My War With The Fleas
Came August
the Flea Commander
slapped his walking stick
upon the table bare
surveying his battle plan
testing his jumping legs
assembled before him were
flea battalions on the ground
restless for the attack
mosquitoes and flies to buzz the air,
giant bedbug tanks from New York
gnats, moths, and crawlies eager for blood to suck
bat sentries, owl look-outs
coyotes to howl signals out
all was ready.
“Now, ” he began slowly
The family in there does not yet suspect
and we must not relinquish to them
our element of surprise.
We don't want them to get a chance to mobilize
until after we attack
and gain our cache of blood
surprise before they discover where our larvae lay
before they deploy their canisters of Raid
or insect repellents
before they open their bomb sprays
before their wash the beddings
before they deploy their expense flea sprays
and lethal flea droplets
we want to hide in their beds, dug in
we want to hide in their animals fur
in their clothing
everywhere
and before morning we will have established
our impenetrable beachhead.
So he said ready your selves for the strike this night
as they lay asleep.
With that he stood
his flea legs elevating him
above the others, shouting
Are you will me?
A roar went up
and I watching from my hiding place
crept away
saying to myself;
not this year you suckers
you’ll get your own surprise
glee in my voice.
To be continued.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes
The Flea
A flea that bit you had bitten me too.
The two bloods mingled for single blood.
The flea’s body is our marriage lobby.
Neither shame nor sin would accrue since than.
Nor would you have grown any weaker too.
By yielding to me and getting my blood
You would shed no grace nor honour either.
You will make me than the flea happier.
Your yielding to me will not do more harm
Than what the flea has done to you, dear.
[the verse of John Donne, The Flea, rewritten]
20.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Flea
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two;
And this, alas! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Flea (Fun Poem 120)
You get into bed with your partner
and they toss and turn
as if they have a flea up their arse.
They keep you awake
with their fidgeting,
eventually you get to sleep
and believe it or not
they start to do it again.
By now, you are ready
to give up trying to sleep
or get the bug killer spray
to kill that damn flea.
poem by David Harris
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Fifi The Flea
(ransford)
Fifi the flea fell in love
With a clown from a flea circus fair
She gave him her heart
But he still couldnt see
That for such a long time she had cared
He put himself round all the other girl fleas
Unaware that he hurt her so badly
She cried in the arms of his manager friend
And declared that she loved the clown madly
One day fifi went
And this drove the clown wild
The poor little flea started crying
Never you mind his manager said
I ought not to tell but shes dyin
Dyin for love of you little flea
Youve broken her heart with your lyin
She couldnt stand to see you throw
Her love away without tryin
The day fifi died the little clown vowed
Hed tend her grave every hour
He broke down and cried
When he saw her grave
And on it he placed a small flower
Poor little flea he wasted away
Hed lost his fifi forever
So they opened her grave
Put him inside
Now at last they are together
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A flea can trouble a lion more than the lion can harm a flea.
Loquacious
this afternoon, i talk a lot, and the more i talk,
the more words flowed from my mouth, the more i become less
of myself,
that is the irony of talking, the more i empty myself of this burden
using words, the lighter i become, the more useless i become of myself,
words and more words,
the more i have of them, the more meaningless my thoughts have become
and they who are listening have become more silent than ever,
i know, their minds are somewhere else, and i know that they know
that there is this spirit in front of them so restless,
wriggling like a worm, jumping like a horse, flapping like a bird
wanting to get rid of something: the fruit wanting to be free from the worm,
the horse from a gadfly, and the bird from the pricking flea....
what else can they say? they must have been saying.
we perfectly understand, we have been there, we were once a fruit
with a worm in our pulp, a horse with a gadfly in our tail,
a bird unable to get rid of the flea....
we were rotten once, we jumped the more, and now we are flying away.
what a life we have, we are never free, and we are never for even once
comfortable with what we are and what we have....
what we do not have of course, is what bothers us the most.
be it a horse, a bird, or a fruit, a flea, a worm, a gadfly of old
like what Socrates once mentioned before he took the fatal poison.
well he died, and here we are always trying to remember.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Flea Market (Fun Poem 68)
When I was just a little nipper,
I cycled along to see
a flea market on the green.
I parked my bike,
and then sat down in the tall grass.
No one had to me
that they gave away fleas there too.
Therefore, while I was sitting there
one jumped on my ass,
and when I got back to school
and went to park my bike.
