Bull Ants

They do not graze in meadows.

Nor do they stare listlessly

over fences at traffic .

None , to my knowledge ,

are brindled or patchwork .

Few , if any , have horns

or tails to swish flies with .

I have never heard one moo .

Nor been charged by one

when I crossed its path .

They may see red

but are little sought after

by toreadors .

Yet they are big .

And they do pack a bite.

Hittites

You jerk

awake

black thoughts

scuttle across

the floorboards

of yr brain

little

armour-plated

Hittites,

the cockroaches

of yr mind

  • photo by Hermes Rivera from Unsplash


			

Buddhist Fly

We drove to the Buddhist temple

At sunset.

A hot breeze blew in

From the north.

Clouds of insects rose

In reverence.

One, a fly, landed on my nose

And would not

Go away.

I gave it the good old Aussie salute *

A few times

To no avail,

Making me wonder whether

One should swat

A Buddhist fly

Or merely contemplate it?

The Buddha looked on.





  • aussie salute = a brush of the hands to ward off bush flies
  • pic courtesy of Pexels.com by Daniela Ruiz

Dragonflies: a Quartet

the Maserati of the insect world

they leap from dawdle to dash

in one second flat





at one moment hovering helicopters

the next fighter planes

daredevil pilots at the controls





coupling in mid-air as if refuelling

how do they do it?

sex on the run





& here comes junior, red-headed

as a matchstick, parents in tow,

learning the ropes

Xmas Beetle

I came across a stricken Xmas beetle on my walk along the lake.

Somehow it had toppled over and was swivelling on its back like a break dancer, its little legs paddling the air.

Ants swarmed over it,

I grabbed a leaf and flipped the beetle over.

Ants leapt off, a black sizzle of anger..

I flipped it a few more times till all the ants had let go, then I stood back and as it rose into the air. the sun glinting off its sheeny wings, it looked back and seemed to give a little wave.

*pic courtesy of Wiki Commons

Another Failed Dragonfly Poem

Dragonfly_ran-387

I used to go down to the pond at the end of our street to write poems about dragonflies the way Monet would go down to his garden at Giverny to paint water lilies.

 

The only difference was that dragonflies didn’t stay still like waterlilies did. They dashed and darted about the pond at 100 ks an hour. Even when they had sex they had it on the wing coupling like planes fueling mid- flight. You had to admire them though they were devilish to tie down.

 

I almost got one once when a dragonfly dawdled on the front doorknob one drowsy afternoon, after summer rains, then saw me and took off, its gossamer wings flashing rainbows.

 

Ants Doing Yoga

 

ants-clipart-7

 

I was watching ants filing back and forth the other day

When two stopped for a chat; and I wondered how it was

 

They knew each other seeing they all look the same; and I

Concluded they must have individual features like us:

 

Hooked noses, for instance, bushy eyebrows, little pot bellies

And carry nicknames like ‘Shorty’, ‘Ginge’ or ‘Spike’

 

And further ants must have little to say seeing they say it

So quickly, but mostly I wondered where ants are off to

 

All the time; it is hard to imagine them doing yoga, or chilling

Out at the cricket or at the beach in a deckchair or anywhere

 

Else for that matter.