
I fling myself into the streets
Tearing thru the crowds
Vaulting over and thru the market stalls
To find my wild flight halted by a pair of
Panicked citizens hoping to alleviate my obvious distress
Only now in a flash of mental shock
That throws me close to an unconscious state
Does the realization of my actions ascend to my heavens
And as the citizens holding me let go
I myself let go
Of everything and everyone that matters
Or should matter to me
Stumbling, hoping to hold my balance along the precipice
From which my mind has already cast itself
‑
I once again see a dripping, searing red rage cloud my vision as the madness
That had taken me among the tombstones returns
Swatting aside those near me
I approach the river that runs thru the city
And staring into the depths
I see the creature that I had become
A haggard defeated man that had succumbed to the
Eternal darkness that engulfs everyone in time
And I see my love, the one who I had sought for so long
Alongside this poor creature that is within me
Her presence is all that I can now perceive
And I let my grasp on this world
Decay, and as I sink into the depths
My love approaches and embraces me
In the final act of Love
In the final act of Life
In the only act of Death.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:38 PM UTC
Each day you creep around the house,
Searching stealthily for that invisible mouse,
Or strutting around like you own the place,
The queen of Sheba, all hail her grace.
Afternoons are spent in the window sill,
Bathing in sunshine, hourly still.
Watching the world rush slowly by,
Occasionally swatting that annoying fly.
Lying on my bed without a care,
The sheets and pillow covered in hair,
Blast you cat! I raise my tone,
She barely stirs from flattened throne.
Leave me be! I’m trying to sleep!
I’m catching mice, not counting sheep.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
Aqua Regia! Conquerer o' Kings,
A quick,flashing stab in the heart.
The dilapidated remains, crumbling,
Like fantasies of a tyrant destroyed.
Three parts will, and one part heart,
A magnificent creature shall be born.
A beast of gold,of silver arrayed,
In stacking blocks of haute couture.
It fears no strength,no power,
In all its nobility it advances.
Swatting aside mice and rulers alike,
It gushes forward with with stunning delight.
Aqua Regia! Champion o'the poor.
Creeps up like a woodland Robin,
With no need nor like for a hood.
The phantasm keeps it's friends close,
And enemies, closer yet.
Waiting for the clocks to align,
It splits into myriad ephemeral images.
One to destroy, one to save,
Another to watch over the kings and the knaves.
Aqua Regia! Thy magnificent beast,
With a bright light, it wanders yonder.
Skirting like a dandelion in the sky,
Across the vast expanse of ignorance.
Choosing not,the path of least resistance,
It grins at it's clever fabrications.
For it's place has been,and will be,
To remain a tyrannical,benevolent enigma.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
~
Unlike you
Hovering like a gnat that finds a face irresistible
Swatting frantically does no good as
insects will be insects and annoying is part of their plan
As it seems each day I find a new offering unfolding its wings,
buzzing about with all of its ***** laundry,
as if poetry has become merely a tool to harass
Finding little folders to slide into…highlighting
each word of bin fodder, old but new
hoping for accolades in lemonade fashion
Funny how that works as bitter becomes the norm,
never letting go of that scent that attracts you…
whatever it is about the human aroma you find so pleasing
Perhaps it is that it will never be you…insect,
oh little gnat of warm summer zephyrs failing to flutter by
lost within the deep confines of a posies’ petals
To ruin our summer faire, our picnic in the sun
can not happen for you see we are happy
in our own skin, with its wondrous fragrance…unlike you
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
snapping your wrist at an unsuspecting creature-
one merely curious of the minute details and intricacies of a human life.
perhaps drawn in by a whiff of cheap cologne
or the scent of a sweet summer drink.
it lives without common sense and floats through space,
weightless, only concerned by luxuries it can't comprehend.
and we smack at them,
flailing, angry, unaware.
we're overcome with a sense of annoyance and disgust,
simply because another living thing,
with a body much smaller, and ambitions absent.
decides to swim by off course
on whichever axis they assume.
i can only wish that one day a fly will swat at me,
remind me to keep my thoughts from wandering too far astray-
too keep my curiosity at bay.
