as though endless life
ants and anthills rise and fall ---
midst snake intrusions
(A lone voice whispers)
As a person, you must know
Deep down
You're part of one of the most spiritually
Illuminating
Literary movements there has ever been
A gift sent to you for self-expression from The Great In-Between
A means to pull down old towers with new or old siege hooks
Open closed doors
By maybe writing a blog or book
To walk through anthills and moors
Of poetic stanzas
To find who you really are
As you pause and really look
For above all things
Magic in poetry is real
A form of rebellion from the mundane
A resolution
A Bonanza
To push back boundaries in a form of grassroots resistance
To power and social control
To be able to purge the destructive nature of humanity and the need to share its beauty
To those watching on patrol
As they go
For you are so gifted
So never be afraid to share your Illumination of the soul
For someone somewhere
Always needs to be lifted
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy
confusion overtakes you
as the fog swallows the leaves above
leaving wind soundless
when you boil the sea
rain falls
and yet you ask why
as a child
shocked by thunder
hiding like a rat
gnashing your teeth
on wood and wheat
seeking a retreat
death comes for your kin
like anthills in a concrete mold
boasting of great strength
yet in this moment eternal
the fear and confusion ever so swallows
and remains is the sound of fear
in statues of your kin
mouth agape
as if to ask "why?"
when patience is rewarded with pain
and violence is rewarded with silence
what do you have left?
open your mouth
and ask me again.
try not to swallow your tongue.
I want to return to my mother
To my mother tongue
Like the clouds return to the Ocean
Like the air return to the sky
Like the cows goes to their home
When the sun gets down
As the ants return to their anthills
As the woodpecker return to the wood.
Let me return to my mother land
When my tongue becomes stiff
From being silent for too long
When my soul begins to hurt
Let me return to my mother land
To my mother tongue
Where I feel like heaven
Oo! My mother let me return to you.
Deep in the village, far from city's charm and gleam,
Primitive childhood days, with toys of mud we’d dream,
Swinging on tall tree branches, our airplanes up the skyways,
Butt scooting down the anthills, our high-end cars on highways.
Once a moonlit night so clear, with dazzling constellations afar
Would unveil a gem so rare, the SHOOTING STAR,
The stellar herald, our surest destiny's bearer,
That carried our dreams, through heavens' mirror.
We believed, if to this celestial magic, you spoke your wishes,
Assuredly, your future dreams would come true, even riches,
But only while the brief light streak shone, could wishes find their way,
Once gone from view, chance lost, 'til next uncertain day.
"I want to be a pilot!" one would exclaim,
"I wish to be a doctor!" another would acclaim,
"I'll be a president!" a soul would declare,
Wishes rolled as swift, as the star's radiant flare.
Today we're of age, the dreamed future's here and now,
The city’s beauty familiar, cars and planes are real, avow,
In our dreams, we still believe, hope gleams on our brow,
Ready to embrace our destiny, oh shooting star, where art thou?
Across the realms of existence now known
dwell some dimensions of which we're not part.
Though sharing our space, diverse life is shown-
some worlds within worlds, alone from the start-
know not of us- yet are able and smart.
Earth's anthills survive in worlds quite diverse;
no knowledge that giants exist in their midst.
In their unique space, they govern and nurse.
Too, bees in their hives cannot be dismissed;
they thrive in their world, and ours is not missed.
And our vast earthly oceans overwhelm
with life that inhabits dark, liquid space-
without knowing that above there's a realm,
most never will see, that's named human race-
we masters of earth- that rule and embrace.
Across the realms of existence NOT known
dwell huge dimensions of which we're not part.
Though sharing our space- diverse realms are shown;
some worlds among worlds- ahead from the start?
We know not of them- more able and smart?
horizontal landscapes with anthills
ants plant poison pills on mulch trails
solar breezes inspire physicists
the universe works overtime
earth dances with oceans
becomes desert without mulch
the universe doesn't work anymore
poisoned ants occupy dead planets
No matter what happens to you,
You have to be your own sunshine
machine in all that you do!
