I met one ant in my house.
I read about a second ant.
The second ant is another story.
If forced to give the first ant a name,.
I would most gladly call him Terry.
There was no interaction with the
Other ant that I only read about, but
I learned a valuable life-lesson from him.
However, the no name ant is another story.
My personal experience was with Terry.
Terry, heading west on my bathroom
Floor, suddenly turned right to go north.
Just to interact with him, I tried to turn him
Back north. He did not like my interference.
I offered him certain treats, but he said, "No".
So I left him alone.
I then proceeded to do other nessisary
chores and soon forgot about Terry.
I later remembered him and returned to see if he could be found. To my utter amazement and
Surprise, When I looked under the sink cabinet,
I witnessed an ant being reeled in by a spider.
I assumed it was Terry. Lesson learned?
If for any reason, you are advised by another,
Listen and proceed with caution, or turn
Around.
poverty's sharp edges cut off the grey beggar tonight.
monsoon rains overpoured, becoming grave floods, sweeping him
from the bridge, where he had often trolled with a fair measure of hope.
between coal-coloured stalactite teeth, his gross breath, wan mouth,
an endangered smile, oily eyes, raisin skin, copper hair;
loose, smutty digits outstretched for some particular solution—
change to spare, a bottle of coke, a hot dog, a lead pipe.
living phantom rattled young children, disquieted air
of the earth, his chamber and bath (ordinarily trivial)
to those beyond stones, cloth huts, the doldrums of the have-nots,
targets of practising mendicants—grateful for temu,
the credit card religions, pseudo-prada, black friday options
I could murder a curry, Death mumbled under his voice
A Terry Pratchett icon in his fantastic discworld universe
Imagination…the inspiration of many
This legend awe inspiring…
Every book, every tale
Breathing new life into each
Even as his was failing
A small token of homage
For soo many hours spent
Ensconced in his world
All his characters my friends
Feeling familial traits even in luggage, the many legged suitcase
I explore tiffs world with her little blue men
And my heart broke with all, when granny Weatherwax saw her end
My favourite character to be sure, i cried and cried
I only lived that book once as it crushed me inside
So I re read the old tales where she’s living a new
All the while feeling that her character was you
I broke just as much, when I heard you were gone
The end of an era, new tales now anon
A tribute to my favourite author anew
We all drop our hats..
Terry Pratchett it’s you
He was right at home with 'being himself',
And had 'never a longing' to be anyone else.
To others, it was as if he was in a jail cell,
But from his perspective, all was well.
It seemed, in a cave, forever he would stay,
And there was little he ever wanted to say.
For sure, he was shy, preferring to be alone,
And in a cocoon is where he felt right at home.
In time, nature forced his exit from the shell,
And he was then compelled to show and tell.
A boy named Bobby came along, and Terry changed.
Bobby didn't see Terry as someone acting strange.
Before Bobby, everyone simply stood and stared.
Terry was 14 when Bobby expressed that he cared.
Fortunately, Bobby and Terry became the best of friends.
Friendship was the key that unlocked Terry way back then.
Terry Lad a fiddle player
plucked his fiddle with his bow
And whenever he raised again
the cats would lull endure.
They followed him good and gay
that wasn't very cool.
It made the stray dogs prolonged a bay
to hear the fiddler play.
5/10/2023
Jenny died eight years ago, but her sister Terry never let her go.
She speaks to her daily, which worries her parents.
They have taken her to a psychiatrist, but nothing changes.
She is still here, she insists. They do not understand.
Neither has a drop of belief in spirituality.
To them dead is dead; no personality, no soul, nothing.
Terry plays on the hill in front of the pond as often as possible.
For it is there that she sees the reflection of Jenny in the pond.
Terry tried to cross the wall with one bound;
And had his two front teeth crowned!
Near his granny's house, a lake he found;
Not knowing beans about swimming, he drowned;
And gallons of muddy water he downed!
Not sitting quiet, he irked an angry hound;
Catching his calf, it got his muscle almost a pound!
All around, all the time, thus he clowned!!
Nursery Rhyme 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Date: 25-04-2022
Place: 2nd
As we gobble berry
And devour cherry
The heart is merry
Towards Bliss on a ferry
For Jerry and Kerry
And for Perry and Terry
As we indulge berry
And mouths cram with cherry
Disappointments we bury
And our woes the dreary
Then, a reply that shouldn’t me weary:
Where’s my promised berry
And guaranteed cherry?
Man does man have ways when he wants to fight, I pray the race gets renewed by warriors who use energy spikes instead of virus spikes, ... and how is God? I hide him in my chest away from guns, I'm shooting for the moon with bullet sized stars, my friend, and a pen of course, sending you a beg hello, :) and a smile to make your day.
An eighteen-inch trilobite, which is me.
Related to spiders and crabs….tee hee.
Advanced life form.
Will not conform.
If you want me, I’ll be in the sea.
The arrest of David Berkowitz ended the growing terror faced by New York City,
but investigative journalist Maury Terry uncovered much more to this story.
There was a man called Terry
Who captained his own Ferry
When his ship hit a rock
He recovered from the shock
Drinking a bottle of Sherry.
There was a man,
Who lived in wales,
Lived a boring life,
And worked in sales.
He went to the pub,
Almost every day,
At night he came home,
On the sofa, he’d lay.
Chippy every Friday,
He’d have for his teas
Chips and gravy,
And a tub full of peas
He had an umbrella,
To battle the gails,
After all he lived,
In the hills of Wales.
A quiet little village,
The community so sweet,
Surrounded by fields,
Of barley and wheat.
A picturesque place,
A postcard place,
A place to put,
A smile on your face.
His name was terry,
Lived to a ripe old age,
Of ninety four,
Like his wife, Sage.
A boring old life,
But the best that they had,
Enjoyed every minute,
Not a moment being sad.
Terry and sage,
Grew up together,
Shared the umbrella,
And battled the weather.
The nice old lady,
Terry working on sales,
Had the best life,
At a village in wales
Governor Terry Twinkle ** ** not his real name (ha, ha)
Over us did sprinkle
Some clumsy, inadept sprinkle
How'd he win the governorship?
His opponent's racism he ripped
Now it's Twinkle
Whose wings've been clipped --
Appearing in a photo
That he shouldn't have ought to
In blackface beside a Ku Klux Klanner
We insist he resign
He responds with this whine --
To err is human; I'm not divine
Terry or Jaclyn, matters not one iota
Still has the same loveable persona
Been far too long
Hearing her song
Best not go astray again, sweet magnolia
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.