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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Related quotes
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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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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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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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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Ants On A Log
Ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
I got an uncle
He plays a game
He cant win it
Hes got a mold
Tries to fit everybody else in it
Whens he gonna learn hes bangin his head on the wall?
He aint gonna change
And he looks at me strange
When I tell him that I think were all
Just ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
We all know people
Who yell at the cars and the traffic
Folks in a hurry
Lifes full of heartache and havok
I finally learned how to lay back and let life happen
I just image the angels up in heaven
Lookin down at us and laughin
At ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
And just about the time you think youre rollin in clover
Along comes a rabbit
And the world tips over
Ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But never gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
Yeah were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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Ants in the pants
The colony of ants who (which?)
were happy up until recently
eating away at the gatepost
have braved it up the path to
the doorstep where
the four a.m. milkman deposits
the milk and bottled juice; it must have been
an exciting discovery, the bottles all dewy, cool,
in the early mist of dawn and
a promising ring of sweet liquid
just below the aluminium caps of some
so as I pick up the bottles, bleary-eyed,
some bold mountaineers
hitch a hike to foreign lands
which they regret. The first one such
finished up on the steel sink-top –
a pathetic sight out of Kafka or Orwell,
the worker out of work scurrying
more and more hysterically,
up and down in search of company, of work,
disorientated, frantic; I brushed him,
her, or it, onto the floor in the vague belief
that ants and floors had more in common and
could sort it out between them.
The second put a cap on schoolboy jokes,
making its presence known just as
I lowered my pants upon the toilet seat…
black trousers at that – I was as frantic
in my antics, as that first ant on the draining-board.
Perhaps some kind of retribution.
The third turned up on my arm, as I sat like this
at the computer..this time I was in care-for-all-things mood
and hoped to tray it on a piece of paper
back to its team – it wasn’t having any,
skedaddled, almost jumped I’ll swear,
off to this foreign floor that is not ever antland..
Maybe it was the same one which just now
turned up on my arm again here, three times
resisting brushing off until I, ungraciously, succeeded. And then
I felt guilty, repentant,
An old man on creaky knees,
searching in the poorest light
on a dark gray carpet
for a small, reddish-brown ant.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Mother Sparrow Leaves Not Carrying Anything
the mother sparrow does not
know about a funeral
how can it hold a white flower
entertain meaning
using its black, short beak?
today, her young sparrow
lies dead
shattered wings, severed feathers
the worker-ants are sensing the scent of blood
the delicacy of sparrow meat
and now carry them all toward their
queen
underground
there is no memory for mother sparrows
there is no son
the fledgling is gone, gone
then she flies far away
to another season
not carrying anything, not a seed even inside her gut
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reaching the Top
Two little red ants,
With puffs and with pants,
Were climbing a stone,
But one ant was prone,
To vertiginous spells,
In his ears he heard bells,
Which would suddenly ring,
With a loud ting-a-ling.
It made his legs shake,
And his whole body quake,
What was to be done,
He so wanted to run,
To get far, far away,
But his friend said, 'No, stay',
Just take a breath, deep,
You don't have to weep.
But climb onto my back,
For I've got the knack, .
Of reaching the top,
And I won't let you drop,
We'll get there, don't fret,
For it's a sure bet,
That a friend has to aid
A friend who's afraid.
So with piggy-back style,
Plus the glimpse of a smile,
And without more delay,
Two ants scuttled away.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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After Making Love
After making love
We split
Our bodies
Into
Perfect halves
We hold hands
Kiss
Then close
Our eyes
We dream
Something
Very peaceful
Everything
Is so calm
So perfectly
Quiet.
We hear
The footprints
Of ants
Journeying
On the ceiling,
Dreamy
Red ants
On chocolate
& bread
Crumb.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jumper
standing
the cars look like ants
the wind is harsh up here
it bites through my clothes
chilling me to the bone
rock
hello
i kick you with my toe
falling i loose sight of you
before you hit the ground
thinking back
to why i am up here?
to jump thats right
i am not sad
mearly observant
note
i take you from my pocket
and set you down
so they will read
but they will not understand
sigh
this is where
i should have second thoughts
but i do not
i am not sad
stepping off
i begin to drop
so many things
to observe so
quickly
faces
shocked
confused
most do not see
they watch their tv
lights
become a blur
so beautiful
the stars
and cars
life
goes by before my eyes
but i do not
watch it
i am not sad
but what is this
a tear?
no time to observe
the ground is near
the end is here
rock
hello
yes i kicked you
but i am not sad
for my life is finally over
poem by Zachery Wilcoxson
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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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Fascination
My little brother crouches down, studying the ground, intently.
His porky legs look cute in their long grey socks and he doesn't
seem to notice I am here.
I creep over beside him to see that which holds his attention.
The ground is alive with ants, little tiny creatures moving in never
ending formation.
We both crouch to watch the ants, studying them, enthralled.
Mother is wondering where we are, calling to us.
"We're watching little men marching, " we reply, giggling
She rushes out, hands dripping with soap suds, pinny wet.
"Men! " she says, in a worried tone. "What men? "
"Ant men" we say. "they're playing soldiers".
poem by Ruth Walters
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This Butterfly Has Been Cocooned
Can ants gathering in the smallest of hills...
Prevent the butterfly from flaunting its color?
They may prejudge its beauty.
And ability to attract.
That is established and known.
They will still be ants.
This butterfly has been cocooned.
And is not wounded by their remarks.
As it embarks on its journey.
Free to glorify its life!
It flies!
And without trying...
Sparks attention!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Fury Of Rain Storms
The rain drums down like red ants,
each bouncing off my window.
The ants are in great pain
and they cry out as they hit
as if their little legs were only
stitched on and their heads pasted.
And oh they bring to mind the grave,
so humble, so willing to be beat upon
with its awful lettering and
the body lying underneath
without an umbrella.
Depression is boring, I think
and I would do better to make
some soup and light up the cave.
poem by Anne Sexton
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124
after making love
After making love
We split
Our bodies
Into
Perfect halves
We hold hands
Kiss
Then close
Our eyes
We dream
Something
Very peaceful
Everything
Is so calm
So perfectly
Quiet.
We hear
The footprints
Of ants
Journeying
On the ceiling,
Dreamy
Red ants
On chocolate
& bread
Crumb.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rational Ants
From the volumes of total strength
A lesson transmitted a whole death;
One mighty foot descended at the attacker,
These ants wore a tiny prison of poison
Wrecking a fortunate end and destiny.
What do these fiends construct?
The ants antagonize and answer
A few rude joys, offering a majesty
Of wealth and learning to the escapees.
This train has journeyed from the lessons
Where teaching asked a question from the heart
And the head was heavy with thoughts of your majesty.
I see volumes of work in the tall buildings,
Bolstering a new set of worshiping places
That descend on the heaving masses
Of this whole rational thinking.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Of Simple Things
how do the leaves
cling to the stem? look at them
the wind plays
and not one from the pebbles
dream of falling
the ants keep the hauling
the grasshoppers sing notes
to the sky
that looks down with out so
much sophistication
no streamers
nothing of the band
wagon type
of bare feet that rests
on soft white sands
of the straw hat that covers
the eyes
inward inward
there is really no complication
there is only
this chosen nook
and there one gently sleeps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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