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The Insect Sonnets by Paul Brookes
1. Sweet Pollen
Bigger wing beat gusts me from sweet pollen
billows, I must stick to its surface amid
buffet and blast. Now heavier, taken,
away from scented trail back home I skid.
Track my trail through vibration pulses, map
I will dance when home is reached to tell all
where sweet pollen will be found, waggle tap
the route after unloading my food haul.
As light fades our head sensors flop, my legs
wrap around others, I rehearse my days
forage, retrace my flight, my complex steps
mark vibration changes that radiate.
Bright warmth lifts our heads from sleep to again,
find our memory way, avoid harsh rain.
2. We Poisoners
l Ingest, store poison for feathers, her.
Changed in white she must be stillness.
I wait outside her cocoon, her wings fettered,
unstretched, un-inflated, I pass fullness,
into her with a generous capsuled gift,
attracted by her poison plumes, invasive
insects mandibles, legs glued globule gripped. Our red warnings briefly adhesive.
Our bulbous bairns nosh on green flesh deadly
to others. Chew it to stalks till hunger
crawls ever broader, masses in deathly
carcasses litter path to fresh fodder.
Death and sex infest grub and danger times.
Wrapped as one, alert and vital and mine
3. A Stag Beetle
Scratch decayed wood until it splinters. Hunt
these spikes for soft white wood swallow inside.
Indigestible I make a hard front,
swallow soil ready to throw back up outside.
Create a smooth cover, give myself horns,
six legs, two wings all soft and white. Don't know
how I know how, where, and what shapes to form,
nor what light is, till lust makes me go,
shift this bulk, these wings buzz into hot bright.
There can be a few in battle for her.
My heavy horns twist, locked in long fight
to straddle her. Must turn them all over.
Hungered in dark most of my life.
Brief lusty flight, fight and sex in the light
4. A Turnip Moth
Under I wait till dark. Light lessens. Beak
stab shakes where I am. Dark. Out from Under
chew tender stem. Move back Under when heat
of many Over brightens. Asunder
I dig. Push asunder. Turn and turn and
turn. Under under. Legs tendril lengthen.
Softness to float in the Over expand.
I hear now, inside trembles at sound when
others outside call in dark to know where
they are, and what meals move around the dark
Soft and wet I push asunder to air.
Listen in bright while softness rustles hard.
Even insects remember their young times.
Pests like weeds try to survive humankind.
In dark wet safe. Lowness my leg hairs tell.
If Else moves I know change in this tight Air.
My young molt, as I did, get harder shells.
Company is good. In dark am aware
food with my two long, long noses that come
out of my head, bounce, dangle, flick in front.
Good grub I tell others when I find some.
All will be eaten always on this hunt.
My young eat my waste among mounds
skins, egg cases and the dead. A crack let
me in to snuggle in warm corners fast
settle in your grease, droppings, food for pets
You horrify me with your pure cleanliness.
Live in shittip, I'll join you in the mess
6. The Housefly
My feet smell you first. I may leave my waste
on your skin, or on your meal. I adore
your sweat and dead skin. I make tasty paste
by vomiting on it. My sticky pads for
walking upside down. Drawn towards sunlight,
I bounce back off an invisible force.
If still I jump her or bang her in flight.
So many hers to have can't stop or pause.
Born into waste, I squirmed, deeper under.
I changed, climbed towards warm daylight, stretched wings.
As warm light disappears I find shelter.
sleep. Tomorrow repeat everything.
We'd wallow in waste if there were no flies.
Praise them, their short lives, work and enterprise
7. "I Forage"
I forage, chew wood pulp for my babies
who give me sweetness in return. When
they're bigger I'll dismember aphids, fleas
and spiders to take home for them.
My queen who gave birth to me will outlive
me. At night I'm still, or repair fly
babies broken rooms. At warm light give
flight ,and scratch out fibre until I die.
I lay my own babies once, another
found out and ate them. I tend to my queen's.
As light dims sooner and days get colder
I get slower, stiller, food for the dream.
It's too easy, a mechanically
designed existence, reality is messy
8. Before I
Before I break the Surface of the world
I live another life beneath where light
falls differently. I eat Small that curl
in front, while Larger see me tasty bite.
