Sonnet- Unusual Things Too Happen
The white-ants feed on dead, decayed matter;
Sometimes, I see them climb up live green trees;
The bulimic child tends to be fatter;
Some men are target for the honey-bees.
The warring-ants quietly build their nests;
Yet, hordes of them murder a grass-hopper!
The golden harvest gets ruined by pests;
Who can annul Mother Nature's anger?
Incredible events occur on some days;
'Tis-an unfair, insecure, mad world;
Man too has turned evil in many ways;
On Almighty, abuses are just hurled;
The treachery, we see today is much;
The human heart/mind needs a soothing touch.
poem by John Celes
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Warrior Red-Ants
I crushed some warrior-ants to death,
And wondered what, others would do;
And very promptly, came more ants
To investigate scene of crime!
These ants build nests upon the trees,
By gluing leaves with strange substance;
Their nests look like army barracks,
With sentry-ants guarding smartly!
The dead ants lay all strewn about;
A few of them were moving still;
And very soon, they too lay dead,
Like soldiers killed in battle-field!
The scout ants went from ant to ant,
Perhaps in search of ones alive;
Some went back fast to convey news
About the tragedy they saw!
And very soon, arrived more ants
To check if dead were truly dead;
Somehow, these ants smelt death itself;
They did it so effortlessly!
Each one of them lifted the dead,
By proboscis and sped back home;
Each ant with carcass upon mouth,
Ran back as fast as legs carried.
And in a trice, the dead were cleared;
The scene of crime was clean by now;
The work was finished in moments;
Yes, ants are truly busiest!
Oh, what respect ants show their dead!
How fast they rescue comrades hurt!
They proved they respected their dead;
Do human beings do like-wise?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose
A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.
The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.
The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.
Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!
poem by John Celes
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Crazy Antics For Harriet Bishop
I watched an ant and wondered why.
He was convinced he had to try
to climb a grass stem to the top
and down the other side none stop.
Why did he feel he had to climb?
It was a complete waste of time.
But Ants do what they want to do
I know because I’ve watched a few.
I don’t think ants are very bright,
they very seldom get it right.
Though I can’t think the way ants do.
He might have had good reason to
climb to the top and down again.
Or just may be he was insane.
10-Sep-08
http: // blpg.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sonnet: God is Kinder to Man
A wild tree grows amongst the broken stones
And rocky land: I wonder how at all?
Its greenish fruits make nests for ants and drones;
With natural glue, they weave it like a wall.
With time, they bend and twist the flattened fruits;
A cozy nest gets made that lasts for long;
And when it dries, switch on to newer shoots;
They guard their larvae with a marching song.
Though God grows trees for ants/bees to make nests,
Yet, man fears God may not him well provide;
But human beings are God’s heavenly guests;
And God is our Master, Friend and our Guide.
What love exits the heart that made us all!
And longs to take us back ev’r since our fall.
poem by John Celes
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Socially An Accepted Activity
Does it really make a difference,
If carpenter ants or termites...
Are responsbile for the effects,
Of a crumbling structure known?
Both can gnaw galleries,
In dead or decayed wood.
Termites are often pale colored,
And live in colonies.
Maybe because they are called white ants...
And the carpenter ones are black.
Perhaps that is the reason,
When they destroy with ultimate devastation...
It is socially an accepted activity,
Than 'if' their presence had been of color.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet: Ants Too Are Great
The Ants too serve the Lord in greater ways;
If not for them, who will devour the dead
Of flora, fauna? Nobody them pays;
But that is how they work and get well fed.
They work much more than any human soul;
Their little brains can think a lot of things;
Never-ending, they labor for a goal;
Suff’ring adverse conditions, Nature brings.
What unity exists within the clan!
They worked in unison in disaster;
They are so industrious, much more than man;
For body size, they run even faster.
