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Erin E Kelly-Moen

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Member Since: Oct, 2002

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Books by Erin E Kelly-Moen
Watching Ants II
by Erin E Kelly-Moen

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She goes outside to move the sprinkler,
the monsoon has dwindled,
grasses greenness is fading,
“not yet,” she thinks,
the waning of summer
and the dying of flora
is melancholy to her.

Pulling the hose across the sidewalk
to bring the sprinkler in place,
she sees four-lane highways
and smaller by-ways, ants
streaming up and down
the concrete, having found a way
to conquer hose-thick blockage,
focusing on their main intent.

First pounding moon-sized drops
crash upon their roads,
sending some ants flying through the air!
Unbelievable to creatures
who always have one or more legs
on the ground, others
find themselves in a filling lake,
barely touching ground,
they struggle to move away,
still others are stopped from their way,
they mill and group in agitated crowds,
no one knows what is going on.

“Oh, damn, poor things,
part of their population,
cut off from safety,
others are dying...”
She feels badly, but sits in a chair
on the patio, their destination,
and watches what unfolds,
hummingbirds zinging and chittering
in the trumpet vine flowers
overhead.

Gray dryness of safe routes
become black-brown with
fluid opacity, islands of ants
shrink into centers of no retreat.
All traffic across the bridge
is halted, confusion reigns,
clusters of life reach out
for bedraggled survivors,
limping in from the shallows.

And in the lake,
struggling forms heave their bodies
towards grayness, while the dead
are curled into balls,
washed hither and thither
as water-bombs crash and boom. Above,
not more than a human length away,
rushing and harvesting comrades
are blithely unaware,
continuing with matters of living
and life,
while the dead
are swept away
into oblivion...

“I am guilty,
of unwanted killing,
but how else could I
keep the grass alive?”
she muses, as she turns
her back on the ants,
and goes into the house
to cook dinner
for her own family.

Erin Moen
8/22/02
Copyright 2002/2003 ©

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Reviewed by Tyler Wiseman 9/24/2003
You have an appealing system of rhyme, and involved subject matter. this poem give truth to the testament of grass roots.

grasses greenness is fading,
“not yet,” she thinks,
the waning of summer
and the dying of flora
is melancholy to her

is very prominent to me, the poem as a whole speaks well of the whimsical guilt everyman feels in ravaging the monumental creatures we rarely see.
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 9/12/2003
Per Buddhist thinking, any living being can be a mother from a former life...ants, mice, worms etc all inclusive. With your poetry that I have recently read, you state this, in its basic form and I am truly enjoying reading it. You are so prolific, words wise, please never stop... ED
Reviewed by Patricia Gomes 9/12/2003
I L-O-V-E this!!! I feel like crap everytime I bait the garage for mice. Too cool, Erin!
Reviewed by Daniel McTaggart 9/12/2003
Poor widdle ants. So what happened to the uncles? Nyuk nyuk!
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik 9/12/2003
Erin, When Adam was about 3 he rushed into the kitchen, his fingers gently but firmly holding an ant.. the little legs were scrambling like mad.. "look, mommy, he's laughing!" .. I didn't hear him, but Adam did. Your sensitivity for these ants is so appealing to me.. your gift for allowing me to recognize the reality of the humans without resenting them, amazing! You are truly one-of-a-kind, madam. love, katy xox.
Reviewed by Julie Donner Andersen 9/12/2003
Erin, you have such a way with making the mundane sounds fascinating. Kudos!!

Julie :)
Reviewed by Floria Kelderhouse (Reader) 9/12/2003
Very creative Erin...an anjoyable story..poor little ants...they are most fascinating aren't they?.floria
Reviewed by Kate Clifford 9/12/2003
So who needs green grass? :-) just kidding. Great write with a wonderful imagination.
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes 9/12/2003
Oh Shame!! poor ants!!

Shame on you Erin...:

love Tinka
Reviewed by Helga Ross 9/12/2003
Erin,
We share fascination for these creature activities, I see. I enjoyed your lively perspective.
Do we share the suspicion that we're being watched, in the same way?
I notice you felt bad, but didn't enact any divine intervention...

Poor us?
Reviewed by J. R. Corbin 9/12/2003
how horrible! I lost my ant that way! Thanks, Erin. Very intuitive.
Jim :)
Reviewed by Trish - The Trickster 9/12/2003
An excellent write...you should have been here yesterday when I forgot the hose running...(don't tell anyone - for 6 hours)..when I was filling the pond. Imagine I drowned a few too - Oooops! Send story when ready, Trish.
Reviewed by ya mama (Reader) 9/12/2003
a great write!
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) 9/12/2003
And the beat goes on . . .

Under the Coolabah Tree by Wendy Laing

Fun, sometimes rowdy and always delightfully full of Australian colour. a collection of Australian Bush poems...  
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