The deathmatch of multi-patterned
stung and sickened by each last kiss,
frowning in the nightshade dew
that gathers in the leaves:
the writher stung, the stinger writhed-
each of the other's poison died.
And in a long black line
the hungry ants
By Jason Paul Fox
(Scroll down for the answers)
I never promised it was easy
to answer the puzzle,
I promised you a puzzle!
This poem has a cool story behind it, so, I'll tell you
the answer now, if you promise to read the anecdote.
So now you can go.
If you really loved me, you'd give me money.
If you just keep reading, that's enough
to make you cool in my book...
Senior Year of College, when
I was 18, my best friend
moved in with me on Main Street, Geneseo, NY.
I had met this beautiful charming girl on my first night back at school,
and after months of cultivation of our friendship,
she and Aaron were hooking up on my bed. Now, I had a girlfriend back home...
so by the law of hooking up... you know what I mean...
It's not that I didn't want to be with her, It's not that I would have been with her...
I was still upset. My bed was taken, it was a rare perfect day,
I took my notebook to a giant willow tree at the southwest of campus,
near the athletic building.
THE POINT IS:
As I sat there with my notebook,
under the giant ancient willow umbrella.......(30 meters, 80 feet?)
not yet private,
not concealed in a cascade of yellow rain,
just seeking a firm spot
in the mush of Genesee Valley Spring
to vent my anger onto a page...
...and I started hearing hard splats...
The sound caught my attention.
These wasps, they were falling
together from the branches...
Entangled and apparently stinging each other.
I abandoned my writing to observe, for maybe
an hour. Every 60-180 seconds, another couple would crash
to the ground... I'd guess 19 pairs of wasps fell together
with an audible "whack" over this time.
I stayed about an hour, long enough to be sure they were killing each other.
I watched 3 pairs die, slowly, their movements slowly becoming more jerky,
less and less coordinated.
All but 2 wasps were still moving, when I made a beeline to the library.
They looked just like my best friend and my crush, under the covers:
A slow, but deadly struggle beyond my understanding.
When I don't understand, I research.
In these days, research was done with a card catalog and a Big University Library.
It involved walking up and down stairs, and carefully flipping through pages.
This is useless,
Why am I adding this part to a poem
from my childhood?
I read about how wasps, at
least these kind -- they sting each other to death as they mate.
Eggs grow in Dad's corpse. IDK
Look it up. For the love
of God, patronize your local library.
Take your child there often, twice a week!
DO WE UNDERSTAND THE RIDDLE YET?
BTW -- no joke, I am not
a poet just for fun.
Your money can help me write.
At this point, my first $1 sponsor would be a major victory...
Worth over 2,000 advertisement views!
Love the poet,
not the man that made all other sex seem tame...
2007 Jason Paul Fox
poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)
2007 Jason Paul Fox