Category Archives: insect images
What Bug is This?
My neighbor came to borrow my drill and on the way back out to let him out of my gate, I chanced upon this insect. It was a very fast mover, but I was able to get one decent shot. Does anyone know what insect it is? It is about 6/16ths of an inch long.
It reminds me of a cow-killer ant but it is much smaller and redder as opposed to the black and orange of the cow-killer ants (which are actually a variety of female wingless wasps) I’ve seen here on my property. It is probably a red velvet ant but has different markings, is brilliant red and much smaller than ones I’ve seen before. Click HERE to see a huge Cow-killer ant I saw a few years ago and to learn more about them..
Spiders and Glowworms: Sixteen Lines
Having Guests for Dinner
I very nearly missed out on her graceful zigzag gig
beneath my bougainvillea, suspended from a twig.
Behold the nimble spider, spinning out her floss
determined that no insect will turn out to be her loss.
See her web’s tenacity, holding fast her prey—
those delicious visitors who rarely get away.
She sucks out their elixirs with minimal delay,
having guests for dinner every single day.
Incandescent Insect Insomnia
When nature made the glow worm glimmer,
would that she’d installed a dimmer;
for when I put out the light,
what I expect is total night.
When it puts itself in action,
I fear it sets up a distraction.
Little glow worm on the shelf,
please keep your glowing to yourself.
For dVerse Poets Creepies and Crawlies
To read more infested verses, go HERE.
Are you old enough to remember this song? I think the lyrics are both fun and brilliant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dpqfvFd1M0
Millipede: Animal of the Day, Sept 17, 2019
This rather huge millipede stands out like a many-faceted jewel atop the devastation he has wreaked upon this leaf.
For the AOTD prompt.
Blue Flower with Bee
Spider on the Ceiling
Spider on the ceiling, legs evenly spread round,
I can’t help but wonder what keeps you ceiling-bound.
Have you little suction cups welded to each foot,
and if so, has nature adequately put
each one on this spider far above my bed
so it will not disconnect and land upon my head?
I woke up much earlier than usual today, and after I posted my poem and photos, I went back to bed. I closed my eyes for a short time, then opened them and stared fixedly at the ceiling above the bed. It was not fully light in the room, but in the diffused light from the curtains which form a sort of scrim in the room, I could see a black blotch on the ceiling right above me. Trying to figure out what it was, I scrunched my eyes up and eventually made out lines radiating out from the center. It finally occurred to me that this might be a spider. Further scrunching determined that it was, indeed, a delicate-looking spider perhaps an inch or two in diameter. It hasn’t moved in the half hour or so it has taken for me to write its laudatory poem, locate my camera, arrange for adequate lighting and camera settings, shoot its portrait and to get posted. It will probably still be there tonight. If so, its fame will probably be expanded with another poem. If I remember.
Best for Last
Best for Last
Just as I’m ready to ingest
the morsel I consider best
and so picked out from all the rest
to be my last bite, savored with zest—
last memory of this gourmet fest—
from north and south and east and west,
descends each winged little pest,
radared in on diabolical quest
as though invited at my behest.
They put my appetite to the test,
settling as though to the nest,
their hairy feet intimately pressed
upon that morsel that I loved best.
I wave my hand over them, lest
they eat too much, then I confess
I guiltily consume the rest.
The prompt today is pest.
This beach companion was fascinated by my Diet Coke. Pedro says this is proof that they actually do slip sugar into diet drinks here.
(Click once on first picture to enlarge photos, then click on right arrow to advance to next picture. When finished, click on X at top left of the page to return to this page.)
He ended up submerged, in spite of my best efforts to dissuade him from taking the icy dip. This called for pouring the coke and corpus onto the sand. In lieu of artificial respiration, I blew on him and from a seemingly comatose state, he came to, crawled away, and in time flew away. I wonder how many watery graves this fellow has escaped.
By tomorrow, all the pellets will be gone, carried away by these bearer ants–and hopefully, the ants will be gone, too.
Hormigas, by the way, is Spanish for Leafcutter Ants. (I didn’t want to give away the answer before the question was asked.) They are fascinating to watch, with their generals and slaves, double machete-weilding lumberjacks dropping pieces of leaves to the bearers below, tinier slave ants carrying many times their own weight, some ESP that causes swarms of ants to appear to help any ant who needs help over an obstacle or out of a hole. I could watch all day as bush after vine is depleted of leaves and flowers, but then–I’d have no bushes or flowers, so I resort to the little pellets that, carried back to the nest, with luck for me and no luck for the ants, will clear it out. Cruel nature either way.
