Words Beyond
What were the lies in a truth
of the buried day?
Fabulous cries? Tears?
It was a tremble down
in the standing crop of men
ready to be genetically modified.
Each walk in the city
exhausts you to an innocent
tale of manipulated fiction.
Insects, yes insects
were climbing on the moon
like saints with flowing beards
to drink the blackness
of sky. There had been a method
in their madness, in death and whiteness.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
It began as this desire to do this science fiction movie about perhaps one of the last insects left that nobody's done anything on, which is the cockroach - and truly one of the most frightening insects.
quote by Michael O'Donoghue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Michael The Arc Angel
Hunted in the abstract painting
The lions of post modernism
Rules are gone
No eternity lingers in the background
Endless gray
Crushing freedom
The law becomes transit mores
Bought and sold
Dealt like a market
We dissipate into the state
The state becomes the globe
Numbers and calculations
Armies with spears as long as 1984
Science a commodity
Politics a new world order
Secular humanism laughed at by Nietzsche
Genetically modified food chain
Genetically modified disease soon to come
Genetically modified man is coming
Biogenesis the new via evolution
Species in the image of Lucifer
Who can stop the night?
I see Michael the Arc Angel fighting
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 7
The first streaks for dawn
broke across the Wye Valley.
The Armoured Flamethrowers were poised
around the giant wasps nest.
Just as the sky began to lighten,
pushing away the darkness of the night
the first wasp climbed from the nest.
Long spouts of flame poured over it.
As its body was engulfed in flame
out of the nest, more wasps swarmed.
Suddenly the sky darkened again.
Several RAF bases were scrambled.
Spitfires and Hurricanes crowded the skies.
This time the enemy
was not the Luftwaffe, but insects.
The pilots where not sure what tactics
they were to use
or how the insects were going to react.
They swooped low down the valley
just skimming the treetops.
Then suddenly they were confronted with the enemy.
They peeled off in different directions choosing a target.
The manoeuvrability of the insects was unexpected.
They swerved, dived, hovered
and even seem to reverse.
Several tried to sting the aircrafts.
As more and more the wasps were shot down,
more replaced them.
Several of the aircraft crashed
as more than one wasp landed on them.
Spouts of fames stretched into the sky
from the flamethrowers below.
A second wave of aircraft
flew into the affray,
they seemed to be swarmed by wasps.
Several of the pilots few upwards
drawing a number of the wasps with them.
Aircraft and wasps darted around
the crowed sky in arial combat never before witnessed.
Hundreds of wasps fell from the sky
and were quickly replaced by hundreds more.
As the aircraft began running short of fuel,
they few away from the fight
and others were brought in.
On the ground, the Armoured Flamethrowers
were being attacked as well.
The wasps crawled over the machines
trying to find a way in.
Smoke began to rise from the nest
as more and more wasps lifted into the air.
Quite a number were met
by long stems of flames that engulfed their bodies.
Several with their bodies still alight rose
and smashed into oncoming aircraft
and both plummeted to the ground.
A black cloud from the burning
nest and corpses of the insects rose high above the valley.
Hour after hour, they fought
before the number of wasps decreased.
After six hours, the fight was over.
Bodies of wasps littered the fields
where cattle once grazed.
The RAF flew the length and breath of the valley
to ensure that there were no surviving giant wasps.
Soldiers with flamethrowers walked over the fields
burning every wasp they came across.
None was to be left alive.
The nest had a constant jet of flame poured into it.
When ever it seemed that the fames was going out
gallons of petrol was tipped down the hole of the nest
and the flamethrowers ignited it.
All through the night
and late into the following day
the process was kept up.
They could not afford a
ny eggs or any of the queens to survive.
Finally, it was over.
The charred remains of the wasp’s corpses
were buried in deep pit.
A week after the battle was over
only small scars on the landscape were noticeable.
A year later there were no traces
of what had happened there in the summer of 1945
and life in the Wye Valley returned to normal.
