28 posts
  • in_fragments 32w

    This is a direct continuation of my FLOWER GIRL poem from a few weeks ago, think of this as part two please.
    Flower Girl is up and moving now, transforming into something else entirely.
    #pod #narrative #poem #story #horror #insects @miraquill @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Bug Mother Box (Flower Girl Part 2)

    The Flower Girl wanders,
    crawls through the dense forest,
    disoriented and hopelessly absent
    behind her own eyes.
    Old leaves like piles of corpses
    are brown and rotting,
    a winter not cold enough for snow-
    the ground feels slimy on her skin,
    smoggy and wet; the sky a deep gray
    like a disappointed face
    arrived to suck the soul from trembling lips.
    Humidity sticks itself
    all over her naked body, dewdrops fall
    into her open chest and the air
    envelops around shriveled organs,
    a sternum made hollow from exposure,
    past a cracked pelvic bone
    and gnarled fallopian tubes
    twisted tightly all around their walls
    making every step feel heavy
    and every rattle of an organ
    seem like her insides could fall
    right out from her bottom lips;
    like a body breaking the surface of water,
    like a stillborn child, something once within
    but ripped away in confusion and grief,
    like every winter she couldn't remember.

    Her flowers have all died now,
    she's pulled out all the stems
    there was once so much comfort in,
    and her legs proceed to bleed,
    all up and down, with thorns and dirt
    lining her hands, thighs and feet.
    Her ankles, still bound
    by deep and unseen underground roots,
    brown shackles thick and wide
    that pull up with each step,
    decimating the soil as she goes,
    disturbing everything-
    but still she cannot cut them off.
    Her brain starts to spin as vertigo sets in,
    she falls down in resignation,
    wallowing in pain, waiting for death
    to snatch her weary soul away
    when a huge, hairy spider- a tarantula
    the size of her palm runs itself
    right along her body, as if to analyze
    the big dying thing.
    Uninhibited, it passes right by her then,
    over to the base of a large sycamore tree
    with its fat trunk and expansive branches.
    The spider stands atop
    a small wooden box, camouflaged
    by the decay that surrounds it,
    and stares back at her,
    eye to lateral eye, almost daring her
    to discover the secrets inside,
    as if they were waiting only for her.
    She picks the box up and opens it as
    the spider glides onto her shoulder to witness.
    Inside it lies large needles and thread,
    and a dirty, off-white dress she felt
    must have once been hers, and pictures
    of people she used to know,
    memories she no longer has
    of herself and others- her baby photo,
    the recognition clicks,
    had WELCOME BACK written in red
    on its side. She finds an empty journal
    and a cup of black ink- must have forgotten
    a fountain pen or two- a fresh pink zinnia
    sits quietly where one should be.
    Meanwhile, hoardes of insects
    fly out almost impossibly, like they never
    awakened until she opened the lock.
    Cockroaches and ants, butterflies
    and caterpillars, centipedes and spiders
    run along her skin like children,
    rushing to her aid, to play their games
    and pull her through the fog.

    Flower girl takes the needles
    and sews herself back up
    with the thread, crying out,
    pulling skin together section by section,
    beginning at her pelvis
    all the way up
    to her throat, where the needle
    hangs like jewelry, grazes her chest
    like a necklace, a constant reminder
    of how easy it would be
    to succumb to the unraveling of agony,
    and how much anguish one body must hold
    in order to heal the spirit.
    With the blood-spattered zinnia
    in one hand, the box
    of forgotten possessions in the other,
    she covers her mangled body with the dress
    and her shaky legs gain strength
    to walk, pulling up her roots
    as she moves.
    The insects follow her- centipedes insist
    on resting along her back as spiders
    steal her shoulders,
    caterpillars and ants crawl up and down
    to tighten her stitches as three
    small but beautiful butterflies
    fly into her chest through the open space,
    the fluttering of their wings
    causing her heart to beat once again
    resurrecting the insides so ready to die.
    Their vibrations bring her back to life,
    and sometimes you can see them flying,
    keeping watch through the gaps of skin
    on her torso. The cockroaches lead her
    from the forest floor, zooming
    across her ankles to help her find direction.
    They all follow the roots now,
    hoping they will finally lead her home
    as they embark on the next trail
    carrying the first pieces
    of a dauntingly large cosmic puzzle,
    surely coming upon
    the end of the beginning.
    Gray skies turn to black
    as the night rises,
    and the real test commences
    for Flower Girl- no longer sitting, idle
    and waiting for nothing, but preparing
    to face every inner wound she hid from.
    Not knowing where she's going,
    still she walks with grace and energy;
    for there are too many monsters left to slay
    to stay in one place in unjustified comfort.
    Flower Girl becomes Bug Mother,
    embraces the darkness
    and lets the distress lead her.
    The amnesia will show her the way-
    a path backwards in time,
    moments uncovered and exorcised
    to lead her mind forward-
    without knowing, she knows it all.

