Bellwether Beetles

Tiny flecks of red dance across artificial rivers of powdered grain, their movements halted only by the confusing steps of a familiar other. The speed

The Dance of the Dung Beetle

A sharp aroma seeps across the sky, You scurry to its source; Working quickly to carefully craft A sustaining sphere of pungent spice. With cargo

Growing Pains

You glide across your silky precipice, Enticed by spasms at the edges of your kingdom; You see nothing, Just a loose thread caught in the

Spiralling Down

Walking backwards we follow Your trail of malevolence. Random doodles scrawled across the Loose soil lead us back to your nest, Where empty sacs of

Twisted Love

Emerging from my host now fully grown, I test my twisted wings on freedom short; Then start my search for your sweet pheromone, And spy

Some Bed Bugs are Chromophobic

These parasitic insect pests, Crave sanctuary that is sanguine; As most unwelcome, picky guests, They flee the hues of gold and green.   Lilac and

Do Not Go into Artificial Light

Do not go into artificial light, Our lamps can bring an end to fragile life; Fly, fly away into the shrouded night.   Your passion

She Refuses to Help But Still You Try

You reflect happily on times gone by, On parents that raised you the best they could. Her early life was damaged; you won’t pry.