Katydid? Just What Did Katy Do?
Two months after my husband’s death in California, I moved to Mexico. Once there, my days were filled with the completion of my house and the buying of appliances, furniture, and familiarizing myself with the language, processes, mores and customs of Mexico. Although at first I knew no one in my new country of choice, my life quickly filled with the observation of the strange plants, animals and insects that appeared one by one to claim my wonder. After 14 years, they still do! This poem was written during my first month in my new house. As stories do, this story was just repeated in a slightly different version yesterday. You can find that story HERE, but the poem below is fourteen years old.
Katydid? Just What Did Katy Do?
If you were in a salad or a stir fry, I would have taken you for a pea pod,
crunched you right down with the next forkful.
But instead you stand in bright green relief against the gray trash can lid,
stroking your proboscis with your curious hand shaped like a snake’s tongue.
Your six legs in graduated pairs: long, longer, longest
bend constantly in 360 degree angles
as each moves in turn to your anemone mouth
which plays each like a piano
trying to stroke music from the keys.
As hand after foot after foot
vanishes into your mouth––
front flap like an apron hanging down––
I wonder if you are perhaps feeding
on nourishment too minuscule for human eyes.
Your broad chest expands and deflates like a bellows.
Praying mantis, grasshopper, leaf-hopper, pea pod––
Whatever it is you most resemble––none have your talent or your wing power.
Your alien protuberant eyes like small yellow beebees.
Now trapped in my jar, you define your glass prison with leg after leg, like a mime.
Colorful strayer from a world of green,
what do you make of this white world of mine?
I have stolen you for a closer look, and for this short hour,
You have enthralled me with your alien looks.
So much I’ve been told of everything here in this new land strange to me,
each from a different point of view,
that now I feel the need to look at everything more closely for myself.
But you, in a jar, perhaps not knowing you are observed,
farm each foot in turn for something so infinitesimal,
then drum drum the glass.
“What is there?” you seem to ask.
“What is this new world?”
Nothing to nourish you here.
I sit staring in at you.
That artichoke mouth doesn’t look made for singing,
opening like petals of a flower as you put your foot in it.
Like an old man pushing himself backwards
from piece of furniture to piece of furniture,
you limp around the glass on geriatric legs and padded feet.
We move to the terrace,
where I put you down
On the leaf of a geranium
in the crumbling pot up on the wall.
Putting your heels down first,
you test each new leaf for it’s ability to support or give.
Each hand and foot is like a tiny forked penis hanging from green testicles–
the penis one forked finger, mining space
then gripping the leaf, fore and aft as your
moves over it like a slice of watermelon
held the wrong way––
not side to side like a calendar illustration,
but front to back, even bites
increasing its inside arc.
In five minutes, one-fourth of the leaf is gone.
and you move to another
like a child with a cookie in each hand.
My ink run out, I leave you
And when I come back, you are invisible
against the potted geranium that I have set you down in.
Your mouth like a different insect
reaches tendril arms out for the leaf edge,
takes sharp bites–like a leaf cutter ant.
The white front flap of your mouth
sweeping the diminishing leaf edge like a vacuum cleaner.
One-quarter of the leaf gone in five minutes.
You fly to the tree branch next to me, startling me,
as finally we stand eye-to-eye at the same level.
You stand more clearly defined,
for you are the yellow green of geranium,
not the dark green of this tree.
Here you are more blended in shape than color
As you change your diet––
eating not the leaves, but stems of leaves––
you rock on a hobby horse of legs.
Your chest like bagpipes
expands and releases,
rippling like an air balloon.
Now that so many of your mysteries have been revealed,
I solve your only secret left––
the origin of your song.
You play “Las Mananitas” for your lady,
with your compadres joining for the chorus,
one wing your violin,
the other your bow.
My night newly passionless,
fills with the sounds of yours.
To hear Katydids, you can go HERE. And for a fascinating closeup video of what I experienced first hand above, go HERE.
See if you can distinguish “my” katydid from his background in these pictures.