Hidden behind long stems I wait and wait.
Quick squirt of breath behind to catch the Slow.
Grab it with my hooks drag it to my gape.
Climb Up a stem and shed Old Skins as I grow.
Need forces me to break Surface in Dark
where I learn to breathe before final shuck.
Let limbs and wings harden into flights start.
He grabs my neck, I arch my back, Eggstruck.
I return to Suface, slice open stem.
Lay my eggs for life to begin again.
9. As An Egg
I fell to the Bottom of a dark world,
I dug beneath the Flow when hunger's need
led me to what falls and lands, what unfurled
as my mouth brushes grazed hardness for feed.
Sometimes I hid under these hardnesses,
when Larger mouths turned, tipped others over.
As grew, left behind smaller carcasses
of myself. At my last shuck I massed air
that blew me to a brighter warm Surface,
where these wings dried out, I climbed stems to shed,
the last part of myself. Now I join the race
into swarm to be grabbed, give birth, float dead.
I lived most of my life bottom feeding
the light, continued self before yielding.
Born beneath a spun web into a herd,
we grind lichen in our jaws out of ruts
and channels in the Tallness of the world.
We chew the dead too. Move as one clutch.
A slender rod from my mouth braces me
while I prise up the food, clean the Tallness.
Our mouths also spin layers wrap gently
round and over a billow of whiteness.
Once the Tallskin cleaned we eat this cover.
With icy coldness coming our herd thins.
I will have babies, I am a mother.
I lay and web my herd on new Tallskin.
Some of us have wings, some of us don't. Some
run rather than fly when danger comes.
I break my hard shell against sharp cold,
find soft shoots and grass to eat in the warm.
As I grow out my young selves into old
I eat tougher stems, and my wings take form.
My stomach hears sounds. droplets from above
knock you off of a stem, drown you in their fall.
My large back legs move me up into rough
air which thunders inside, I land and call
rub leg against wing, she arrives, is bigger
than I. I climb her. Droplets break a wing,
knock her sideways so I topple, shiver
onto sodden soil, float into dying.
Here I look into world as it passes.
Drown in this flow as it flutters, flashes.
12. The Stonefly
Above the Flow, under the Hard I rest.
I have no mouth to eat. I must find her.
Masses of us move with the Flow, find best
place to change, avoid quick mouths of hunger
as they rise through the Flow, know where we're bound.
Wait for our small bodies to arrive
above. Survivors climb ashore. I pound
the ground with my stomach, then listen. Strive
to hear her answering tap and we pair
She quick dips her our eggs into the Flow.
I must tap again, meet more breed and share
until no more changes to undergo.
I avoided being food for others,
so I could be myself in another.
13. A Thrips
Once out of my egg I suck fresh plant juice.
fall to the ground, find dark under dead leaves.
New wings clap and fling me in air, let loose
my body into sky. I sense her needs.
Another is here. We flick our bellies
into each other, and kill with our teeth.
While we fight a male moves in to best please
her. I kill one, flick other off the leaf.
She is bigger than me. We swap signals.
I climb up. Stroke her sides with my mid legs.
We link. I give of myself. Ends in pulls,
to break apart. Cuts stem she lays our eggs.
She outlives me, but I will still go on.
It is all about going on, once we're gone.
We crawl out of our eggs and eat them.
Mam guards us against those that would eat us,
feeds us what she's caught or found, dead stems,
hard and soft shelled, rotted out of darkness.
Shimmery semi circular hind wings I first fold lengthwise, then crosswise curl my belly, use my pincers tuck in last of exposed wing. Mam ate all unwise
young who didn't leave her. I left her nest.
I investigate all nook, cranny, slit.
I smell her, tap, stroke her with my forceps.
We make a home, she lays, insists I flit.
Even home is temporary. All fleet.
I hide in darkness, wings folded and neat.
15. An Aphid
Born pregnant, I pierce stem suck plant sap.
They keep away those that would eat us.
They stroke our sides, encourage from our backs
sweet droplets. If no sap left they take us
to fresh soft plants. They tore off my fresh wings
so I have to stay here and suck this sap.
I grew them because we were sucking
dry. They only want the sweetness off our backs.
My young pop out of me, all pregnant .
