Dobsonfly Poem by Ima Ryma
Dobsonfly
A Dobsonfly like me has got
A week to mate and then I die.
And so I gave it my best shot,
Felt eggs in me so off I fly,
And end up in a swimming pool,
Where I decide to just relax.
Then I'm grabbed by some human fool,
Who's pestering me to the max.
He Googles me, that's how I know
A Dobsonfly is what I am.
Mating - my first and final show,
And that my days are numbered - damn!
I knew I was in death throe funks,
So I left my eggs in his trunks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 1:40:32 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
Mesmerized! The conceptual inventiveness, and the thought itself. Rarely has humanistic metaphors of the very classical perfection been presented in a modernist vision, with such fluidly cut and emotive lines. A question- may i know your general inspirations... like what kind of poems/poets you generally read, and imbibe in these pieces of rare merit of yours. (Do take a look at my poems)