The little beggar bit
and I went dancing around
doing the flea-a-me-jig.
I must have looked a sight for sure,
a sight for sore eyes
as I racked my rear end to bits,
jumping around like a bouncing ball.
I either got him,
or he fell of dizzy as hell,
but he never bit me again.
29 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Now I Have My Eyes On Dinner
When I say I am seeking something substantial in my life?
Why does that make you laugh to see me at a flea market?
I am seeking something that doesn't need to be high maintenanced...
Looking for wrinkles to moisturized.
To get nipped and tucked when bags begin to sag.
'And...
You are going to find that at a flea market? '
OH yes.
Some people don't know quality to throw it away.
Just like that.
Maybe recently divorced?
Or separated?
'You are talking about being at flea market,
Right! '
Ab-so-yes indeed-lutely!
And today must be my lucky day.
Because I am looking at a bargain.
A steal that's too genuine to leave.
And...
What do you think I've discovered?
'A day you found something priceless? '
Is there such a thing...
Of hoping to spend every moment,
With something so priceless...
To wish it is available?
'What can I say?
Your discovery is as good as mine? '
Are you sure you don't want to look around?
'What makes you think I haven't been doing just that?
I was hoping to see those candleholders you purchased,
Last week...
Again.'
So you had your eyes on 'them' too?
'Very much so.
Now I have my eyes on dinner! '
With breakfast?
'And lunch? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A flea
A flea came my way
And I crushed it senseless
Later I had a pang of guilt
Cos it was vulnerable and quite defenseless
But in my defence I stopped its plight
For the sake of one meagre bite
I clipped it with my thumb
Until squashed and rendered numb
I kissed its soul goodnight
And with the [flea] angels it took flight
And left it's earthly home
To settle on celestial clouds
Where it could 'Hop, and Skip, and Roam'
yvette m smith feb 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Jolly Miller
It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
'O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
And you shall shorely die!'
So he scrunched his bones against the stones--
And there he let him lie!
Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
And _she_ laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife!--
'O Mr. Flea!' 'Ho-ho!' 'Tee-hee!'
They _both_ laughed fit to kill,
Until the sound did almost drownd
The rumble of the mill!
_'Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too!--
But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!'_
The voice was all so awful small--
So very small and slim!--
He durst' infer that it was her,
Ner her infer 'twas him!
That night the Jolly Miller, says he, 'It's Wifey dear,
That cat o' yourn, I'd kill her!--her actions is so queer,--
She rubbin' 'ginst the grindstone-legs,
And yowlin' at the sky--
And I 'low the moon haint greener
Than the yaller of her eye!'
And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed,
Was _Somepin_ jerked his piller from underneath his head!
'O Wife,' says he, on-easi-lee,
'Fetch here that lantern there!'
But _Somepin_ moans in thunder tones,
'_You tetch it ef you dare!_'
'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he quailed--
And his wife choked until her breath come back, 'n' she _wailed!_
And '_O!'_ cried she, 'it is _the Flea_,
All white and pale and wann--
He's got you in his clutches, and
_He's bigger than a man!_'
'_Ho! ho! my Jolly Miller,' (fer 'twas the Flea, fer shore!)
'I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 'em any more!_'
And then _the Ghost_ he grabbed him clos't,
With many a ghastly smile,
And from the doorstep stooped and hopped
About four hundred mile!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Interlopers
Two tables along
From two Dutch lovers whispering
And a housemaid pushing a broom,
Three sparrows hoop round a menu.
A flea-bitten dog climbs onto a seat,
Not ordering,
Lolling abundantly.
This is not reciprocal.
I do not perch on sparrow's branch,
Or slouch in the brown dog's kennel.
Moreover,
Not content with
Patronising the eatery,
Even now
Three sparrows are hopping about this page,
The flea-bitten dog is lolling across this poem.
poem by Sheena Blackhall
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The Little Turtle
A Recitation for Martha Wakefield, Three Years Old
There was a little turtle.
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.
He snapped at a mosquito.
He snapped at a flea.
He snapped at a minnow.
And he snapped at me.
He caught the mosquito.
He caught the flea.
He caught the minnow.