The ants carried us over to fresh sap.
Out of myself my young pierce new plant.
I watch ants sip the sweetness off their backs.
We are kept producing sweetness and young.
until we die, cosseted all our lifelong.
16. A Pond Skater
My front legs grab a snorkel, pull it out.
I suck juices from its owner, my four
other legs balancing on bubbles pout.
So if wave comes I'll rise to waters floor.
Astride her if she does not submit I'll
tap the water for predators to come.
She's under me. I make sure she knows she'll
be eaten first. She submits to my thrum.
I flew here when I was small, attracted
by its glints of light I saw from above.
When food is scarce our young are snacks.
A tongue eats me if I'm not quick enough.
Speed and alertness to subtle changes
in vibrations around me mark dangers.
17. A Whirligig Beetle (for Steve Ely)
I see Above and Below in same look.
My foul billows deter large mouths beneath.
Once lived Below, caught food when I was hooked
to bottom by my stomach anchors teeth.
I breathed through gills, impelled climbed to Above,
clambered up stem, hooks dug in I hung there,
from spit and some dirt, I spun enough
to change my long body to short, rounder.
Dead and dying I find on this Surface
I capture with my front legs. If all dries,
I'll climb a stem, unpack wings out their case,
rise to find a reflection from the skies.
I paddle in circles, dive Below, climb
Above to avoid dangerous times.
18. The Green Lacewing (for Andy MacGregor)
Suspended in air on a thread of spit
from a leaf I am born.I suck juices
out of each one, their dried out shells I stick
onto myself, hunt more. Sip their oozes.
Older now I only feed on honeydew,
nectar and pollen. My stomach hears her
trembled reply to my song passes through
leaf to her. Feel her resonant glimmer.
When Colder arrives I hide in dead leaves.
My colour fades until Warmer return.
With my bright wing colour back I receive
an urge to search for sweetness and relearn
in a fresh new world its sources, and soon
I will sing to her again, hear her tune
19. The Head Lice
I need to find a place to lay my eggs.
Find a spot close to a clearing. Bottom
of this stem. Not humid or wet, perfect.
I cement in just before the long stem
enters the Blood Field. They'll not starve here, stab
for a regular blood meal in Darkness.
My six claws help me climb Tallness, nab
a He to make more young. Avoid Brightness.
Sometimes sudden these Tallness rent apart.
We scatter for cover. Dark is safety.
So many young die when the cleansing starts.
We can't be drowned, but combed carefully.
We live in your tall forests, you sustain
us with your lifeblood, and pests we remain.
20. The Flea
Young, I ate my own shed skin, others hair,
waste, dead skin cells. I was all mouth, no legs.
I avoided light, burrow into the threadbare.
I fold in half, spin silk around myself.
It is sticky. I deliberately
gather up sand,soil, threads, bulk the inside
with silk. I get legs. Still. Wait stealthily,
for passing heat to make me leap outside.
My body is hard plated. Hairs secure
me in the close fur. I puncture, pump warm
feed into my stomach. He is here. Sure
He'll have me, claws clasped, legs wrapped to my form.
I can't bear young if I starve. I will keep
Waiting for passing warm to make me leap .
21. The Snakefly
Vigorously tremor my abs for long
time, answer His dogged drawn out judders .
His signals more intense stronger
than mine. Hear my wing flutter.
We hear one another up through our legs.
His quivers vibrating mine.When He stops
signaling, I make short vigorous thrums.
Our antennae shake. We touch gobs,
fluttering wings. Lunge and bite. Together
we arch, intertwine feelers, mouths contact.
We graze cheeks. He lunges, drives me hither.
I start on him, sometimes. Start the attacks.
Our faces touch, again. He lunges, sends
me backwards. We walk off, separate wends.
Wolfpack Contributor: Paul BrookesThe Unresolveables (An Heroic Crown Sonnet Sequence) by Paul Brookes at (sonnets 1-15)Anthology Post: Finding a Wonderland in Alice by Paul Brookes (poetry)3 Poems by Paul Brookes in Fevers of the Mind: Her Fiftieth, Her Fur Elise, A Black BeadArachnida Sonnets by Paul Brookes (an occasional series)
David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to email@example.com.
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