Bugs (On a Summer's Day)
On any hot and sunny, summer's day,
Millions of bugs appear, to work and play.
Butterflies flit to and fro: they flit high and flit low;
Bringing a touch of beauty, wherever they may go.
Crimson red, with little black spots, is the ladybird.
My whole face lights up, whenever it's name is heard.
The honey bees, are industrious in their work:
Their responsibilities, they never ever shirk.
Then there's the ant, aka the earth excavation engineer;
One, I can stand, but a whole army feels me with fear.
I freeze with fear, when by a wilful wasp, I'm pursued.
They hang around, even when I don't have any food.
Likewise, different species of fly, varying in shape and size,
Look for food - to keep it covered, you'd be extremely wise.
Hoverflies, however, do pretty much as their name suggests,
But, unlike wasps, who look quite similar, they are not pests.
Storm flies may well be extremely tiny and titch,
But when they crawl on you, they don't half itch!
Outdoors, I dash away, if the sound of buzzing gets too close;
'Ha! I chased her away! ' the insects, to each other, I bet, boast!
Tiny bugs, which crawl about in my hair,
Is one thing which, I really can not bear.
Woodlice, however, do not like the scorching sun,
And, if disturbed, to a new shelter, they'll quickly run.
Lacewings look pretty, with wings, all delicate and lacy,
But emitting a nasty smell to predators, they aren't tasty.
In the evening, Grasshoppers and crickets chirp away,
Signalling the closing in of yet another summer's day.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Wasps!
I’m walking home, along the road,
Carrying my shopping; a heavy load.
I hear a buzzing sound right by my ear,
And my whole body fills with fear.
Without even looking, I know what is there.
I’m afraid that it will get caught in my hair.
I stand there stock still and totally freeze;
I’m terrified of wasps, but don’t mind bees.
A frown appears upon my face and I pray,
That this worrying wasp, will soon go way.
Soon, he loses interest and gets off my case,
But, even so, I purposefully quicken my pace.
The wasp disappears and I’m on my own again,
Thankful that, on me, he didn’t inflict any pain.
To date, I’ve been lucky and haven’t been stung,
But I’m so totally dreading my first ever one.
Freezing on the spot has worked for me so far,
And has managed to keep me from any harm.
When a wasp approaches, my shoulders hunch.
Needless to say, I’m not a fan of ‘al fresco’ lunch!
Some people wave their arms and go ‘shoo! ’
But, I know this is the worst thing they can do.
Of wasps, I’ve always been so totally terrified,
And it’s a fear, which is extremely hard to hide.
A wilful wasp flying around in search of food,
Can, in a heartbeat, suddenly change my mood.
Bees, unlike wasps, are useful and earn their worth,
But what is the actual purpose of wasps on the earth?
They just annoy people to the point of distraction;
Where there’s a wasp, there’s often some action!
I’m really not their biggest fan, and I really think
I’d be more than happy, if they became extinct!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bees
Bees are messengers from up above:
Filled with goodness and with love.
Unlike wasps, they mean us no harm:
They are more friendly and have charm.
On fine, silvery wings, the bees take flight,
When the sun's warm rays are shining bright.
They collect up the pollen in their sacs,
Then, to their hives, they take it back.
They carry out their duties with a smile;
Their souls full of cheer all the while.
With keenness, they carry out their work;
Their responsibilities, they do not shirk.
Bees have such an important role to play:
We would be doomed if they died away.
Plants and flowers would cease to grow,
And supplies of foodstuffs would soon be low.
Of bees, there is no need for us to be scared;
About their work, they passionately do care.
If we leave these dedicated workers well alone,
Near to us humans, they will not dare to roam.
They will not sting us, unless they're provoked,
For them, using their sting is certainly no joke.
If a bee ever stings you, you may well cry,
But the poor old bee, well, it would then die.
Unlike wasps, bees are not considered pests,
Even though they are very similarly dressed.
Bees are really fabulous, bees are really brill:
A bee, you should never ever, on purpose, kill.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Butterfly
'butterfly
butterfly
why do you fly? '
I’ve got wings
I’ve got aerodynamics
so I flit about
and I fly:
for I just got to be
'O I wish
I really wish
I too could fly
flit and fly
fly and flit
just like you
I wish I could fly'
O you can
O you can
flit about and fly
you mortal on the ground
you can fly
if you use your mind
if you try
if you try
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daze
Bugs of all types,
Crawl on the wall.
They crawl onto my body,
And I just sit there.
I stare at the TV,
And ignore the bugs.
They crawl all over me,
Up on my face,
Down my legs,
On my arms,
Everywhere.
Someone comes in,
They see all the bugs,
Covering my body now.
They scream,
And try to get me uncovered.
I just sit there,
Doing nothing but watching,
The black screen.
Once they have me uncovered,
They shake me,
But I don't come out of my daze.
I sit there,
As they call nine-one-one.
Once they get here,
They try to,
Get me out of my daze.
