Up there a helicopter herds cows to safety
while the hills are doused by tiny firefighters;
down here I pour boiling water on an ants’ nest
and scan the rivulets to slaughter survivors.
Small Scale
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Last edited by ray miller on Thu Mar 17, 2022 6:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
An extraordinary poem, Ray. It's beautifully crafted... the entire concept and the focus of it. I like Phil's suggestion of 'doused.' I hear that inner rhyme with 'cows' which is very nice, too. I don't know if you send your work out, but it would be worth doing for this.
- CalebPerry
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I don't mind the word "bathed". In fact, I may prefer it.
What "rivulets" are you talking about? I've never poured water on an ant colony, so I don't know what happens.
What "rivulets" are you talking about? I've never poured water on an ant colony, so I don't know what happens.
Signature info:
If you don't like the black theme, it is easy to switch to a lighter color. Just ask me how.
If I don't critique your poem, it is probably because I don't understand it.
If you don't like the black theme, it is easy to switch to a lighter color. Just ask me how.
If I don't critique your poem, it is probably because I don't understand it.
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Thanks for the comments.
Phil, doused is a good suggestion, ta.
Lia, this isn't a poem I'd have considered "sending out", mostly because it's so brief, but perhaps I will.
Caleb, well, there's nothing very special happens when you pour boiling water on an ants' nest. Unless you're an ant. Most ants perish pretty quick but some escape the initial blast and can be seen scurrying off amongst the rivulets. It's tempting but I'm going to avoid any war analogies.
Phil, doused is a good suggestion, ta.
Lia, this isn't a poem I'd have considered "sending out", mostly because it's so brief, but perhaps I will.
Caleb, well, there's nothing very special happens when you pour boiling water on an ants' nest. Unless you're an ant. Most ants perish pretty quick but some escape the initial blast and can be seen scurrying off amongst the rivulets. It's tempting but I'm going to avoid any war analogies.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
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Intriguing poem Ray, loving the imagery. There seems to be a life and death thing going on? Someone playing God? A microcosm vibe?
I'm not getting it fully though!
Cheers
Kris
I'm not getting it fully though!
Cheers
Kris
http://www.closetpoet.co.uk
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Thanks, Kris. It's kind of about context, I suppose and, improbably, the life of retirement. Sometimes I miss not being a "public servant" anymore.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
Although short, this poem is very thought provoking, Ray. I would certainly send it off somewhere, many editors like short pieces.ray miller wrote: ↑Tue Mar 15, 2022 8:31 amUp there a helicopter herds cows to safety
while the hills are doused by tiny firefighters;
down here I pour boiling water on an ants’ nest
and scan the rivulets to slaughter survivors.
Eira
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Thanks both. It did get published in the Ink Pantry.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.