But he didn't catch me.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Sucker
for a poem
to be itchy
it must be
a flea,
Socrates
proposed gnats
those hurting
biting gnats
when i first read it
in the dialogues
courtesy of Plato
i felt
this cow in me
coward,
cow-pea, cowed
in a
barn
milked like
a woman
i dread that
feeling
but it is
real
that i begin
to moooo
nonetheless
i cannot help
but just be back
into a
man without
use to
anyone
in my own chosen
freedom
there is Socrates
with all his dignity
intact
who did not get to be
old enough
to really
befriend death
i too propose
gnats, and fleas
and
lice
suckers of wisdom
from the
head of this
universe
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Three Hermits
THREE old hermits took the air
By a cold and desolate sea,
First was muttering a prayer,
Second rummaged for a flea;
On a windy stone, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird:
'Though the Door of Death is near
And what waits behind the door,
Three times in a single day
I, though upright on the shore,
Fall asleep when I should pray.'
So the first, but now the second:
'We're but given what we have eamed
When all thoughts and deeds are reckoned,
So it's plain to be discerned
That the shades of holy men
Who have failed, being weak of will,
Pass the Door of Birth again,
And are plagued by crowds, until
They've the passion to escape.'
Moaned the other, 'They are thrown
Into some most fearful shape.'
But the second mocked his moan:
'They are not changed to anything,
Having loved God once, but maybe
To a poet or a king
Or a witty lovely lady.'
While he'd rummaged rags and hair,
Caught and cracked his flea, the third,
Giddy with his hundredth year,
Sang unnoticed like a bird.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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At a flea market I always head for the junk jewelry table first.
quote by Ethel Merman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mephistopheles Perverted
(Or Goethe for the Times)
ONCE long ago lived a Flea
Who kept such a fine, fat King,
Not that he held with royalty,
But more for the appearance of the thing,
And gave his Majesty to hold
(Such pageantries are far too few)
A sword of ruby-hilted gold
That possibly might hack a cheese in two;
But lest this glory might begin
To prove the regency too far,
His thunderbolt they made of tin,
And changed his godship for another Star.
Thus when the Monarch drove abroad,
With stars like buttons round his chest,
God-fearing Fleas would all applaud,
And alien Lice be grudgingly impressed.
Such relics every Flea must flaunt,
If only as the final trump
That mocks Materialism's taunt,
Proving there's more in life than Suck and Jump.
Once long ago—but not so long—
A King went curing scrofula . . .
The chorus of this charming song,
I'm told reliably, is Ha, Ha, Ha.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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Me and despair
A dark place
A lonely place
thoughts and despair
This is my place i try and bare
On my own, on my own
I try and bare
But all I find is despair
Time is time
Let it be time
Even when there is no time
No ideas, noone, not even a plan
Hit by a fright train
Stung by a bee
This isiant me
Nor can it be that I must not flea
Nor can I let it be
Escape and be someone like me
Revenge In Japanese
Remember the girl
Abused with forks, knives, and razor blades
She finally left him
She had enough of her mans rage
Bandaids cover her scars
She left him bloodied
Beat his ass with a bat
Face sunk in like silly putty
Yall can sit back so I could study
Destruction of the family design
And how the morals of society decline
Essentially is beats to rhymes
Like grapes to wine
Its alright were in love
Cant live with or without
See she cant live with him
And cant live without him
Stress got her down
She need to deal with her problems
While the drama gets deeper
I puff on the reefer
She took the last step
And sent his ass to the reefer
Chaos is what she saw in the mirror
Scared of herself and the power that was in her
It took over and weighed heavily on her shoulders
Militant insanity is now what controlled her
Kill it before it reaches you
Missiles wont its approaching the mainland
What if it reaches the metropolitan areas
Cosmopolitan areas
Secure the lines prepare for departure
Calm calm calm
It is big business
And seems to be advancing underground
Because my style is underground
Im green with my red eyes mad tint
Flea flea flea
Rapido rapido
She feed plentiful electrifying the nation
Dont you see that we are in danger
How will we stop it she is attacking
Danger
Running out of time
song performed by by Papa Roach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flea Fly
Flea!
Flea fly!
Flea fly flo!
Bee-stay!
A koom-a-lado koom-a-lado koom-a-lado bee-stay!
Oh, no no no, not to bee-stay!
Eenie-minnie ex-a-minnie ex-a-minnie sol-a-minnie
eenie-minnie ex-a-minnie sol-a-minnie so!
Ah, tweep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa lilly
and a rom-scom-tom and a time-a-yo
Ah tweep-a-sopa- eep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa lilly
and a lily-o, lily-o, lily-o blow
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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