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The winter comes
The frog is happy
She becomes AS the giant

Chasing the tiger
Who searched for a small hole
Made by a small ant
Digging deepest womb of the mount
He vibrated and CHURM OUT THE BUG
HE CARRIED THAT CLOUD

He threw it and overlapped
The cloud got anger
She cried, cried
The rains downed
As  the tears were there
It revolted and made a fact

The flies spread their wings
The wings prevented the sun from getting up
The sun cried
The waves blew up
Making the fishes in rows
Demanding the barghout to nip
The moon who planned to the sun
The moon cried
The winds were up
The date trees threw their date over the birds
Who drew the Thorne from the sun
They gave the throne  to mum
My mum, yours are the queen
We must be their knights
THE NEEDING OF LOVE, RESPECT, FAITH AND THE HOEST,. THEY BE ABSENT.
Arthur Blank Sep 2019
To the humble ant,
A blade of grass is a tree,
In a vast forest.
A Haiku.
Strung Sep 2019
Slowly...
Slowly slowly creeping up the vine
How many ants will die in my lifetime?
How many crave the sun deep below the earth
And care nothing for the vine the mind is telling them to search?
Grapes grown over
Over over over
Crushing wooden posts and stealing sun from most
My watermelon plants.
How many questions circling uselessly...
And how many ants never get the chance
To see the end
Of a daunting, pointless task.
Never ever call me that name again ever

Understood, poacher ?

You know ! This is one reason

I mark my territory,

I don’t give my flesh out easily

I have too much pain associated

With my birth name.

Write it down in capital letters

My name is PANGOLIN MUSE !

Want me to spell it for you ?

P – A – N – G – O – L – I – N  M-U- S - E !

PANGOLIN MUSE!

Stress on the first syllable just as mandolin, please !

That’ll be it for phonetics !

And don’t call me ever something else

whatever, will you ! I’m serious !

Weaned I am not yet !

Or I’ll Flame you with my stinky fluid,

Secretive scent from way over down there,

From my solitary underground burrows !

Or I’ll flame you with my sticky tongue,

Whoever you are

Under the bark !

Or I’ll flame you with eyes wide shut

You know I can hypnotize !

I’m no nocturnal Delicacy

I’m no red hot ant !

Wanna please me ?

You know what ?

Call me just Muse

And put yourself in position;

One Two Three

Scales in

Four Five Six

Scales out

Seven Eight Nine

Curl up

Ten Eleven Twelve

Roll baby roll

Let do the ant and pangolin dance

Stick that tongue out

And try to reach the furthest you can

but first are you willing to hear that old lullaby ?

Eyes naked

Claws Naked.

We have just started the initial steps.

Step one :

We are fully dressed still.

You’re the ant, I’m the pangolin, today !

Tomorrow, vice versa ! Or you’d rather try the contrary ?

Or you’d rather toss head and tails ?

On top or under the bark ?

Horizontal or vertical ?

Perpendicular or Parallel ?

We’re both the visitors of the same bark

Faraway Feathers of the same Wild Wordsmith

Who dreamt once ant and pangolin

So let’s start that ant and pangolin dance.

Now let me slide into you

Like a thirsty moon-mosquito

At the nape of your neck !

Or you’d rather have me

Dive into the very abyss of your niples ?

Let me soothe you softly with my wings of fire

Oh I’ve been yearning for so long

For those pomegranates of you

To quench my thirst

On those purple pillows.
Josh Jun 2019
Without the bird, would we look up? Without the ant, would we look down?  If our souls never reached out would we learn to love the other? I believe there is no bird or ant if we never learn loves direction.  Curiosity.
Hoisting the boulder,
Legs tremble beneath great weight,
Ant brings home a crumb.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Amidst the chaotic thrums
Of silence, a lone ant
Rises among the swarm.

Slowly, and with no small
Amount of huge determination,
She ascends the blade

Of grass, and stands aloft.
Overseeing the nest,
She sees nothing at all.
A poem about acknowledgement.
#16 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
MicMag Nov 2018
like all, I yearned to love
in spite of potential pain
but now this anti-love bites hard
agony and shock surge through my veins

an army of fury and contempt
rush forth, crown fear both queen and king
this anti-love marches on
attacking with rage-inducing sting

but I can't hate this anti-love, no
I confess when push comes to shove
I cherish the teensy bits of joy
I share with the little ant I love
PAD Poem-A-Day Challenge November 2018

Prompt:
A love poem
and/or
An anti-love poem
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2018-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-20
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