Sonnet: From Soldier-ants To God
Who gave the soldier-ants their formic-sting?
So small a brain yet, intellect so vast;
To run in columns, organise and bring,
Their prey piece-meal and larvae very fast.
To choose their sites of nest-building on trees;
To glue the leaves with spider-like resin;
To sentinel their nest in war and peace;
To labor ceaselessly and wars to win.
What wondrous creatures, ants tho’ small can be?
Their industry, man ought to emulate;
In sun and rain and wind, they slog truly;
They stood the test of centuries till date.
How much more splendid Being, God must be?
The universe’s Ruler, Almighty!
8-26-2002
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: And The Devils Came!
The Red-Ants took over the guava-tree!
They built their leafy nests by body-glue;
Some soldier-ants patrolled the surface free;
They fed on fruits, unripe, ripe; old and new.
Then Satan came to take them all to hell!
A group of crows invaded every nest;
The foes were too much; every soldier fell;
They could not succeed despite attempts best.
When you had harmed another unfairly;
The Lord allows your death-knell to be met;
The end comes on so fast and suddenly;
There is no escape from His mighty net!
So, never harm another here-after;
And if you do, cease may your own laughter!
poem by John Celes
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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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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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The Black Snakes Nest
Where does the black snake rest?
In shady cover reveals her nest.
Near the freshly planted field,
Where mice a meal can yield.
Slithering through stalks of corn,
Swallowing whole tiny creatures born.
Then returning to her place of rest,
Hiding there until a morsel to digest.
Her skin to shed in new apparel,
When a brood of white eggs appear.
She squints her eyes in satisfaction,
A fox about could cause her to fear.
The little ones would soon hatch,
They eat their way out of the shell.
The ones left the fox did not snatch.
The first sense is revealed of smell.
They look for their first meal,
Tiny vibrations they can feel.
At first eating a small grub neath the weed,
Eventually a small mouse its taught to feed.
A new cycle begins natures test,
The blake snake find a shady nest.
poem by Saint Eule
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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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Sonnet: Union’s Strength
When ants in hundreds cut a snake, piece-meal,
The moral says that union is strength;
A smaller group can bigger foes too deal;
One’s brain-work matters, not the body length!
God made all animals optimally;
The small size does not always mean weakness;
He gave them needed skills liberally;
The Almighty has heart of great kindness.
But man finds fault with Maker’s creation;
When we stand united, then victory comes;
There is a need to stifle ambition;
Simple are solutions to complex sums!
Sometimes, some lions join to take a fawn!
Sometimes, a king or queen fall to a pawn!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-24-2008
poem by John Celes
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Rough Carpenter...
i am only the rough carpenter
building a hapless shelter...
for strays, dogs and cats,
old people and young anarchists.
addicts, whores, ex-cons, and thieves.
street bums, farmers left homeless,
angry young students...
spiders, snails, ants, and moths.
out of work elephants,
turtles who have lost their shell.
small birds fallen from the nest,
both prodigals and dreamers.
third world refugees,
the blind, and the deaf.
sons and daughters,
mothers and fathers...
people bound by tears,
fears, and their own failures.
small people living small lives,
and renegade priests...
all those who doubt, question, and seek...
hearts that need hearts, hands that need hands.
those that need ears,
and human closeness.
pine trees fallen, and moonlight forgotten.
and that stranger the wind,
when she happens by!
a rough carpenter working and waiting,
for love to finish the job!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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 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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Two doves made their own nest
Two doves made their own nest
and with time cooed in love to each other
but one on a day disappeared
and never again came to watch its loved one,
even when the branches creaked in the winter wind
nobody gave any crumbs of bread to the remaining dove,
only the bright stars were always guarding
over a small nest above an old wooden floor.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Nest of Wasps
Closing the garage door
a wasp was flying past my head
but strangely it didn’t come for me
and for the first time
I saw a nest on the door
where there were plenty more,
some more small red stinging wasps.
At first I thought that the nest
was empty and when I reach for it
six more wasps flew past my head
and I drew my hand back instead.
By careful inspection
I saw many more wasps
sitting at the back of the nest
and these pests
were sure to sting somebody
time and time again,
but why they were avoiding me
I still do not know.
