Tag: poems about ants

I’d forgive the poet
her 15 words requiring definition
right on the first page
and might even humor
her pretention
if it weren’t near midnight
lights dimmed,
phone charging downstairs,
the hardbound dictionary
shelved nearby,
and I, up here,
the comfort of
pillows and sheets
and a blanket
to weigh down anxiety
that swells in my chest
from the strenuous reading
required by this book,
a soothing mantra
to remind myself
about cups of tea
and imposters
who might invade
what had otherwise been
such a nice day;
if I owned the book,
I would toss it across the room
with take that satisfaction,
instead I march it downstairs
put it in the pile of books
I’ll return to the library,
feel somewhat appeased,
try not to remember the
rogue poets who argued for
ululate and lacuna
in my own poems
with such insistence
I erased the lines all-together,
life is hard enough these days
to suffer the conceit of others.

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Photo by Beyzaa Yurtkuran. Poem ©2026 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now at my Etsy Shop.

I’m peeling hard boiled eggs at the sink,
my soft round belly pressed against the cool steel
cold water splashing over fingers
when I remember that noise he used to make

that noise that said I was using too much water

or talking too loudly

that I had applied too much perfume
used too much lip gloss

that there was too much food on my plate
that I’d gained too much weight

that I took too long to find pleasure in things
he was already, past tense, done with

it was a noise, a grimace, a groan of
displeasure, distaste, distain

that seeps, sometimes, from a faucet
running hard and with great abandon,
cascades through my fingers
down the drain with dregs

those chips
and flecks

of a something

thankfully


passed

Your donations support our
ongoing creative efforts. Thank you!

Photo by Klaus Nielsen. Poem ©2026 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now at my Etsy Shop.

The space isn’t that big, really. Large enough for me and the cat and sometimes a guest. A human guest, that is. We have others who don’t take up much room and are more like residents or seasonal visitors.

Just the other night, I watched a spider arrive and make his way, quite confidently, past the television, around the reading lamp, and up the stairs. He was sleeping in my bed when I found him later — the three of us startled at once.

He is not the first spider, nor the last. We have kitchen ones and cellar ones and the orb weaver who cured me of the phobia many years ago now.

I remember once, a small wren spent an afternoon on the screen porch the summer the hornets lived here; and there’s a family of mice who visit each winter, scurrying about in the space above my bed.

We make accommodations as we can, the all of us, with the accepted guidelines that This is my dance space and that is your dance space. The mouse in the kitchen was promptly directed outside. That spider in my bed? Eaten by the cat.

We’re all sharing this small space, it’s best to have manners and compassion…and ground rules.

Musing ©2026 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now at my Etsy Shop.

The happy ant found

in a puddle of syrup

sweet relief of death

Photo by Eva Bronzini. Poem ©2026 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now at my Etsy Shop.