Best Anthills Poems
NO WINTER THIS YEAR! NO NONE AT ALL!
no winter this year, no! none at all!
the ducks dilly dally, honeybees in the fall!
my dry cleaners said "no need for your coat!
I'll get to it when, I dock my sailboat!"
anthills getting bigger, their soldiers don't hurry!
I checked the forecast, no chance of a flurry!
the blueberry tea, I've been served alfresco,
stays quite piping hot! thank you Ernesto!
my finest snow angel, about to appear,
must take a raincheck! with Santa's Reindeer!
the heavens above, must surely have reasons,
postponing ice fishing, and blurring the seasons!
I'll wait two more weeks, before I declare!
"remove thin-ice signs! steep drop-off beware!"
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer.
purplish buds
sprout from gray lilac branches --
daffodils bloom
Though all the tulips are gone
having served as desert for gophers,
the worm and the grubs stir in the wet spring soil…
and the hyacinths have replaced the crocus’s blue
the paper narcissus now, scent the air.
red breasted robins
hop between hummocks of grass --
bird bathes fill with rain
From the within the green pupa, soon
you will stir ..the membrane will thin, sheer as a curtain
in a spring breeze adorned in polka dots
and wings like the crinolines of spindle legged
virgin daughters at first communion...
you will emerge with lash long antennae ready to fly.
leaves of cone flowers
push through the brown soil of spring --
anthills rise
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer
butterflies born.
Forms: Free Verse & haiku
At dusk the amber eye begins to close
Our dusty anthills fading from its sight
The midnight moonfright black-lit aura grows
Entrenching us in hollow, fiend-filled night
We lose ourselves and lose all sense of sense
We lose the light and then lose sight of sight
The baying wolves with daytime’s sun dispense
Their basest instincts echo through the sky
The praying men seek divine vigilance
And nighttime’s hooded chaos leads to sin
And hide the compass from humanity
And so the fearful seek the light within
Yet know they need the sun at reveille
The light and dark in order intertwine
Just like a rosary, a rosary
Statues and some faded pictures
repatriation and reburial of bones
cold war Soviet tanks and the AK-47
all that remains of the Freedom Struggle giants
who drove the colonizers back to their cradles
talked to the spirits of the ancestors
There is an invisible force of cartel members
so big they turned against their own people
so big they lurked behind anthills
so big with clever fingers
who had no machinery and dug dungeons
in Angola's unforgiving terrain
killers of freedom
they couldn't compete with the Freedom Struggle icons
who came from the heartland's extremities
Post-independence people
born-free generation
executives of neo-colonialism
special advisors
tender-preneurs
Chinese settlers
(they have never imagined us in their future)
how could we imagine them in the past
marooned in exile
many years ago
with bitter tears streaming down our faces?
The Freedom Struggle is presumed dead. Sirens blare.
A moment of silence stretches into years.
Tomorrow is Independence Day
But no one remembers what to commemorate.
What rare anthology of freedom sits till tomorrow
in the contaminated air where we talk now,
armed with our indiscriminate hate
there on Heroes Acre and obvious side of right?
I await your coming for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high. The lilac branches are still bare and shivering in the laggard lion’s breath of March. They await your kiss, the Monarch of summer.
purplish buds
sprout from gray lilac branches --
daffodils bloom
Though all the tulips are gone having served as dessert for gophers, the worm and the grubs stir in the wet spring soil. The hyacinths have replaced the crocus’s blue, the paper narcissus now, scent the air.
red breasted robins
hop between hummocks of grass --
bird baths fill with rain
From within a green pupa, soon, you will stir. The membrane will thin, sheer as a curtain in a spring breeze, adorned in polka dots and wings. See your pin-thin limbs stir like the crinolines of spindle legged virgin daughter at first communion. You will emerge with lash long antennae ready to fly.
leaves of cone flowers
push through the brown soil of spring --
anthills rise
I await your coming for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high. Though the lilac branch's still bare and shivering in the laggard lion’s breath of March awaiting your kiss, Monarch of summer, butterflies born.
Date 10/14/13
Rotating on its axis,
The earth labours
making the world go round
The planets also work,
As they revolve,
around the sun
The solar system is working,
With the burden of all things
Ants work day and night
To erect hardened anthills
Only for man to callously destroy
Striving to make ends meet
Plants, trees and other vegetation
They respond to stimuli:
Wind and touch;
Science and geography
And other acts of men,
All in the name of work
And everything keeps going round
A little labour does the door
As it swings on its hinges -
the effect of some work done
The paper sheet blown by the breeze
Travels from one place to another
Just to continue the process
And prove to you, o haughty sluggard
That inanimate things do work
To keep his sweat-soaked money;
The lawyer goes to the banker
The accountant had paid his arrears
He would also get to the clinic;
With the help of a driver
And his conductor
Both will visit the eatery
On their way out
And everybody keeps going round,
Working
We know God is working
Or, so we are told
His angels too, hands-on-the-plough
The devil is losing sleep;
Maybe he doesn’t get any
His demons are not folding their arms
And smiling with you and I
So you don’t think they are left out
Of this common train
All keep going round
Every day, like a vicious circle
Unveiling the mystery of work
Armadillo: A Child
Abundant Savannah Anthills
Are my Mother’s breast
From which I suck my fill.