Man has to learn many lessons from the ants;
They live much satisfied with lesser wants.
poem by John Celes
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A Poor Christian Looks At The Ghetto
Bees build around red liver,
Ants build around black bone.
It has begun: the tearing, the trampling on silks,
It has begun: the breaking of glass, wood, copper, nickel, silver, foam
Of gypsum, iron sheets, violin strings, trumpets, leaves, balls, crystals.
Poof! Phosphorescent fire from yellow walls
Engulfs animal and human hair.
Bees build around the honeycomb of lungs,
Ants build around white bone.
Torn is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax,
Fiber, fabrics, cellulose, snakeskin, wire.
The roof and the wall collapse in flame and heat seizes the foundations.
Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down,
With one leafless tree.
Slowly, boring a tunnel, a guardian mole makes his way,
With a small red lamp fastened to his forehead.
He touches buried bodies, counts them, pushes on,
He distinguishes human ashes by their luminous vapor,
The ashes of each man by a different part of the spectrum.
Bees build around a red trace.
Ants build around the place left by my body.
I am afraid, so afraid of the guardian mole.
He has swollen eyelids, like a Patriarch
Who has sat much in the light of candles
Reading the great book of the species.
What will I tell him, I, a Jew of the New Testament,
Waiting two thousand years for the second coming of Jesus?
My broken body will deliver me to his sight
And he will count me among the helpers of death:
The uncircumcised.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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I'm Not Jealous!
It is not that I’m jealous…
HONESTLY I’m not!
It’s just that, when you are
away from me,
I remember how you look in
your jeans and FCUK sweater
(you are really HOT you know)
and I imagine how certain PEOPLE
would look at you -
and make doe-like EYES at you
(you know how these people can be)
and from nowhere there will be ANTS
millions of ants crawling up the back
of my legs, up my spine and into my
brain…. being busy all over
messing up my headspace and
turning everything GREEN
not “serene pastures” green
not “an apple-a-day keeps the doctor away” green
but GREEN as in a dragon’s tail
before it turns fiery and red
and then all the ants explode in my head….
It is not that I’m jealous…
I PROMISE I’m not,
but ladies beware, because you’ll wish that you were
DEAD!
poem by Yuri Duraan
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In Your Absence
I loved you as a dew-drop,
loves buds to help,
Them to bloom, a bird
loves the sky, the grass-hopper,
wishes to be one with,
nature being green like her.......
I wanted to be the morning
breeze to sway the branches,
Of the trees, the heads
of grasses, or to run along,
The meadows merrily!
Nature doesn't dance,
with the tune of lust!
So, do I! The music of
heart, the storm of
the screaming souls,
mesmerize me with the
same attraction!
In your absence in
my heart, I feel like
a withered leaf, a blank
sheet where we could write,
a poem together with the
touch of our heavenly
fingers!
In your absence, I see
the cruel eyes of an
evil spirit who wishes
to toss me in the air
to turn me into nothingness.
In your absence, I can't
be one with my mother
Nature, in your........
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Of Ants and Life
…guess me correct
of ants and life they connect
causing a traffic jam on their trails I cannot forget
of ants as they swam from tree barks to get
a source of existence cannot let
the ants in drought to starve
for food is what they have once collected
and stored;
that which none has never rejected
nor objected
of ants and life
the futuristic species
that know when to pick up the pieces
of anything,
and the guard ants making sure nothing misses
from whence it were piled and stored
of ants and life ‘am never bored
as I observed how they nod
in respect and honor on board
as they pass each other a hustle they accord
of ants and life as they seek to conform
to a life in all its form
if ants can manage their own
why can’t we not of our own?
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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The World
the world is unfair everyday
the world is unfair everyway
the world is unfair when a loved one dies
the world is unfair when the dead ones mother cries
the world is unfair when we have to go to war
the world is unfair when the soldier hits the floor
the world is unfair when a bullie hits you in the gut
the world is unfair no matter what
poem by Jean Pullman
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The Bed of the World
The great bed of the world
arching over graves
over Babi Yar
with its multitude of bones,
with battalions of screams
frozen in a concrete glacier,
with pillows of earth
and comforters of green grass
covering all that dead flesh.
