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Mycetophilidae

How straight of limb they stand, how tall and strong,
their armour clean and polished as if new,
an humble people these, and ancient too,
part of the world to which we all belong.
Born to the Earth, nurtured within the soil,
they shun dry towns, but love our moors and woods
where they can dine on well recycled goods;
and to the gods of green and damp they?re loyal.
As adults they use only what is free,
a flower?s wine, a dewdrop from a leaf,
their lives are bright and clear, though sadly brief;
they do no harm at all that I can see.
Who called them gnats? These warriors of light,
to me each one?s a brave and noble knight.

not written on the fly (my pencils too big)

Gordon

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Chironomids

Chironomids are funny things,
the adults never feed,
they only seem to live to fly,
in swarms and then to breed.

They hold communion in the grass
then rise on mass just as I pass.
The air it veritably sings
with the whirring of their wings.

And a million more chironomids
are out courting on the lake,
leaving countless clumps of eggs
behind them in their wake.

So next year there will be again,
more Chironomids than words on Zen.

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Obscure-fly poetry! I love it! Since I am the new editor of Fly Times (the newsletter for the North American Diperists Society), I put in a fly poem - an Ode to Minettia flaveola. (this is a lauxaniid) Hey - if I'm editor, I can put in a poem, right? It is on page 2 of the April 2008 Fly Times, complete with pictures - http://www.nadsdiptera.org/News/FlyTimes/issue40.pdf




Steve

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Just to let you all know that I am still alive. In China now, no more land of eternal summer

A Fly

The micro-architecture is profound
each finely textured ridge, each joint and hair
perfect in every detail. Who has found
within the earth a gem that can compare?
And see! One wonder with another crowned
it lives, and with its wings swims through the air.
Such fearless magic surely must astound
even a mind sore dulled by earthly care.
It is a pleasure for the soul's delight
as grand a marvel as has ever been.
The poet strives in vain, but still must try
to bring such beauty to the common light
and call himself well blessed to know he's seen
the glory that upholds the humble Fly.

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Shakespeare on a Fly

Titus Andronicus Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 55-80

Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
A deed of death, done on the innocent,
Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone;
I see, thou art not for my company.
Mar. Alas! my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But how if that fly had a father and a mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings
And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor harmless fly,
That, with his pretty buzzing melody,

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Music is art, too. Here a song which converts one of the already mentioned poems into music:
https://www.youtu...jdsC7lbEMY

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And have you listened to this great interpretation as a song? (by Cosmo Sheldrake, music is art, too!):
https://www.youtu...jdsC7lbEMY (Or search for Cosmo Sheldrake: Fly)