Professor Hogarth sat in his favourite chair
and watched his garden begin to grow again.
Several times, he could have sworn
he thought he saw shadows.
He put them down to his imagination.
The end.
Author’s note:
Although this has been, a work of fiction of which he hopes the readers has derived some pleasure in reading. I wish to leave everyone with this thought. As the world is increasing yearly in population. More and more plants are being genetically modified to increase crop yields. As insects feed off plants and other insects feed off them. One can never tell if the genetic structure of those insects will, itself be modified. We know that it takes generations for species to mutate. What we do not know is whether they are mutating now somewhere in the world. Which leaves us with the question. What if?
David Verdun Harris
6 November 2007
poem by David Harris
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Death Of A Clown
My makeup is dry and it clags on my chin
Im drowning my sorrows in whisky and gin
The lion tamers whip doesnt crack anymore
The lions they wont fight and the tigers wont roar
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
So lets all drink to the death of a clown
Wont someone help me to break up this crown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
The old fortune teller lies dead on the floor
Nobody needs fortunes told anymore
The trainer of insects is crouched on his knees
And frantically looking for runaway fleas
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
So wont someone help me to break up this crown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The hoopoe
Every time that I mow the lawn
he waits in a tree
on me to finish
and there are times
that he gets impatient
and his hoopoe resounds.
Just when I walk away
he flies fluttering down
and pecks everywhere
to get worms
and insects
and I see his orange brown quiff
standing up
and it’s as if his body
glows shimmering orange
and there are black and white stripes
going to the points
of his wings
while like a woodpecker
he hits his bill
here and there into the ground
and like a chicken
pecking up seed
picks up insects from the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Insects are my secret fear. That's what terrifies me more than anything - insects.
quote by Michael O'Donoghue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obsessed With Incestuous Love
Why obsess something that is relative?
Everyone has their own fetishes.
But I will say this,
Having that kind of a love for 'insects'...
Is a bit extreme.
'Incest.
Not insects.
I said they were obsessed with incestuous love.
I aint mad at 'em.
What they do they do.
I could care less how or who they hop around with.'
Oh?
So you're one of those 'tomato' tomahto...
'Potato' potahto people.
'One has nothing to do with the other.
Normally they have wings.
I am not referring to insects but to incest.
What I refer to has arms and legs,
And struts around naked like no one knows.'
You buggin' today, huh?
Let it go, my brother.
Let it go.
It will be okay.
It doesn't pay to put that kind of stress on yourself.
Trust me.
Slowly...
Just let it go.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Praying mantis
On your hand
small and somewhat brittle I am,
another insect ready to be squashed
with protruding tentacles
sensing the air
attentive like the rising hairs
on your arm,
charming like an innocent
green little thing
but to other insects
deadly I am
always prowling
ready to hunt
with eyes protruding
being erect like in prayer
but then striking
at the next moment
is very near.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Soul
My soul cries for love
But only tears reply
My soul cries for attention
But only lonliness answers the door
My soul cries for a friend
Only to be ignored
By a stranger
My soul cries for hope
But despair with lies
Deceive the truth
Which blinds hope
My soul cries for warmth
As an artic freeze
Surrounding my soul
Entices it with the dance of death
My soul defeated
No longer cries
Accepts what it can't change
Lies still
Waiting to die
poem by Matt Mondschein
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All The Griefs
The mysterious rival:
suffering of resignation.
I am reading myself for the surrealism of life,
juxtaposition of love and hate.
Another blast went off.
White rose and black rose in the same
garland; ruins of truth
were older than lies. Humiliation
brings another crop of mines.
Must keep the walk on cinders alive.
Raging moon will rise again
on the blue lake, with earthly whiteness.
The distant invite of future makes the present
sustainable. I will ask the infant sun
to enter slowly.
poem by Satish Verma
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Peace fot the Living People
A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.
Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.
Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.
Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.
poem by Satish Verma
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No, No I'm No Ovid!
A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.
Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.
Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk.
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.
Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My 10th Sonata is a sonata of insects. Insects are born from the sun... they are the sun's kisses.
quote by Alexander Scriabin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth Be Told
This is the first tale of death in the world
When Cain struck down Abel, a family broken
Since then mankind's dominated his own kind
To insult and injured there's no such thing
As peace, till death do us part
Till that last (truth be told)
Sin lies at the doorway (truth be told)
Hell's open for business now (truth be told)
The soil cries out for revenge (truth be told)
And death is upon the ground, all around
The battle ain't over, without spoils of war
Just 'cause it is written, does not make it so
When you dance with the devil, make sure the song's over
I ask myself how bad do i want you to live
My anger is near
Till that last (truth be told)
Sin lies at the doorway (truth be told)
Hell's open for business now (truth be told)
The soil cries out for revenge (truth be told)
And death is upon the ground
Sin lies at the doorway (truth be told)
Hell's open for business now (truth be told)
The soil cries out for revenge (truth be told)
And death is upon the ground, all around
Solo- Mustaine
Solo- Mustaine
Tribulation strikes again and we're hit hard
Still you just go on your way
Head in the sand, ignoring the rain
Just like the flood in Noah's day
In his day
Solo- Mustaine
Can't punish those ruining the earth
It's suicide to some degree
Because we are all guilty, guilty as sin
There will be no peace, never for you and me
Solo- Mustaine
Before al Qaeda and Bin Laden
Long before Hitler and Hussein
Ever since the first murder was committed
The verdict's always been the same
Been the same, wrong!
Solo- Mustaine
The cursed future just repeats the past
There's hell to pay and stones to cast
So, there will be no peace, never be peace
Till the last truth be told by you and me
Solo- Mustaine
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surprise in Japan - Mosquitos in the Oil
not so oily to the ears
mosquitos and other insects
in the used cooking oil
cooking oil for reuse
mosquitos, and insects
at bottom of the can
restaurant special recipe
adding to the taste
used oil with mosquitos
Most books I read tell us about Japanese being very clean people but the chef of this this restaurant in Nishi Funabashi I found put his used cooking oil in a can and under the choppng table in the kitchen. It was meant for reuse. I found mosquitos, ants, and other insects at the bottom of the can. It was really a surprise.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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01 And The Moon And The Stars And The World
long walk at night
the breeze freezes my spirit
the moon warms it up
pulling at my poetic soul
the crickets sing their poems to the night
a million other insects contribute their share
to loosen up the night
for lovers, husbands and wives
while a tide of words too
creeps in all directions in my mental sphere
saturates the poetic bar of the intellect
waiting to be strummed into verses
the rhythm swims along with them
as i write out verse by verse
the moon my friend shares its light
the night wind inspires
lovelorn stars wave all the way
a million light years away
heralding the birth of a song
sparkling, twinkling
guided by intricate orchestration of the night
before gracing the written page
long walk in the night
even the insects with the lamps
start to lend me their lights
between the twinke of the stars
they dance, sing, beat out a dance
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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It Comes
Waiting under the opaque moon
a primeval instinct takes over you
and you start arriving.
A black bone
renders the ash on your forehead
and you complete the circle –
reaching childhood; you start
climbing the ladder,
for instantaneous release.
The insects don’t forget the trail;
you were bleeding from inside.
You were never alone in a crowd.
poem by Satish Verma
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Life Lies And Deceit
Eyes of the innocent
Lies of the guilty
float around like loose atoms
Ready to collide
Ready to explode in my mind
False confessions
To tie in with lies,
lies of the witnesses
So they don't have to hide
Will they ever come forward
and say it was all a lie
Or will they
Let the innocent people die
In their life lies and deceit
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Telling Stories
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesnt mean
Youre not just telling stories
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
Theres a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
Theres no one but you standing
Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between
There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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