Dead flesh shall live again-
a dream in god's endless night-
rise green out of the earth
as grass, as trees, as tomato stalks
bearing a bright red fruit
and the feuds of man-and womankind
shall be fed again from the same seeds:
the tomato, the mythic pomegranate, the biblical apple
all rising from the grass that springs
out of the screams of stopped mouths.
Sometimes I dream
that my bed is built over a ravine,
the ravine of Babi Yar, any ravine
where thousands died
and I moan in pleasure to propitiate the earth,
to make fruit ripen
and trees wave green leaves like banners
all because love can touch me still.
It is never enough to create.
The beast must feed its meat teeth too.
Out of the screaming mouth of earth
we feed the grass that covers
all our beds.
I wish I did not know all that I know.
Galaxies spin, grass grows, and people kill.
We are the only race to murder for our dreams-
and not for hunger,
hungering for dreams
poem by Erica Jong
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Shall She Throw Then The Apple Of Discord?
out there is the calm
and the harmony of the leaves
and the grass
the silence of the ants and
the privacy of the worms
she does not like this
she needs the chaos to divert the
lulling ennui
that will soon numb and kill her
and so she climbs the only living
tree at the center of this paradise
gets the only apple
that she throws under the trees
beside the grass and flowers
and then the discord starts to unfold
now she watches all of them in their
domestic wars
the trees shake the leaves
and the worms are eating the barks
and the ants are building their empires
on sands
simply because they have turned
the blind eye the deaf ear
the gaps of communication bore
the holes of pandemonium
she sits and weaves herself a bandanna
now she is ready to go
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Nature's World Nature's Wonders Do Abound
In Nature's World Nature's wonders do abound
The billions of ants that crawl around the ground
The trillions of flying things beetles, flies and bees
That buzz around the blossom laden trees.
In Nature's World the birds sing every day
And migratory waders from the Northlands far away
On the southern beaches searching for insects ten thousand miles or more
From their birthplace on the cold Artic shore.
In Nature's World a bird i often hear and see
In the Town park the black and white pee wee
With little variation in his song
Pee wee pee wee he calls out all day long.
Of Nature's World so much to learn and know
Of how the plants and flowers and grasses grow
And though many of Nature's wonders to recall
Her best kept secrets she hides from us all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You can fly
You are butter fly
So you can fly
We are human being
We only keep on trying
You have sense to find out honey
We are hungry but only after money
You store for future and bees
We not only take fruits but steal complete tree
See the ants
What do they want?
What do we need?
More and more as greed
See the river water
They flow and cater
All needs and provide
Unite all but never divide
Birds sing in time
We praise sometimes
If that serves the purpose
We keep silence and only suppose
We take no clue
Neglect and refuse to view
We are adamant and irresponsible
Want everything but without struggle
Ants store for future use
We waste it and vehemently refuse
Cut the wood and barren the forest
How can anything then be called best?