Supine, breast upturned,
I suckle nipple jutting upwards
Oozing life to the thirsty...
From one to another I hope;
Long-cheeked Armadillo
Quaffing with drab appetite,
Ants ooze from the nipples
While I caress her breast:
True Infantile serendipity.
I dip the long, parched tongue
Then extract freaking Ants,
Such is my Armadillo life;
Life in Mother Savannah
With her plenty-is foster
Parent to all the famished!
Tread ye like the Armadillo
The African Savannah
And suckle nourishing milk!
To stray in Savannah grass
Is to arrive Home
To a loving foster mother!
Talk to the Armadillo.....
Savannah is a cornucopia
With everything excerpt you!
*African Savannah is a panacea to a heart with adventure.
JM
03rd Nov’ 2013
A wasp struggles
Flapping its wings;
Anthills are nearby.
Miss Spring arrived quite early today...
She brought with her some rain..Hooray...
Her job description is to assure...
That the garden will endure...
All the habitants needed...
And even the seeded....
Her first assignment of her duties..
Will be to match up all the cuties..
Like Azaleas , Iris, Pansies and more...
a Rose with a Rose...and even more...
A home for everything, even Anthills...
Right next to the bright yellow Daffodils...
However even the flowers have rebels who seek,
Pleasures that are.. that of the weak...
And sometimes it is beyond Miss Springs grasp..
That “ new” faces show up...with no names..Alas !
You hear them in whispers..when the wind blows threw the grass...
They are the “ love childs” produced by the rebels you see...
they are called “ Wildflowers “ and picked by both you and me...
But, it’s not here where the story ends...
Cause even Miss Spring has a “ seedy “ side my friends...
And as the months pass...she too changes..
Sometimes even exchanges..
And sells herself out..what a bummer..
She gets “ hotter “ and changes her name...to Summer
TRIBUTE TO AFRICAN WRITERS FOR THEIR STRUGGLE AGAINST OPPRESSION
CELEBRATE AFRICAN BARDS
A mirror in ink
Placed before my future
To save me from the sink
Of this chameleon picture
Anthills of the Savannah:
With pen, they told me the past;
Without their trail I wonder
How to narrow a confusion this vast
Through their crystal pages,
My antiquity—inept— illumines;
For their battles, no wages
But mansions in exiles and prisons
But unrest, pains, misery and yokes:
For speaking with a different tongue,
The rulers – yellow and black blokes—
Incarcerated and suffered them long
The struggle seems never to set.
It surely has an end; they believe.
Freedom is a song in threat;
After clobbering, in peace they’ll live
Though they hail from the dregs,
On their pen was Africa’s jungle justice born.
Now they are grey, they are like eggs
To be kept; songs to sing to my son.
I celebrate our African bards
Whose inks defeated bullying barrels;
And with all noble regards,
I salute their courage that unlock freedom cells.
anthills to natural selection, the sexual drive of a violenne;
invasive, brutal, the testosterone chasing wet thighs,
the night sweats. Kleptomania rising; castration
or helium filled masks for assisting suicides were
mutilating genes. Multiasking for eugenics ? Hate and revenge
hangs a body on the turret of a tank, a wrong
for wrong. A little crown, winged pollens scattered
on brittle areola, the milky way shying away from midnight
sun. The toppled vision in blindness of a tribe
unearths the skeletons of mass murders; the
fanatics changing the face value of truths.
Images do not leave the temples.
SATISH VERMA
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
Haiku
anthills in the fields
super colonies built by
thousands of workers;
Ramakrishna Chowdary Jasti
03Aug2014
Surely once is enough
to have to live a life upon this earth?
For those already here
and soon them to be conceived,
a lottery creating for eternity
far more losers than winners.
History records throughout the centuries
feudal systems, to protect the overlords and his lands,
anthills of power strategically placed across
the realm to stem one’s ambition.
Today the whole world a mountain of madness
created by greed and skullduggary,
the aim to reach one’s apex
as continuous improvements
drive everyday change to confuse,
yet to arrive at the final barrier, where only a few
are privileged to pass through the closed shop
of a shambolic hierarchy,
while many stumble then fall by the wayside,
victims of a way of life
manipulated by an invisible
bond of tyranny.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Endless Chase
Dreams broken
Anthills of fear lurking
Failing forward
Nothing to lean on
The walls crack
Sorrows rack
Musing dryness
Patience
Paling
Oceans of nothingness travailing
Hopelessness hatching
Triggers pulling
Death beckoning
Casket lower
Thresholds folding
Priest dusting dust
Vanity looming
Eternity an endless chase...
Written by Awoh Kingsley