Each month, write a new collection.
THE TEEMING MASSESDo you think they are here?Yes.How do you know?My friends were sick last week.Where do you think they are?On my clothes. In your cup.What are they doing?Just living. Like us.Do you think they are, really?They feed. They breed.Do they think or feel?They don’t rape or torture, if that’s what you mean.Do you think they are?Science claims that they exist..But not the Bible.“And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end to all flesh.’”Do they think you are?I am too large for them to comprehend.But they feed upon your skin.And yet they do not know me.
This is great Mark. And I hate the thought of those things!
well, you did say "small"also added one to night poems.
fleasDad built aworkshop inthe backyardhalf wallsopen tothe worldhis toolswere safefrom intruderssawdustscatteredon the floorfilled withfleas, not safefrom intrudersJohnny, Dad,and I walkedinto the shopthe fleas inthe sawdustsaw their chanceattacking JohnnyDad and Iaren’t sweetbut Johnnyisn’t safe fromflea intruders
Yikes. Everyone writing really well about things that freak me out!!
I love that the fleas "saw their chance." There is no more entertaining form in English Literature than the anthropomorphism of fleas.
Masters of ConquestHow the ant is knowna worker A maidA soldiera killerHow it lifts the other objectsover its headAs though to sayWho can dare out do me?In this feat of absolutestrength beyond the strongHow the ant has this passionfor showA great wandererWho summons the otherswith undaunted skillas small as a speck yet fierce as a pack of wolvesinvadespicnics and gardensunseen yet always thereGiving their all to take backto the queen the treasures of battleThe dominate power of the ant The least, yet the most glorifiedof creatures to admire in the contradiction of size and strengthcombined with the surprise of numbers whocan cause terror to an elephant who cannot allow the antto sting inside its trunk
That's great. You're looking at the ants as they would see themselves. Drama of real life!
Because we loved each other, and because we wanted to get out … “to be in nature” becauseit made us feel alive. It wasn’t somethingwe thought about, really because ,well, just because.
I love that. Simple and beautiful.
The Potato Bug IncidentI just wanted to go outsideto gather with my friends and playto ride my bike down the steepest hillsbut there was a potato bug in the drivewayI just wanted to go swimmingto loiter outside the 5 & 10To sit and watch a matinee moviebut there was a potato bug in the drivewayI just wanted to get ice creamto visit my mom while she was at workto pick sour grass from the neighbors yardbut there was a potato bug in the drivewayI just wanted to do a lot of things that dayto taste the sweet freedom of summerto stay out till long after the street lights came onbut I couldn't that day...I was being held hostage...There was a potato bug in the driveway
Oh man that is a scary looking bug!
I love how the small things got bigger on each poem, until it got to potato bugs who are really big bugs.
Does this have to be about insects?
No it does not!
Oh ok lol
Silk WormsBlack and whiteWhite and blackI would search for their heads, their eyes.They were so cute to meSquiggling all around in their tankThe light gleaming off their blank and black bodiesThey were so chubbySo cuteI wanted to pick one upAnd wrap it in a blanket and put a bonnet on itBut i'd have to be careful cuz I couldnt find their little eyes...God, they were so cute.If I found a blanket that small,Would it make the silk worm too hot so it'd die?I better not so that I can watch them grow until i'm done with this grade...and look at them all day long cuz they're so CUTE!
You really dug the worms! I don't think I've ever seen one. Good poem.
Lol i know it was a weird fascination. They're interesting. Thanx.
We walk me and my dadLooking for pine conesTo start the fire in the cabin —I don’t wear my glasses thoughThey are new to me and sit strangelyOn my ears, so when I pick up the thingThat is brown and mottled like a pine cone itJust feels wrong. Pine cones are brittle and dryThis brown thing is wet and it’s cold so ICrouch down to investigate with my alreadyNot very good eyes. A slug. I let go. Stand up.We walk to the stream and we skip tiny stonesForget about pine cones. But I personally neverForget the slime-wondrous feel of that beingThat I thought at first was a dead piece of plant.
I have been meaning to ask, what book are you reading from for these examples? Thanks.