beetle

THE BEETLE FEET’LL

A Silly Ode for a Rainy Day

Before Big Breakfast, Eh?

By Izzy Ess of Meaningless

The beetle feet’ll tickle you before it bites your hide and hides in a small pocket of your skin.  Before you scream and run away, the beetle will defeat an army of your strongest microbes and will eat the tendrils of an aloe cactus, eh?  Surrender right away or beetles will amass a strong battalion of scallions and rubberize your big blue eyes, dismember your big nose and close your toes for all eternity.  Surrendering will save your hips and flip your numbers upside down to make a crown of thorns and nettles.  Kettles may sing out your praises but it raises the big questions: “Whatever is this silly song about?”  And, “What is the key that it is meant to signify the tone?”  And, “What is the true rhythm here?”  And, “Is it a sweet waltz or pounding polka?”  And, “Eh what?”  Suffice to say, on Hudson’s Bay, the yellow gay chrysanthemum is flowering, again, this year, along with all the red and orange ones.  I warn not to search for meanings in this silly song.  It’s wrong to think a poet really has a deep mysterious significance to all his musings and word games.  It’s raining means it’s raining.  Raining cats and dogs means cats and dogs have been released from some dumb pilot’s aeroplane, eh?  The smiling Mona Lisa just reflects that her own menses indicates she is not pregnant, and she’s glad!   Either that, or she just ate a une pomme de terre and it was just delicious.  Or, Da Vinci couldn’t get the mouth correct so he just turned the corners up a little to get to use his new fine brush.  Do I make my point or must I mount another higher horse and just pontificate until my bag of words gets emptied on this laptop computer?  Enough!  Let’s start again and get it straight, this time.  The beetle feet’ll tickle you, just endlessly and so frustratingly, that you may start to smile and resist the urge to squash the little bug before it gets away.  And, I am going to get away before this poem gets away and flourishes as something other than a poem.  Perhaps, it will become an oratorio or operatic aria, or better yet a good blues tune that a Jazzy artist will assemble.  Or, perhaps, it will just die a peaceful death amongst my other silly sonnettes, in my blogs on Blogger originally programmed by the Google Maestros of this century.  This is

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Wetland, Kanata

October 7^th 2013