I couldn’t leave the nest there
and had to get them all dead
and yet somehow I pitied it
and which I could just instead
let them be.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest
the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers
all those nights
and even cold days
and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs
on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh
ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain
it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away
far, far away....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Child's Talk In April
I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.
Then you should see the nest I'd build,
The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough perhaps, but filled
With wool and down; ah, you should see
The cosy nest that it would be.
We'd have our change of hope and fear,
Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
Or hop about on active feet,
And fetch you dainty bits to eat.
We'd be so happy by the day,
So safe and happy through the night,
We both should feel, and I should say,
It's all one season of delight,
And we'll make merry whilst we may,
Perhaps some day there'd be an egg
When spring had blossomed from the snow:
I'd stand triumphant on one leg;
Like chanticleer I'd almost crow
To let our little neighbours know.
Next you should sit and I would sing
Through lengthening days of sunny spring;
Till, if you wearied of the task,
I'd sit; and you should spread your wing
From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask.
Fancy the breaking of the shell,
The chirp, the chickens wet and bare,
The untried proud paternal swell;
And you with housewife-matron air
Enacting choicer bills of fare.
Fancy the embryo coats of down,
The gradual feathers soft and sleek;
Till clothed and strong from tail to crown,
With virgin warblings in their beak,
They too go forth to soar and seek.
So would it last an April through
And early summer fresh with dew,
Then should we part and live as twain:
Love-time would bring me back to you
And build our happy nest again.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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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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The Wrath of Ants
God in All His Wisdom Grants;
Power to creatures great n' small
Evil beware! The wrath of ants!
When men hear His clarion call
poem by Ray Lucero
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Worker Ants
Worker Ants
Parallel along the path I followed an ant track.
I joined the ants, there were many all carrying
bits of straw so I picked up a piece of dry straw,
and man was it heavy. The other ants laughed
said will get the hang of it in time, soon you’ll
be able to carry two. Maybe four too, I rashly
said. No, that will break your back.
I kept falling behind as I timidly scanned the air
for predatory sparrows and wondered if rabbits
eat ants. Where their track ends by a hole, their
home, I threw my burden to the ground and
jumped back on to my own path. Hard work kills
the soul, and all you get at the end of it is cheap
pocket watch.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sonnet: Avoid Intrusion
Why stir a hornet’s nest and get stung bad?
Why break a termite-hill, disturb the snake?
Why irk the warrior-ants and make them mad?
Why pluck the beehive live to honey take?
’Tis wrong to get into others’ domain,
And doing this knowingly could bring Hell;
Though maimed, the first attempt could be in vain;
You must have skills before the cat, you bell.
Good and bad things happen almost world-wide;
Intrusion is something all well detest;
Some foolish men, women have also died;
To keep off from trouble-mongers is best.
Do not invite undue troubles to self;
You can’t discern the Angel from the Elf.
7-11-2002
poem by John Celes
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The Mother Sparrow Grieves Upon The Untimely Death Of Her Beloved Fledgling
today, there is no grand funeral
like that of the death of
a statesman
or that simple funeral fit for
a laborer in the world of
mankind,
the mother sparrow grieves over
the death of her fledgling
there is no burial
they do not know what are white flowers
their meaning
the torn wings are carried by the worker-ants
some useless feathers are left above a sand mound
soon there are skeletons of frail bones
baked throughout the year by the sun
soon only dusts
the mother sparrow as we knew it from science
does not keep a memory
they keep on their far journey
nest from nest to nest on those seasons
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eternity Wrapped
empty nest,
fragments of shells,
and small indentures
of living...
sunlight echoes,
haunting memories....
of wings flapping
against the emptiness
of pure being....
eternity wrapped
in small creatures
and simple things!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Small tragedies.
Darkness descending silently.
Enfolds the quiet countryside.
A blanket of tranquillity
Which only last ‘til morning light.
As day light fades and twilight falls.
Signalling it's time to rest
The air is filled with sleepy calls
As each small bird seeks out it's nest.
Though other creatures hunt at night.
On silent wings seek out their prey
To satisfy their appetite
Fierce predators that sleep by day.
The darkness does not guarantee.
Small animals security.
Saturday,05 May 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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