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Jason Feb 23
I'm an ant
Having an epiphany
In the beam of a flashlight
🔎
© 02/23/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
rest in pieces
to the red ant
that just lost its life beneath
my white Air Forces

those who crawl towards me
always seem to fold
under the weight
of my soles --
Nikes, and a weak heart
that is proficient in the
art of manipulation

an empath that seems to
hurt more than heal,
a motherless child still
inhabiting the body
of a nineteen-year-old

a writer utilizing the distance of fiction
to erase the proximity of my past,
i mask pain beneath the guarding arms of a genre

another ant scurries across
the stone seat
and the sickest validation clouds my vision:
there’s many more where that came from
Ces Sep 2020
The tiny red ant scampers
In a forest of greenish mold
Its bristly legs carrying
Biological modules:
A head with pincers
An imperceptible thorax
A swelling abdomen.

It has nothing but a laborious drive
A pheromone-induced servility
For the queen: the lazy, bloated tyrant!
The sole purpose being
The laying of eggs.

The noble red ant
Moves on to scavenge
Blind and dumb
Oblivious.

To the ruthless cycle
Of its existence.
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2020
The hill is alive

Marching soldier

Plugged into the hive

Follows the scent trail of the world before him

Winter is closing in

Food stores and Disney Plus

Take turns as kingpin

It's all about what's current

And holds a charge

Technological holdouts

Form an orderly line to the graveyard

The rest do their very best

To keep up with progress
Inspired by Philip K. ****'s short story, "The Electric Ant" (1969).
Jenish Jul 2020
Watching the marching ants,
While I wondering their monotonous strife,
A weary one left the line, away he walked to a lonesome land.
Hands on head with faltering gait,
Dearth of joy, he wandered a bit.
There he lied low to the ground,
Kissing mother earth like a depressed ant.
Is he an osculator, mourning on his vacant love?
Or he an emulous one, cudgeled by a better brain?
A miffed rummager of copious grain,
Or he repenting on a horrible crime?
I pondered on his dreadful distress
Longing for the profound stillness.

Watching the painful life, astir my humanity,
Finer ways I posit, to end his endless tomorrows,
From a creative mind, unknown to the quizzical ant,
First I gifted a bubble of water, for him to drown in style.
But he moved in insolent silence,
May be knows the art of swimming!
Then I helped him to the edge of the land,
For a profane jump to the bottomless deep.
A coward fearing height he retreat,
Back to the land panting nervy.
Later I offered bane of death, but he sniffed and moved away.
Then a knot for him to hang, eyeing it he jumped through it.
While my drained splendid mind, puzzled by his mocking insolence
Sneering at my humanity, picking a hill on his shoulder
He walked back to the line of labour, leaving me - the foolish human.
Life is dancing in the background, on the stage of silent death.
Bhill Jun 2020
who really knows
who really understands
how is it true
or not
does the homeless person know what time it is
did the ant you stepped on feel anything
the sunset shared by millions across the globe, was it appreciated
was it valued
desert winds, stirring up the ancient sands, is it admired
is it honored
waters in the clouds, falling with raw force to the earth, is it glorified
is it
how do you know
how do you know

Brian Hill - 2020 # 168
Well, is it?
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.
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