Category Archive: nature


Two wandering across the porcelain
Siberia, one alone on the window sill,
four across the ceiling’s senseless field
of pale yellow, one negotiating folds
in a towel: tiny, bronze-colored, antennae
‘strongly elbowed,’ crawling over Antony
and Cleopatra, face down, unsurprised,
one dead in the mountainous bar of soap.
Sub-family Formicinae (a single
segment behind the thorax), the sickle
moons of their abdomens, one trapped in bubbles
(I soak in the tub); with no clear purpose
they come in by the baseboard, do not bite,
crush bloodless beneath a finger. Peterson’s
calls them ‘social creatures,’ yet what grim
society: identical pilgrims,
seed-like, brittle, pausing on the path
only three seconds to touch another’s
face, some hoisting the papery carcasses
of their dead in their jaws, which open and close
like the clasp of a necklace. ‘Mating occurs
in flight’— what better way? Weightless, reckless
rapture: the winged queen and her mate, quantum
passion spiraling near the kumquat,
and then the queen sheds her wings, plants
the pearl-like larvae in their cribs of sand:
more anvil-headed, creeping attentions
to follow cracks in the tile, the lip of the tub,
and one starting across the mirror now, doubled.

Insect or Flower

Let us watch how they cluster in whirlwind ballets, 
lifting like clouds from the dark swampy ground. 
Burrowed in sunlight, then full-bloomed at midnight, 
bouquets of white moths wings, that gather like flowers. 

Rising from shallows, with satin-soft petals, 
that circle the meadow in small constellations. 
With great expectations, they rise in their journey. 
Star-struck, while seeking the light of the moon. 

Imagine a beautiful guide sitting in soft dirt, 
as we fathom the mystery indulged with fragrance. 
Aborning the beauty bribed by the sullen dark- 
Under the lunar month, winged flower stands in confident. 

Sailing in wander against the moonlit sky, 
pillowed flowers, ring throughout the atmosphere 
Satin-soft petals tend to crystallize into splendor form 
Behold, the journey embellished by the canvas we adorn.


In the debate between accessible and difficult poems
Poets' poems and poems for people
Only the single poem and private reader matter

Both kinds and anything between can matter or not
Solid or made of air, a vase or heavy clay ashtray
One word repeated or many like a lei

An acquired taste, like wine, and like wine
Not sustenance, yet men die with their miseries
Uncut without it, news and mere matter

I advise everyone to keep a personal anthology of poems that matter
Or not. Perhaps it should be novels. Stones, insect wings,
Feathers, Birds you've seen, People loved.


Many insects creep upon this earth,
and hardly anyone refers to them as “nice”
or writes a poem reflecting on their worth!
Spiders sometimes make me jump as if they were small mice,
and how repulsed I feel to see cockroaches or lice!

How many cute soft cuddly insects can we find?
 Worms are soft, but cuddly? I don’t think so!
Which bug both cute and sweet comes to your mind?
Well, Butterflies are lovely; fireflies have a nice soft glow.
But the one that comes to MY mind I bet you know!

She is a lady beetle, and when she lands on me,
I do not flinch or swat at her or gasp out “Ugh!”
People like to count her spots. A lucky one is she.
Protecting crops, she is well liked by farmers. What a bug!
If she were but my size, I’d give her a big hug.