Contents
- The Itsy Bitsy Spider 3
- The Bug Collector 4
- Beatles on my Vinyl 5
- Ballad of the Little Girl and the Ladybird 6
- Cobwebs and Lace 8
- Ten-Million Fireflies 9
- Black Velvet of Death 10
End-Note
The Itsy-Bitsy Spider
An itsy-bitsy spider climbed up my hollowed waist, Spinning threads of cobweb lace, a home in me embraced. But down came the rain, and soaked the fragile threads, Washing out the spider, leaving ghosts instead.
Yet here comes the sun, relentless in its glow, The spider now stirs, its burdened legs in tow. It climbs again, thread by thread,
Weaving hope from remnants shed.
But the rain will come; it always does— The web will fall, as all things must.
Yet still, it spins—a quiet ode,
To the endurance of a life bestowed.
Perhaps it knows, or perhaps it doesn’t care, That meaning lies not in the climb,
But simply in being there.
So the itsy-bitsy spider threads its fleeting grace, Climbing up the hollowed walls Of this forsaken place.
The Bug Collector
When I was seven,
I picked up a little centipede and put it in my mouth. It twisted and turned—
My mouth a squirming mass of legs and tails; A decadent taste of decay
When I am seventy-seven, And six feet underground
The centipedes will have their revenge, They’ll gnaw on my brain,
Mouth full of rot, they’ll get visions of you— Twisting and turning in your sleep
A speck of dirt on your cheek, under the moonlit sky
They’ll think—the dirt reminds us of home.
Beatles on my Vinyl
Happy Beatles,
Waltzing across my vinyl, The sway of thin, wispy legs
Winding through the notes of Yesterday
Here comes the sun— And the orchestra begins,
Conducted by the needle’s hum, A timeless song softly spins
The ridges in the record, Become our ballroom floor—
Together dancing to a rhythm we adore
And when the music dies, We’ll hold back our cries,
We’re left with a timeless chord, Above that,
A memory beyond accord.
And as their echoes linger, gentle and free, They’ll whisper words of wisdom—
Let it be.
Ballad of the Little Girl and the Ladybird
A little girl with silver hair,
She walked where silence calls, She found a ladybug, so still,
Its wings tattered and small
“I’ll hold you close, my fragile friend, And watch the shadows fade,”
She whispered low, her voice a thread, As twilight softly swayed.
It stirred a little, weak and small, Its wings a fluttering sigh,
Then stillness took it—soft, but sure— A quiet, fading cry.
The ladybug was cold and still, It’s eyes had lost their spark,
She dug a hole beneath the roots, A grave so cold and dark.
Her hands ached from the weight of love, Yet she could not bear to weep.
“Death is not the end, my dear,
But part of what must be,”
Her voice did quiver, but still held, The song of memory.
She danced beneath the rising stars, Her feet a whispered sound,
And in her eyes, the heavens wept, Where life and death are found.
For beauty hides where death has passed, In wings and dust and bone,
The little girl with silver hair, Knew she was not alone.
Cobwebs and Lace
Threads linger in the morning air, Tendrils of silk, fragile and fair.
A shimmer caught in dawn’s embrace,
In corners where only stillness claims its place.
Delicate work by unseen eyes, Crafted where the quiet lies.
Each strand, a whisper soft and bright, Catches the sun’s first golden light.
Woven in the loom of time’s own hand, Holding whispers in every strand.
Interlaced threads of stories untold, A tapestry spun of silver and gold.
They adorn the dust, the towers, and the tombs Cobwebs—the lace of the earth’s own womb.
Ten-Million Fireflies
Ten million fireflies Crept into my room one night,
Showing me how beautiful the dark can be
One would have been enough, For me to see
The power the darkness holds on me
I wanted to help them light up the sky, But little girls can’t fly until they die
So I’ll light up the world as I fall asleep.
Black Velvet of Death
In the breath of the night, the reaper came Offering me his velvet cloak—
Silently staking his claim.
O’ Black Velvet of Death,
Your moon is a silver button fastened at my throat, Your breath is bejeweled by the stars above Draped in the silence of your soft embrace
I make my way to the final place
In this last attire, The night unravels at its seams The weight of my dreams dissolve; And fades into the eternal silence.
I do not fear the night’s embrace.
Its dark softness is absolution’s grace. I am not consumed but woven,
A thread stitched into eternal beauty.
End-Note
Bugs, Ballads, and Other Beautiful Things is a poetic exploration of innocence, mortality, and the unexpected beauty hidden in things that are conventionally considered ugly—such as bugs and death. The collection seeks to invoke a sense of unity with nature, particularly in death itself. It reflects on the delicate threads connecting all living things, finding wonder in what is often dismissed as mundane or grotesque.
Musical influences play a significant role in my inspirations, including references from The Beatles, Fireflies by Owl City, and Haley Heynderickx’s The Bug Collector, and even the whimsical cadence of nursery rhymes such as The Itsy-Bitsy Spider. My aim was to rework these influences and stories, weaving them into a narrative that explores an innovative and romanticized conception of death.
Building on earlier poetic submissions, this collection deepens my exploration of life’s ephemeral beauty, using insects as both metaphor and muse. Each poem is a quiet celebration of the unity we share with nature in death, embracing life’s transformations with reverence and awe.