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Quotes about beetle, page 4

I had a great time investigating the pigments of different mutant fruit flies by following experimental protocols published in Scientific American, and I also remember making my own beetle collection when it was still acceptable to make such collections.

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Law

Laws, as we read in ancient sages,
Have been like cobwebs in all ages.
Cobwebs for little flies are spread,
And laws for little folks are made;
But if an insect of renown,
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone,
Be caught in quest of sport or plunder,
The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.

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The Sunset Thoughts (after reading a poet)

At sunset, sinking gold
Goaded by great will
Death, painful as birth
Cold wind freezing
The wings of life
And at sun rise
Pulsates

A dark beetle whirrs
The pain at birth
Resounding cradle
Stretches to the grave
The warmth of love,
Like consciousness
Trespasses time and space.

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Polygamy

A flower wants to get crushed,
Sucked of its nectar and gets impregnated;
Who the prince is, does not matter.

A beetle darts flower to flower,
Time to time, tasting different kinds,
With lust to explore the flowers.

Polygamy, not polyandry, is the need.
Monogamy demands women prostitutes.
10.09.2000, Pkmdi

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The Christmas Beetle

The Christmas beetle
long black and flat
dropped from the paling fence
near a plant I had been watering
the little Aussie battler
made a beeline
straight to the puddle
though in the minute
to get there
the water was gone
for Anoplognathus pellidicollis
enough was enough
this drought
had to be
turned back.

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There is no virtue in being uncritical nor is it a habit to which the young are given. But criticism is only the burying beetle that gets rid of what is dead, and, since the world lives by creative and constructive forces, and not by negation and destruction, it is better to grow up in the company of prophets than of critics.

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The Fog

Out of the lamp-bestarred and clouded dusk -
Snaring, illuding, concealing,
Magically conjuring -
Turning to fairy-coaches
Beetle-backed limousines
Scampering under the great Arch -
Making a decoy of blue overalls
And mystery of a scarlet shawl -
Indolently -
Knowing no impediment of its sure advance -
Descends the fog.

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Evening

The moon begins her stately ride
Across the summer sky;
The happy wavelets lash the shore,--
The tide is rising high.

Beneath some friendly blade of grass
The lazy beetle cowers;
The coffers of the air are filled
With offerings from the flowers.

And slowly buzzing o'er my head
A swallow wings her flight;
I hear the weary plowman sing
As falls the restful night.

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Some One

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.

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What Being in Rank-Old Nature

What being in rank-old nature should earlier have that breath been
That hére pérsonal tells off these heart-song powerful peals?—
A bush-browed, beetle-brówed bíllow is it?
With a soúth-wésterly wínd blústering, with a tide rolls reels
Of crumbling, fore-foundering, thundering all-surfy seas in; seen
Únderneath, their glassy barrel, of a fairy green.
. . . . . . . .
Or a jaunting vaunting vaulting assaulting trumpet telling

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