Sunday, July 1, 2012

Ant Hill

Ant Hill

Puffing out of
Parted lips,
From fingertips
It rises like a white

Weak kings reign
Hanging thin in
The chapel,
While snapshots
Of memories appear

Back bent
Paid rent—
For the week

When sweet gestures
Seem steep,
You act upon instinct
Skin on skin
As animals would say
Utter words of

Hunger with
Raven black lives
Spider-leg knives
Standing in the
Deep end,
Sporadic waves

Crash upon
Each other—

5 Comments So Far:

  1. I can definitely hear those puffs coming from parted lips...and I know how it can be to utter words of hunger and not be fulfilled!

    An Irish Whirl

  2. Your phrasing is beautiful and unique. I especially love the stanza that starts with "hunger." Exquisite write.

  3. I'll try to be original but I gotta echo Brenda W. when she comments about the beauty and uniquesness of your words. thanx for all the images and emotion.

  4. A unique perspective. I really like the second stanza - Both ants and bees the workers and drones are 'weak kings'. But there are so many ways to read this concise piece.

    My wordle can be found here:

  5. Very nicely crafted! Great images and emotions!


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