But even they can't.
They just leave me there,
Sitting and staring,
At a black screen.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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A tale of summer
Swallows catch insects on the wing
In the early morning sun,
And a cuckoo calls to tell us
That the summer has now begun.
The flowering meadow comes alive
With butterflies and the sound of bees,
Cherry blossom showers down like confetti
Carried on the summer breeze.
Swift and house martins arrive back from afar
Making a welcome sight,
And a nightingale sings on a summer evening
And on into the night.
The sweet smell of honeysuckle
Fills the evening air,
While fox cubs play on the edge of a coppice
The beauty of summer is everywhere.
A skylark sings high above
Fields of barley corn and wheat,
While on the lake swans with thier cygnets
Make the summer complete.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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The Sandpiper
Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, but by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.
Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky:
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.
I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong,
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.
Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My drift-wood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Wasp
Her slender waist resembles a wasp
And she goes on the muddy road never stops.
Unlike bees, wasps are largely carnivorous
And their species, digger wasps, sand wasps & mud wasps
But you are a kind woman and I am sure you do not have a formidable sting
Please do not hurt me as I am scared of wasps.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Beautiful Day In October
The flies are buzzing in the sunshine and the little dark brown honeybees
Are busily gathering nectar from the flowers of the blossoming trees
On a beautiful day in October of around 27 degrees
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very faint breeze
Under the house eaves lined with lots of feathers the house sparrows have their nest of hay
Non singers devoted to chirping they seem to chirp all through the day
Such beauty to inspire poets and artists the beauty that Nature create
The willy wagtail with tail wagging is perched on the back garden gate
A tiny black and white long tailed flycatcher always on the look out for flies
One who mobs the much bigger magpie undaunted it does seem by size,
A beautiful day in October butterflies flitting in the sunlight
And fuchsias and roses in full bloom such things that make a pretty sight
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very slight breeze
And all around the sunlit garden the buzzings of flies and of bees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Idiot Summer
I walked home to the sun
I couldnt ride another one
I thought a lot along the lines
And Ive been fooled about all night
Wiped clean always by midnight
Wasnt it like an idiot summer...
Three, four peaks all I could see
In the morning its a hundred and ten degrees
But I like the goddamn heat
I lie awake half the night
Autumn is coming it seems like its in sight
All the autumn that you can see
All the autumn that you can see
Its growing darker like the trees
But if all the trees should fall
All the bugs would crawl in my sleep
And then its cold
Its growing darker like the trees
But if all the trees should fall
All the bugs would crawl in my sleep
And then its cold
Theres no telling I was so confused
I try but I cant help you choose
Tucson is so far away
I lie awake half the night
Autumn is coming it seems like its in sight
Wasnt it like an idiot summer...
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From A Spider...
Human, human, stood all alone, in the room,
Watch me, while around your walls, I zoom!
That you have spotted me, it is all too clear,
As I see your face, suddenly fill with fear.
I get bored of just standing here all static;
Watch, while I do some clever acrobatics!
See how I can hang from this here beam;
Oh no! I never meant to make you scream!
I see that you can only walk upon the floor;
Well, I can do walls, ceilings, and a lot more.
For a while, I was hanging over your head;
I hung from the ceiling, just above your bed.
Upon me, your eyes appear to be super-glued;
I detect that you are not in the best of moods.
You seem to want to keep me within your sight;
I'm tiny, compared to you; why take such fright?
I'm a good runner: I'm extremely fast,
And you'll never catch me in that glass.
I'll happily give humans the run-around;
I'll crawl into a crevice, never to be found.
I'd feel happier if you just left me alone,
So, that, around your home, I can roam.
Now then, I'm really not trying to be rude,
But I really must go, and find some food.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Waste Food
Hundreds and thousands have toiled under the scorching sun of summer,
to grow the food which so comfortably we eat.
think of food as the fruit of labor of thousands of hours,
rather than just rice and wheat.
millions die due to lack of food, so is their fate,
but we are lucky to have every time enough in our plate.
we may never go to the fields to produce the food,
but my friend 'food saved is food produced'.
so lets take a vow today to put in our plate only that much which we can eat,
so that even a single single grain may not go waste.
poem by Sunny Mittal
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Evening Dress in the Afternoon
I don't know your name
couldn't find you photo, even on Google
but I know that you must be
a high-society sophisticate
in the butterfly world
svelte body sheathed
in basic black
wings black too, at the start
then bands of palest blue
give way to transparent tips.
You wear this
enchanting evening dress
with the detached cool
that comes with class
even though the sun is shining
this hot August August afternoon
sit unmoving
on a lily stem
while tiny white ingenues
flit about below
to curry favor.
Insects
Tiny insects in my hair
Tiny insects everywhere
Tiny insects in my pants
Watching insects make romance
Insects make me make me want to dance dance dance
They make want to dance . . .