i need something to bind me.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
Remember when we went to the barrage and had a picnic?
yeah that was nice. all those crazy photos and swatting away ants from our picnic mat. Do you remember that time you were grounded for months? and i was the only one who could come over and we'd play in your garden with the garden hose all afternoon and then have dinner in our drenched clothes. Do you remember that time we got drunk on breezers and my mum had to come pick us up? she was mad for so long after that and didnt want us to see each other but we did. many times. to have apple pie from macdonalds or just to talk about boys. Do you remember that time your mom found out you were smoking and i took the wrap for you and let her believe it was under my influence that you did so. she called me up and demanded answers from me and threatened to call my mom. Do you remember when we went for that camp together and cried like babies thinking about how small we've become since growing up in this world with people who don't understand us like we do each other? we made a pact to forgive all those people but we needed each others help. Do you remember us both crying about our first heartbreaks? It was so unfair because it was never our faults that it didnt work out. it was just never the right time or place. Thats how the universe pushed us together, we'd find each other in all the wrong times and it was the most beautiful thing. Do you remember when i found out you lied. Again, and then that other time. You told me it was a phase and its over. but the phases keep coming on. Do you remember the look on my face? did you notice it at all. cause thats the face when i knew everything that was coming out of your mouth was a lie. Why? i never understood. was i not accepting enough? Do you not remember everything we've been through or was it just never enough. Do you remember all that we used to be? Do you remember kicking up the leaves? Do you remember our plans to travel the world. Do you remember ME..?
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
My mind is at a disarray
Why is it a gloomy day
I need to ask you a question is I may
What part in this life do I play
My heart is crushed
My time feels rushed
My hair has not been brushed
And my hat made my hair smushed
My eyes are getting blurry
My emotion is that of fury
And I am in no hurry
I am craving a McFlurry
Riddle me this riddle me that
What's going on with my body fat
It annoys me like swatting a gnat
That eventually went splat
My mind is in a disarray
And this is all I got to say
I don't want anything getting in the way
I guess this is how I will end the day
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Time's clock ticking, drops
infinity into the rust of bedside tables.
In Bed-Stuy, in D.C, dear Baltimore. And you too,
Ferguson.
East Coast warriors raise high heavy heads.
Break loose shackles, blushing muscles. Veins
of ancients pump through us.
Now we cry for peace. Resilience and time
*********** out from present pleasures. T.V screens.
Longing hours contemplating
forgotten dreams. Nightmares,
trickle blood out of nosebleed section patrons.
An operatic multitude of greed
and insanity. Corrupt millionaires
spit down on struggling, stuttering
lost and alone
actors, poets
the good politician.
The neighborhood bully weeps after swatting a fly,
and immortality feigns existence. Be here
now death, let them know the coming of peace,
spiraling black holes
of emotion and pride and dead boys.
Broken time continuous, and hearts.
9-11, 2001 rocked a nation,
what rocked you?
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
In a congested store,
there were dozens of you.
Drooping pants with
patterns of leaves and woods.
Tousled hair, insanity wrapped
around your irises.
On the ride home, in a
perfectly unassailable
neighborhood, you were there.
That’s him, I spoke, fear filling
the inside and coating the
outside. He’s here.
Why do people glamorize this
ghastly feeling?
He may be devouring pills,
swatting at nonexistent flies,
but what about us?
**He was a magnanimous
boy! A good kid who steered
in the wrong direction.**
But why did the effects of his
crash **** me? What the hell did
I do to deserve such panic?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Information is weight that holds
down and holds back like a jungle
like so many vines and chutes
mud and rain that keeps
you struggling and straining
towards that place on a map
the high point that once atop
promises an unambiguous view,
the place that looks so close
there's no need to carry a pack
but nine hours later, hacking
through underbrush, pulling
at leeches and swatting mosquitos
finds you crippled by heat
cursing the map that so
grossly misrepresented the
relationship between yourself
and the place you wished to reach,
the map that never mentions, never,
that should you ever achieve
that keystone ridge, that high and
illuminating view, you will look out
to see the impeding silhouette of the
next ridgeline blocking your way.
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 7:24 PM UTC