To the Tiny Ants I Slaughter Every Day
I've been at war with you for some time now.
Your initial assault was impressive, I'll give you that.
Slew you by thousands,
Black swarms down the shower drain.
Now it's down to scouting parties
Up through the sinks every morning.
I drown you, crush you without thought;
Little red smears easily wiped away.
Does your Queen wonder why
Her Probes never return?
Are they, in their last moments
Aware of their immolation?
Are our own cells,
Myriads every second,
Aware of theirs?
Miracles are happening inside those doomed cells
The ants have brains,
Actually the largest by body mass,
Miniscule though they be.
While Out There
In the formless Nothing of Space
There await The Asteroid, The Great Solar Flare
The Giant Gamma Ray Burst
The Wandering Black Hole
To quash the tiny Probes,
To rid the Gods
Of the tiny, tiresome ants.
At first glance, time had stopped.
The air felt light, a sweet scent followed the current.
A solar flare, there she stood.
Weeks of dreading, months of pondering.
Years of emotional tournament.
Was it all worth it?
Sleepless nights, mental starvation.
Loathing for that bright light,
always a little out of reach.
Freezing forests,
traces of growth exterminated.
Black skies weep droplets of sorrow.
Always too early, and always too late.
A path that splits in two,
yet I’m always walking a familiar road.
An uninspired rhythm,
a melody lacking any hint of beauty.
It's nothing more than noise.
Born to follow my heart,
I can’t endure the harsh tune of hers.
It was always bad timing.
Underdressed and bold, overdressed and vulnerable.
There has always been an unspoken truth.
With wings clipped, unable to fly away.
Blood embedded in the snow, bones pierced.
Break through this barrier and reclaim the sky.
Soar as high as you want, my friend.
A galaxy heart, free to explore the universe.
Go, be at peace.
It’s all an illusion.
We are the stuff that dreams are made of.
Delusions of grandeur.
God’s special project, Earth.
It certainly stands out from all the rest.
Water is life. Is water God’s blood?
The atmosphere, His breath?
The Universe, His Body?
The Stars, His eyes...
Where there is no escaping His gaze,
Or the occasional Solar flare.
Then there is me.
His souper special project.
I certainly stand out from all the rest.
Yet I remain hidden
From all the scrutiny.
I’m not a god like Krishna
Being born a little differently.
Am I more or less likely
To be born in His image too?
Or am I just an anomaly
With my twelve toes and bi-fid thumbs?
Perhaps, I have some left over recessive ancestral alien DNA
Coming to life thru me?
Or maybe, I’m just a mutant all mixed up into the gene pool
Swimming thru life doing the butterfly stoke, feeling it’s effect
All the while sipping poetrysoup
With a perma grin plastered all over my face
And the word ‘SUFFER’ birthmarked on my other cheek.
language — the threshold of the universe
tracing hidden membranes
each word, ganglion
where starlight settles into semantic scaffolding.
we are nerve-endings
where it shivers into tongue
quickening drum of chest.
white space exhales corona-fire
self expands, exoplanetary —
each firing a solar flare
reaching stellar drift
where rift becomes gift.
body tessellates —
flesh dreaming treillage sleep
deep in dendrite-forest
the universe yore-wakens
never separate.
intimacy resurfaces —
lowercase, unannounced
sharp as transistor-click
the universe leans closer —
a soft swirl into wrist and star.
the last synapse
burns backward through fuse
recognition in wristwire
recognition in starlace.
the universe
inscribes first
hieroglyphic axiom.
My mind is tribal, I hunt in the mud and slurry,
I track the stars in a wooden chariot
made from the ribs of a blood-clan crib.
My thoughts are armored, yet as articulated
as any youthful flesh, they cannot be washed,
or manipulated, I have an ax for every hand
against them, a caress for those
who choose to fight on the battlefield
of inspiring ideas,
a painted arrow and shield to defend
the commandments of ever-mutating gods.
A green tree within a high mountain
is my mind, a solar flare of endless creation
are my barbaric prayers,
the same orisons that now civilize the corrupt
and morally spent.
I am the heart of existence, my tribal markings
cannot be scrubbed away, by smooth-skulled
manikins or the slick prattle
of any grandiose legion.
The whirlpool stars of the Milky Way appeared when she was feeling grey.
Mother-of-pearl constellations shimmered across her skin in the candlelight.
Saturn’s red rings spiraled wildly at her climax—
A solar flare unleashed in breathless surrender.
Turquoise desire bled into solemn greys,
And those greys married verdant dreams, swirling in slow motion.
To gaze at her was to weightless drift in a heavenly sky,
A vacation from this unforgiving world.
Her allure was all-encompassing, enchanted and unique,
Spiraling me into a pheromone-induced high
Each time she glided by like moonlight on water.
