Thousands of ants move in a line
like they're driving on a two lane highway
A vulture stares into the distance
while its talons clutch dead remains
It pecks here and there
the carcass jerks
The animal may still have life
The vulture does not care
Shadows dance across the ground
More vultures are on their way
As they land they scan the area
They are not worried about feelings
They peck
and peck
The animal is beyond dead
yet the vultures cackles grow louder
They have taken all the life from that animal
and still they want more.
A dandelion
protruding sidewalk cracks
filthy air
most rotten of cities
A hummingbird
flitting face-to-elephants-face
tiny
delicate chirps
The acacia
belittled by oaks through storms
bending easily
leaves unsupervised
Take a deeper look
and the lines will appear
backwards to forwards
realization
Tall and stealthy
stranded in lonesome
resiliently surpassing rose gardens
the dandelion
Fierce and courageous
now eye-to-eye
self assured pecks intimidating its peer
the hummingbird
Stability and boldness
leading skies dance
roots so firm refusing to break
the acacia tree
Woody Woodpecker happily pecks in his tree-house decent,
mean landlady Meany evicts him, for he doesn’t pay the rent.
So, he plans his antics, stops real estate to sprawl in his forest,
tricks Lance, the harassed lawyer, to gift him a new tree-nest.
A woodpecker pecks wood,
as she surely should -
but should we allow her,
at this ungodly hour?
**A Bird in the Hand**
From my childhood, I cherish the sweet memory of holding a sparrow in my hands. Its heart raced wildly, igniting my curiosity. Gazing into its small, beady eyes, I couldn't help but smile as it chirped and whined, pleading for freedom.
Yet, in its desperation, it bit down on my thumb, yearning to escape and explore the world. The realization struck me hard.
“Yay! You better let that bird go before it pecks your nose,” warned Nana.
That day marked a turning point; I gently released the little bird, whispering, “Up, up, and away, dear friend. I truly apologize.”
In that moment, I learned the importance of compassion and letting go.
I think that if I could have wearable tech
it might be a vest that inflates in a wreck.
Perhaps a decoder of lyrics by Beck,
or one that converts between gallons and pecks?
Or lets me run wild in the ship’s holodeck.
But I am afraid if I am circumspect,
it is I that this tech likely tries to inspect,
to direct my actions, make me genuflect.
Big brother, who watches, with powers unchecked!
So with due politeness and all due respect,
This wearable tech is a watch I reject.
It comes for me, too.
No matter where we are
in the turning of the seasons,
I will no longer try
to hide from the bird.
Because it pecks
at the edge of winter,
this world is overfull
with the force of life.
It is because
the bird comes
that the seasons
are beautiful.
It is because
the bird has come
that flowers bloom.
Let it ride the wind—
there is no need to resist.
The bird
is already on its way.
The crocodile smile is such a pretty sight
as the Egyptian Plover keeps his teeth
pearly white and shiny bright
"Open wide," are words heard from the bird
his dental hygienist who picks and pecks
then eats the meaty spicks and specks
and as the crocodile sheds old choppers
(no tears)
so the avian's not unemployed or at a loss
the croc constantly grows new gnashers
for his new-found feathered friend to floss
flirting with my friend
so lovely and radiant in the sun is she
her smile inspires my smile
Mom's Watchful Eye from Heaven keeps me respectful
my strong belief in being faithful keeps me smart and grounded
as we say our goodbyes, we say Sincerity Prayers for each other
she gives me a meaningful slap on my left arm, which makes Mom smile in Heaven
a female dove with a watchful eye lands on my left shoulder out of nowhere and pecks me repeatedly on my forehead
my friend, who i playfully flirted with, begins laughing uncontrollably
she then says, 'uh huh, that's what your flirting behind gets'
i reply by saying 'WHAT ABOUT YOU?!?'
you answer by saying 'you have a Precious Blessing Beyond Worthy of Counting'
i wave a final goodbye with a rare smile and simply say 'Yes Mom'
Between the blades of dewy grass
Mingle the particles of fresh dust
Their colour bleached to grey.
A bird descends and pecks for food,
Finding nothing it ascends today
Climbs higher than the trees, away.
Weeks go by without a soul
Tending the ever growing grass.
I chose that tranquil spot
For them to be blended in the soil
That many years before received
The bleached grey dust of her lover.
The years will effectively combine
Them in the soils embrace and then
She will be lost, untraceable,
Indistinguishable, shall become one.
My parent's will be done.
© Allen Ansell 2025
incubator day
children wait for eggs to hatch
one chick pecks away
teacher covers cage
six chicks emerge overnight
only one hold out
this egg never cracks
wise teacher takes it away
quietly alone
They Greeted us every Christmas
with plastic pecks to the cheek.
{We were just two sticks of kindling
for their forever grief).
They'd fuss over brother.
who'd the haunting eyes of mother...
I was just the little hand on their time piece.
The adults would sit around
fanning lukewarm talk for hours.
While we wandered out back
kicking bits of this and tossing bits of that
into a black puddle that once glittered with goldfish...
Maybe I was too terse with my replies,
But that was the way I was made.
I have no fervour to apologise.
Maybe I should have dated you so much more,
Heck, could a leopard change its spots?
I always was like that.
Maybe I should have whispered sweet nothings,
Like I love you dear, my sweet.
But that was not actually me.
Maybe I should have kissed you more,
But mine were just mere pecks,
Like hens kissing each other.
Maybe I should phone you immediately
But that would be surrendering to my faults.
Yet I was not an arrogant man.
Maybe that was her ringing my doorbell,
I opened the door for her.
Tears streaming down her cheeks.
Maybe a moonlight shone from outside
And blinded me, so I hugged her.
Our kiss on the lips lasted so long.
There is no maybe now or ever, for we
Will plight our vows with love
Forever.
In the shadowed grove, where moonlight wanes,
A raven perches, feathers inked with midnight stains.
Its eyes, twin orbs of obsidian, hold secrets untold,
As it croaks its mournful tale, a story of old.
The raven, messenger of forgotten lore,
Swoops down from the ebon sky, wings ashore.
Its beak, a dagger honed on sorrow's edge,
Pecks at the remnants of a long-lost pledge.
"Nevermore," it whispers, a haunting refrain,
Echoing through the twisted branches, the rain.
Each feather a memory, etched in pain,
The raven weaves a tapestry of loss and disdain.
It feasts on carrion, feigned indifference its guise,
Yet within its breast, a tempest of longing lies.
For the raven knows the weight of ancient sins,
The burden of forgotten dreams, where darkness begins.
Its caw reverberates through the desolate night,
A dirge for broken hearts, a requiem for flight.
And as the moon retreats, leaving shadows to creep,
The raven takes flight, into the abyss, deep.
So beware the raven's call, its mournful plea,
For it carries the weight of eternity.
In its ebony wings, the echoes of despair,
A creature of twilight, forever bound to the air.
Two little birdies on a branch.
Not “XOX,” but “***.”
Valentine outercourse lip pecks.
Mais oui, a sexy avalanche.
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