  • meera_meharba_elizabeth 41w


    They are searching for nectar,
    The shades they reserved for gathering,
    That green garden of glorious weeds.
    It hurts when you already know that
    They don't exist but still you search for it.
    It hurts more when your favorite people
    Gone mad of searching their home-
    That are already cleared by last evening.

  • darkness_of_the_sky 50w

    26th August 2021

    Chirps of insects gently resonate through the window.
    Like violins building up, serenely to their own crescendo.
    rosined bow grasping the strings
    Once again my heart starts to bleed things.

  • porcupine 52w


    A friend says it's a millipede
    I wasn't sure myself
    I would have guessed wrong
    And said something else

    My friend knows insects
    From a through to z
    If you're unsure of one
    He's the person to see

  • in_fragments 63w

    "The cicada's call;
    long, raspy and lingering.
    Late spring swells with sound!"
    "Great cicada rests
    alongside its old cocoon,
    prepares for first flight."
    "Cicada tymbals,
    pulled by two tiny muscles;
    heard from miles away."
    "Cicada jungle;
    tymbals, different intervals-
    constant background trills."
    "Fragile wings- but tough,
    loud and heavy fluttering-
    right into my face."
    "Cicada's long wings
    vibrate against time and space-
    sadly, cease too soon."
    "Noisy, boisterous
    cicadas, they talk alot.
    Listen while you can."

    In honor of @john_solomon's memory, I've written a few nature Haikus. These ones are all about the periodical cicadas that have come back around this year!
    The last time these specific cicadas (periodical cicadas) came, I was 9 years old. The weeks leading up to them arriving were exciting, as I heard the adults talk about these weird insects I'd never seen that mostly slept and came out every 17 years, with chirps as loud as the summer sun was hot. Sure enough, when the cicadas arrived we all got an earful! I quickly learned to tolerate the sounds that vexed most adults.
    What they failed to tell us kids though, was that when cicadas fly they are CLUMSY, and will often fly straight into our faces on accident ��
    Still had to love them.
    Cicadas are so loud and so alive for such a short period of time, I always wondered what it would be like underground for 17 years. I wished I could try it.
    They sparked wonder for me as a kid, and today that wonder has returned with them. Their sounds fill me with nostalgia, and as I listen to them and write my haikus, I wonder where I'll be when they come around next...
    #pod #poem #nature #haiku #insects #bugs #life #spring #summer @writersnetwork @writersbay @__lovenotes_from_carolyn @imterwms (I especially hope you two like them! ❤)

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    Cicadas (Haikus)

    Great cicada rests
    alongside its old cocoon,
    prepares for first flight.

  • jenaroaragon 82w

    Creation story

    When Bumbas tummy rumbled I thought maybe we should run.
    It’s the beginning of the end. We can’t afford a second sun.
    And sure, from vomit came forth man, but man, I think we have enough.
    Can’t feed ourselves and earth is melting, seems it’s all a bit too much.
    So let’s get drunk! Let’s all get dizzy! Let’s get closer to Allah! Elegant dancers spinning ‘round serve to distract us from the thaw
    with sugar cane to open her up, all decisions null and void.
    You watch the chase, claim she's to blame, then you exclaim "Boys will be boys!"
    I swear my state has not been altered. Not by Snakes, migraines, or drugs.
    But still you look at me like from my mouth comes forth a plague of bugs.
    Then as the insects stand and they brush off the final layer of earth
    just to be told the Holy People do not like their shape and girth,
    I get offended, then amended and revised till I agree.
    But god I'm tired of being wrong, so let there be light! Let us see!
    Come on, admit to some extent we put ourselves above the rest.
    Judged by scriptural law you can't deny you too would fail the test.
    And meanwhile Christ just idles falsely. Not much left for faith to do.
    It played its part, brought forth its fruit. But the fool's heart speaks only truth.
    And we evolved like this. Neotenic. Weak jaws, and bigger brains
    For Proto-Indo-European myths which helped to keep us safe
    back when the world was only water. But the sun's come out, so breathe
    in all the air and dry your hair in all this freeing summer heat.
    Or would you squash me like an insect squirming beneath your feet?
    I think you think you should.
    You can’t.

    You’re no bigger than me.


  • by_proxy 91w

    Do Moths Dream of Starlight?

    It truly is a tragic delight,
    When moths dream of starlight,
    Wanting to touch something,
    So clearly out of sight,
    But butterflies with their pretty wings,
    Get to dance throughout the night,
    Taking their lives for granted,
    Because their not afraid to roll the dice,
    Comes in and tips the scale,
    Cause they never play fair,
    And you know that all too well,
    So I like to pretend,
    If only for a moment,
    That moths dream of starlight,
    I do it for solace.

  • james_taumas 117w

    Night creatures

    Sun fallen
    Nocturnal life begins
    Hunters and thieves
    Search for food
    Avoid being main course
    Some on wings
    Others with nimble paws
    Flying or scurrying
    Night hides their activities
    No evidence left behind.