Let us not cry later
Still we can make it better
We should miss nothing in anticipation
Let us build future with active participation
* Childish attempt *
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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In This World
In This World (Murder)
In this world all our sins are simple
but you step over innocent lines
and in this world its not all our money that's evil
its the ones you choose over life
and in my heart I can not believe in this murder
and I will not be fed by the lies
our lies are created just to be murdered
It's murder
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how loud they cry
they can't
buy their way into heaven
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how high they climb
up the ladder
they won't reach up into heaven
and make us see
the innocent lives
the poor and the suffering
and in my heart I want to undo
all this murder
and give back the innocent lives
open cages and stop their luxirous murder
its murder
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how loud they cry
they can't
buy their way into heaven
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how high they climb
up the ladder
they won't reach up into heaven
Ohh innocent lives
(Can't make out)
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how loud they cry
they can't
buy their way into heaven
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how high they climb
up the ladder
they won't reach up into heaven
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how loud they cry
they can't
buy their way into heaven
no matter how hard they try
and no matter how high they climb
up the ladder
they won't reach up into heaven
heaven [fading out]
heaven
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fiddle-Dee-Dee
Gather ‘round kids, I’ll tell you a riddle
About a lazy grasshopper ‘n diligent ants
They worked hard while hopper fiddled
Like some fool-hardy bug in a trance
Ants scurried about there was no time to play
Toiling all summer, storing food underground
They knew wintertime was not far away
While the vagabond fiddler couldn’t be found
First winter snowstorm came early that year
The ants tended the needs of their queen
Having plenty to eat they'd nothing to fear
For the colonies well being she’d foreseen
‘Around came the hopper hungry ‘n cold
“Can you spare a morsel or two” he cried
“I’ll play you a fine tune” he cajoled
“I’ve been so busy all summer” he lied
A soldier ant stepped up, his voice did ring
“Be off, you scandalous hopper
Or you’ll feel the pain of my poisonous sting”
“Hit the road…you worthless fopper”
Hearing the ruckus the queen summoned a drone
“Let the grasshopper in, give him something to eat
We can’t leave him outside all alone”
So in trudged poor hopper on cold frozen feet
With best manners the hopper ate his fill
Grateful to be well fed and alive
He now knew he’d survive winter’s chill
He vowed to no longer lie ‘n connive
Hopper picked up his fiddle, began to play
The most beautiful tune the ants ever did hear
From then on he played for them every day
Filling the the night air with good cheer
The story now ends with a moral you see
We must treat each other with kindness
For when we treat each other affably
We heal our judgment and blindness
(For Children/ROTMS)
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Red Ants...
The red ants are not red...
They are blacks hired
To mow down their own
Out of sinkholes
Onto pavements
The red ants are not ants...
They are human beings reduced
To machines that bulldoze
Those whose plight they share
For a meal
Note: In the City of Johannesburg, the poor occupying the innercity's delapidated buildings (so-called sinkholes) are forcefully evicted by armies of men in red overalls (popularly known as the red ants) , clearing the buildings as part of the inner city regeneration programme...
poem by Moses Mtileni
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In This World (Murder)
In this world all our sins are simple
We choose death over innocent life
And in this world its not all the money thats evil
Its the ones who choose it over life
And in my heart I cannot believe in this murder
And I will not be fed by the lies
All the lives are created just to be murdered, its murder
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how loud they cry
They cant buy their way into heaven
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how high they climb up the ladder
They wont reach up into heaven
And they can't see the innocent lives
The pointless suffering
And in my heart I want to undo all this murder
And get back the innocent lives
Open cages and stop their luxurious murder, its murder
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how loud they cry
They cant buy their way into heaven
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how high they climb up the ladder
They wont reach up into heaven
Murder
Innocent life
Innocent
What have we done?
(No mercy for beautiful
Money for blood
It's murder)
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how loud they cry
They cant buy their way into heaven
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how high they climb up the ladder
They wont reach up into heaven
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how loud they cry
They cant buy their way into heaven
No matter how hard they try
And no matter how high they climb up the ladder
They wont reach up into heaven, heaven, heaven
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Traveling Wind
I feel a breeze of wind
It is as soft as a baby
It travels along the land
It comforts the grass that beetles, ants, and grasshoppers make their way through
Ants continue to make their home that is only but dirt to humans
Dirt to ants is a brick to build a home
The breeze of wind continues to travel
The black and orange bird looks for food
It chirps around
It pecks in the grass
The bird finally travels away along with the wind
All is quiet but the crying of the leaves that are sticking out of the ground
Their hands, which are thorns, are reaching out to be comforted
The traveling wind goes and comforts them
Th wind travels elsewhere
poem by Pamela Mote
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