Angels will cross your path as if
from nowhere.
What a waste of time moaning
about what is gone, somewhere?
A lover left? There are billions left
on the planet.
Way better than the one who left,
who was boring and stagnant.
So much in life to cheer, yes mam,
even now!!
What you want~ create it, see its being
born before it is~ holy cow!
Go comment more, call your friends on
a real phone.
Play music, dance, do not moan!
Turn fear on its fat rear, waltz in the sun
and prance.
Dream of a glorious future and of course,
romance!
Play your sunshine machine loud and clear.
You know you are a winner.
Climb mountains, not anthills, my dear!
Go for it~ with hugs,
Panagiota
September 17, 2020
7:30am PST
anthill and insects
million lives living in ground
trekkers with boots walk
Interesting facts on anthills:
Average ant hill is home for colony of 250,000 ants
Mother queen roams around the nest laying 1,500 eggs in a day.
Nest sports temperature controlled rooms for these babies.
Throughout the day adult ants shift babies up and down chasing perfect temperature for them.
Gifts of love grace Spring cabins' still-shivering mantle
Intoxicant scents wafted into every corner -- covenantal
Luscious colors allure tempt Hope in dreamer's hearts
~ 'Till faded petals peel from sere stems, shuttled into anthills
Little kids keenly hover round an anthill
held there by ant-motion individuality
or their helter-skelter movements as a family
~ for hours and hours on end
Pure joy and propensity
such unmatched intensity
~ happy as cats-caught-a-rabbit all day ...
Though the smile and the mess on the face
of a toddler eating ice cream and cake
is so open and toothy, for godness sake
~ not to mention the glee in his heart
But why compare? It's not fair
to mix up and confuse this fine pair
~ of acts of childlike mirth and amusement
When years pass
and we grow old,
our enthusiasm sold
to those twin ravagers
~ Time and Ill Health
There still is a way, a wonderful, wonderful way
for us to enjoy anthills and ice cream every day:
We can light up our Muse
Reignite our sleepy fuse
and pen ourselves a poem
~ What have we got to lose?
The callings of Sunday are like
Light rising from the East
Breathing into the earth
Making the blue sky
In its endless grace.
A gentle falling of petals
On our heads and on
the flowing crystal rivers
showering the earth with
It’s beautiful perfume.
Music sung by the running wind
With an unwritten melody
That only it knows of
And the walls and
Dare to dance to the rhythm
The plants rising from the soil
Growing higher and higher
To look over the anthills
Searching out their new earth’s
Never ending design.
Remember me?
I remember you.
My home-
Where the meadowlark laughs
And the sun paints the tranquil sky
Over the ancient hills-
A familiar majesty,
The sagebrush and thistle,
So strong and hardy,
Ugly to most,
Dear to me.
I long to wander those hills again-
Anthills and rabbit prints.
To feel the constant wind
(I left, but it never will).
To dance in the summer monsoons
At the foot of my driveway,
Where the water pools,
And scream at the weeping heavens-
Turbulent and beautiful
Like an iron sea overhead.
Here, here is where my memories
Lie, close to the little cactus,
And here is my quartz collection.
Through two backyards and across a street
A red stucco house
With porcupine grass.
My best and only friend.
She knows me better than I do.
I miss her.
I love this place.
It is my home,
And my support,
The harmony to my song.
You may not hear it,
But sine qua non.
You can take a girl out of the desert,
But she will leave her heart behind.
On a little desk in a dusty room
I sat and dreamed things strange
flying as birds did around school
talking as parrots with foreigners
capturing images with cakes and bread
eating worms cooked, served in plates
talking using cockroaches tied to wires
tying my neck with gold- colored ropes
working in anthills built with glasses
I think I saw it while in Primary School
A wasp struggles
Flapping its wings;
Anthills are nearby.
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