She was a celestial mesh of chaos and charm
Unreachable, until the universe paused and she murmured, stay.
They say it’s no bigger than a helmet,
Half-sunk in moondust, beside a crater’s lip—
A sculpture of a child's hand, reaching
upward, fingers curled mid-gesture,
as if to catch a star that isn’t falling.
Polished titanium, etched with breath—
yes, breath—frozen in time:
a woman’s exhale as she said goodbye
to the capsule’s cold silence.
Her lover’s ring embedded in the wrist.
Behind it, a glass cube holds
a feather from Earth’s last eagle,
a photograph of clouds,
and a tape that plays a lullaby
in a language no longer spoken.
Lunar shadows shift across it slowly,
like the memory of someone walking away.
No plaque, no flag—
just silence holding its breath
while Earth hangs blue and distant above.
And sometimes, in solar flare storms,
the sculpture hums faintly—
not by design,
but by yearning.
They call it Momento:
Not monument, not marker—
Just a whisper left behind
for the stars to one day understand
that we were here—
and we remembered.
hollow the words seem when said to a wall,
bounce back with fear and anger to keep,
papal silence for the thrall to burrow asleep,
worms of thoughts weep by sunrise to fall.
skills of a magistrate in proper order would bow,
kings would castrate themselves to drink milk,
cows jump moons for the money pig on top,
steak and bacon sizzle on the solar flare.
where are we in all this, wondrous saloon?
cowgirls and cowboys, or more like cowards?
the paddle doors swinging and the guns draw,
would you shoot or hesitate, ten steps is all you take?
turn and boom it all flutters down in spades,
joining in this house of cards in the breeze.
Sunlight tumbles
over an open window,
then swallow-dives
into a silver kitchen sink.
Fractals of reflected iridescence
dance over China plates.
A surface tension
between a faucet and a drop of water
creates a solar flare
within its liquid release.
I imagine a mighty splash,
picture an arching rainbow
cresting over high waves.
Buoyant beams
spill over the glinting rim
of a breakfast spoon.
April 11—Eclipse/d
two Lunatic Lune Poems about the Eclipse
Title: Final Solar Eclipse
the solar eclipse
ended life
massive solar flare
Title: Howling At The Eclipse
howling at the moon
full madness
solar eclipse time
Her mind accumulates
the mechanics of metaphysics.
Pieces of something she is sculpting or
assembling - word-pictures
too intricate to be entirely recalled
upon a whole canvas.
She discovers these figments
on the leeched rim of vision,
where shapes are nameless.
Part of her mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp,
the other blazes as bright as a solar flare.
She has been building images,
that can only be truly perceived just once,
then after that,
they are just her writings.
Her mind accumulates
the mechanics of metaphysics.
Pieces of something she is sculpting or
assembling - word-pictures
too intricate to be entirely recalled
upon a whole canvas.
She discovers these figments
on the leeched rim of vision,
where shapes are nameless.
Part of her mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp,
the other blazes as bright as a solar flare.
She has been building images,
that can only be truly perceived just once,
then after that,
they are just her writings.
Happiness is easily found in a multitude of the sweetest components
Grateful for you, often swept from the feats, of our hours, sharring meaningful moments
Your citrines comprised burning bright; scorching everywhere
As an orbited sphere; willed they are a perfect solar flare
Climbing a summit inside my thoughts; that is all you
Beside me, you wrap me up while we both enjoy the view
One could mine for eternity; excavating nothing valued; seeking a gem worthy of a crown
But, I would stop digging at the surface of the earth; if it matched your eyes, superfluous shade of brown
A Summer breeze captures gallant spirits
they add a bit of a charge to the air;
The taste of strawberries and lemonade
bring about a season with benefits;
Drenched in aloe you are beyond compare;
Maybe it’s just a coconut charade
that’s got me seeing all of these visions;
Heart interrupted by a solar flare
I lay in the bed that casual made;
Still I pray that none of these illusions
will fade.
Inspired by the unending love my grandparents had for each other and a story of one of their winter dates.
On this cloudy winter day,
the sky is gray
and I am too.
I kick a pebble off the sidewalk
into the cold embrace of snow.
It loses its luster
when neither the sun nor you
are here to lend it beauty to reflect.
As the sun reveals itself,
I am reminded of you
and all your golden glory.
The weak sun rays dare not to compare
to the warmth that emanates from your soul
That streams from your fingertips
every time we touch
Warming me until I fear I might die from
the overwhelming expansion of light and love
inside me.
My grave will read “cause of death: solar flare”
And all who pass it by will remark
“Ah, what a wonderful way to go.”
You are my winter sun,
and I am but a specimen of flora
depending on you for life and sustenance.
When you die, I will swiftly wither away
in the misery
caused by the absence of my life,
my source of direction,
my whole world.
You are everything to me,
and I will spend every second I can borrow
giving you all I have and more.
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