Flying insects everywhere
Flying insects buzzing buzzing buzzing thru the air
Just like little diamonds in the sky
Insects buzzing in my eye
Buzzing insects make me want to dance dance dance
They make me want to dance . . .
Insects crawling all around
Insects squirming in the ground
Insects gooey squeaky chewy
Should I eat them--no
Id rather stomp them hurt them stomp
Stomp them while I dance dance dance
I hurt them while I dance dance dance
I stomp them while I dance dance dance . . .
Insects make me scream and shout
They dont know what lifes about
They dont have blood
Theyve got too many legs
They dont have brains in their heads
They know theyll rule the world some day
They bite and sting me anyway
They bite and sting and suck
They bite and sting and suck suck suck
They bite and sting and
Suck suck suck suck suck . . .
Dance dance dance
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Such A Beautiful Evening
Than Spring it is far more like Summer a summery warmth in the breeze
And sunshine on the old Town and Parkland and sunshine on the bushes and trees
The greeness of Spring all around me such beauty that cannot fail to please
The weather quite warm for September well over the twenty degrees.
Though early Spring few birds are singing in the warm sun of the day
They sing in the cool of the morning or in the twilight's fading gray
The Winter is finally over though Winter weather was far from severe
We may be due for an el nino a warm Spring is looming this year.
The heaths and prickly bushes are covered in their blue, pink and bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in the late Winter in the cool and invigorating showers
The pardalotes by their nest entrance in a tiny hole in the ground
Wee wren sized birds spotted and pretty where they live small insects abound.
It is such a beautiful evening the swallows they chirp as they fly
And the sun with the warmth of Summer is glowing brightly in the blue sky
And the first brown butterflies of September are flitting in the balmy air
Alone and contented with Nature such moments are precious and rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ladybirds
If, upon you, a ladybird, lightly, lands,
Don't just brush it off with your hands.
Chances are, that its visit will be short,
Once it realises it is at the wrong port.
For the ladybird, we seem to have a soft spot,
But for worrying wasps, we certainly have not.
Ladybirds often feature in stories for the young,
And, as a result, their praises are frequently sung.
To ladybirds, we have quite an attraction,
But wasps do not evoke the same reaction.
Dressed in its shiny shell of bright, rich red,
The ladybird possesses a tiny, tickling tread.
Upon seeing a ladybird, a wish, you should make,
Then your wish will be granted, in the bug's wake.
If you kill one, then, for you, life will be really bad;
Misfortune will come your way, and make you sad.
A ladybird will never do you any harm;
It is considered, by some, a lucky charm.
If, towards a ladybird, you are kind,
A place up in Heaven, you will find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Surroundings-12
Pesticide
Sick plants
Disheartening
Flit, flit..acrid odour
Dead sprayed..more disheartened.Just said
Sorry
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Summer Is...
Ice pops;
Flip flops;
Barbeques;
Strappy shoes;
Deck chairs;
Chests bared;
Swimming pools;
Keeping cool;
Sunny days;
Sandy bays;
Traffic queues;
Stunning views;
Seagull cries;
Butterflies;
Summer dresses;
Pretty tresses;
Ice cream;
Sunscreen;
Bees buzzing;
Beer guzzling;
Buckets and spades;
Cool sunshades;
Beachside huts;
Pitch and putt;
Sailing yachts;
Scorching hot.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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My! My! Honeycomb
(ronnie scott/ steve wolfe)
Producers for bonnie: ronnie scott, steve wolfe
Recorded in 1975, this was bonnies first ever recording! lyrics taken from careful listening.
Here I am in the city
With a picture of you in my head
I remember that night
The words you said
You told me I was pretty
With the moon shining down on my hair
Im hung up on you now
But youre not there
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
Wrote you so many letters
I was hoping youd answer with flowers
Then I sat by myself
To watch the hours
But you didnt come boy
Not a word, not a call, not a thing
Dont you know how it hurts me
When you sting
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
Leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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October
Golden leaves decay on wet pavements,
trodden in by heavy footed, men
as they travel to work each day in the City.
Parks are covered in red and gold,
the jewels of the Autumn but we are strong
and rush on by.
Memories of warm vacations flit
through my head as I hum summer melodies,
lost in my thoughts.
The rain soaks my hair, drenches me
as I remember past Octobers
those pale blue skies on crisp, chilly mornings.
October's leaves are our flowers now,
their beauty, natures way of colouring dull times
until the ground is blanketed by snow in Mid Winter.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dog Days of Summer
It’s a hot and lazy time of year
With temperatures rising high
A body doesn’t want to work
Doesn’t even want to try
It’s time to lie around and rest
Not exert much energy
It’s too hot to work but rather
We want to take it pretty easy
And if you do have to work
Either do it early in the morn
Or after the sun goes down
Sometime before the dawn
Oh how nice it feels
On these dog days of summer
When the sun drops down
The day has turned a bit cooler
So in the midst of winter time
When snow is on the hills
Dog days of summer sound
Kind of good amongst the chills!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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