  • quotes_up_ 141w

    A horrific funny story. #fun #funny #youknowit #insects
    Like. Comment. ������
    Hope this made u laugh!

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    I held it but I still couldn't do anything. How am I supposed to kill something? I doubted my thoughts. But I had to do it. I had to defend myself somehow. But before anything else could happen I saw it flying and the next thing I know is my shoe in the air. I killed the cockroach. Relieved.

  • hrk_nehoi 147w


    As the moon camouflage itself with clouds
    The lucid sun blaze up.
    Then turn up the Cicadas.
    Warbling on trees
    In their shrill tune melody,
    Giving us migraines,
    And making the weather torrid,
    With their incessant irksome hymn.
    Hovering from trees to trees
    Under the scorching heat of the radiant sun,
    They warble away the whole summer.


  • the_alluring_soul 149w

    We as human are lucky to do things our own way..
    Unlike these beautiful small creatures, who end up with their life with our one small move..

  • james_taumas 157w


    Underworld realm
    The discarded
    The ignored
    Overworld trash
    Washup on fatberg shores
    Living in obsidian night
    Verrmin and other paws
    Exoskin life flourish
    Survival's sole law
    Lights fear
    No one treads alone

  • vanyajames 160w

    When all she could feel and see was the vast darkness in front of her,
    Listening to crickets singing in the silence of the night, calmed her down;
    The fear of darkness in her was slowly fading away.
    She suddenly felt that new found peace that the singing of crickets brought to her mind and soul.

    God's own country had done it's magic on her!


  • pranayee_poeticdoctor 165w

    While everyone
    are vigorously fighting
    with the demons outside
    She is busy fighting
    with demons
    inside her head !

    © Pranayee

  • deathprone 166w

    Strange creatures

    I watch the creatures scurry around
    Never noticing the world around them

    Blindly flowing round in circles
    From innocent birth to a pointless end

    They run about collecting things
    Shiny objects that have no meaning

    Spending their time destroying their world 
    Creating things that have no feeling

    I love to observe their simple lives
    These strange creatures called humans

    Dean Thorpe ©deathprone

  • shrena 168w

    As soon as
    you left,
    a wasp
    bit me.
    I attract
    One goes.
    Another comes.

  • jordynbrower 182w

    Pink Clouds

    The billows of the tides stalk me no where I go.
    Talk about a clasped locket,
    No longer secure in pink clouds,
    Which molest the saddening tides
    With deceiving strokes of time.
    They stiffly rise as the cockroaches proceed the current
    Into a revering tale.
    Presume the deep were to shadow me,
    And I greet those insects within a time piece.
    Who is not to say that one should sink rather than swim?
    Guaranteed, there is always floating.
    But I am no doll existing on an eternal shelf.
    Rather, I am a twisting termite
    Who shivers at the bottom of the dead sea,
    Cloaked in dust,
    Blanketed in oblivious memories,
    And masked in pink clouds.

  • rupanjana2312 185w

    Broken flowers

    When I walked along the
    valley, I found broken
    flowers scattered all over.
    Insects perched on their
    petals, were desperately
    trying to suck the sweet nectar.
    I wondered, 'Are we all not
    broken? And don't we have
    someone trying to suck the
    good out of our hurt souls?'
    Just like the broken flowers
    giving out whatever little nectar
    they have, I wish human beings
    to do the same. Perhaps the
    world would turn into a beautiful
    place to live in.


  • nyxneedsafix 186w


    The shape of your form
    Your figure
    The firmness of your skin is a feeling
    Seared into the hollows of my palms
    And it Chafes
    The memory texture of your thighs
    Is like insects running underneath my skin
    And maybe
    Maybe they all have a purpose
    A hind brain that knows what it's doing
    But I don't want their order
    I want to cut them out
    Dissect the natural lines of my hands
    And squash them onto the table linens
    Get out

    I tried to draw you
    But I couldn't get your face
    I knew the contours of your legs
    The knobby shape of your knuckles and knees
    The freckled constellations across your shoulders
    Knew them intimately
    Like I knew the paths of my own mind-scape
    But your face
    Your face is like a color smear- No
    Your face is Agony
    Like jagged fractured edges with no cohesion
    I can't find the the beginnings or the ends
    Only that every time I try to put what I rationally know is
    In fact a human face
    To paper
    You're screaming
    Always screaming
    Scraped edges of fingernail streaks across
    the planes of your cheeks
    I don't know why
    To me

    You are a jagged edge

  • dakikat 195w

    Ladybugs do scare me, but taking the time to look and learn has helped me come to love them a little bit more. �� I hope everyone's day is going well! Love you all so much and thank you for reading �������� #bugs #insects #ladybugs picture belongs to rightful owner!!

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    Little lady,
    Creepy crawly,
    Black, red, white,
    Their legs so angular and sprawly,
    Skittering around,
    Giving me the shivers,
    But I can't help but love these interesting little critters.