Animal Poems

Manfred Clynes

Winsects

The red ants have come to visit

as they do every year,

in June

they know what they are doing

they come and go by the clock

and disappear again as if they were never here

- they say they come to find water,

and yet they shun the pool

we cannot know what they know so well

togetherness, they come in all different sizes

and are brothers. When one of them is hurt or dies

others come by - are they comforting each other? we don't know

but see a fleeting meeting

a slow surround, a gap in what they know they are doing.

there are hundreds, perhaps thousands in my house now

beautiful red ants

I used to chase them out, even gently,

gently for me, but ferociously for them, sweep them out through the door

hoping they would not be hurt

But it was hopeless, they would come back next day, as if the broom was

only a fantasy, a dream perhaps - if they dream,

as they probably do

And next day I would sweep them out again, to no avail.

I lost my cool, and started killing them one year,

and even that made no difference. They loved to congregate in certain spots

sometimes chained to one another, it seemed, in large groups

but when the appointed time came like fairies and elves, they left, and

left no trace.

And would come back again next year only, in June, after cold winters

and long times I was alone here without ants.

This year, i welcomed them, they don't bite

I don't chase them out, don't kill them.

When they fall into the sweet-potato can, they

drown. There is nothing I can do about that. If one or two fall into the

pool, they last for a long time before they drown, unlike many others

and often I can save them in time, as I see them

battle in the water.

But I know that soon they will be gone, all of them.

Already I miss them.

They are so beautiful

and so perfect

they have no questions, only answers.

How did they get that way?

BEE SAVED

This sunny morning

playing in the warm pool

suddenly, I see a bee

struggling for its life

thrashing the surface water.

Warmly aglow, I look to find a way

to bring it to the shore -

hoping

it would not drown

before I thought of a way.

And then, I saw a single floating leaf:

I brought this leaf

to where the bee was thrashing wildly-

The bee climbed on the leaf

and in amoment,

- flew away.

And never knew

a thought had saved it.

Spy-der

The Life and Like of Spy -der, Spy-der:

Genes for liking, and liking for genes.

I don't like †he spider in my house

But it prefers my house to the outside

There are but few insects inside

Yet it waits patiently, in its web. And spies.

Waiting and waiting, for a moment that

seems never to occur. To us.

Is it asleep? No, it darts forth the rare moment

a hapless prey is caught, totally alert.

But not for days on end.

It has sacrificed the fun of exploration

to achieving patience.