STORIES FROM KIDS

ANTS

I HATE ANTS

I hate ants.

I cannot lie.

They bite my feet.
I wish they would die.

On a blazing afternoon,
sprawled across the summer grass,
I kneel like a careless god
with a magnifying glass.

Sunlight bends to my command.
A single beam—
white and pure—
turns merciless in my hand.

They smoke and pop.
Some sizzle and hiss.
Tiny bodies twist in panic,
fleeing a burning abyss.

The air grows sharp with scent.
They scatter underground,
vanishing into fragile tunnels
beneath the brittle mound.

They guard their swollen queen,
hide her pale, trembling eggs,
burying themselves in sacrifice
as I crush their frantic legs.

I hate ants—
at least, that’s what I say.
But maybe it’s the power
that makes me kneel and stay.

Because in their blind obedience,
their tireless, crawling line,
I see a smaller, weaker world—
and for a moment, it isn’t mine.

I hate ants.
I don’t know why.

I just feel powerful
watching something smaller
die.

THE PUZZLE

(Jim Morrison by Robert Margetts)

"What is greed," asked the little boy?

"Greed is like a potato chip,

once you've eaten one

you can't stop," said the old man.

"Then what is kindness," asked the little boy?

"Kindness is a glass of water. 

Quench the thirst of others before yourself,

that is an act of kindness," replied the old man.

"What is power," asked the little boy?

"Power is holding a butterfly in your hand

and crushing him to death," said the man.

"That sounds more like hate," replied the boy.

"True," he replied.

"Most who possess power learn to hate and destroy.

You can't have one without the other."

"Then, what is love," asked the boy?

"Love is placing your hand into a fire

to save the butterfly from pain

and crushing him to death to relieve the suffering."

"Life is sure strange," replied the boy.

"Life is but a puzzle," he replied.

"When the puzzle has been completed,

when the last piece has been put into place,

then the riddle of your life will be solved.

Each puzzle is different

just as each individual is different.

Some love

Some hate

Some have power

Some are kind.

The only knowledge I can pass onto you is

knowing that most puzzles have many of the same pieces.

"Then will I learn to hate," questioned the little boy?

"That piece of you is still waiting to be found," whispered the old man.

"You will find hate in this world

 and love

 and even kindness

 in your puzzle

and throughout your life.

Perhaps not today or tomorrow,

but to finish the riddle of life

you will have to complete your puzzle."

WHAT DOES THIS POEM MEAN?

This poem reads like a fable disguised as a quiet conversation — simple on the surface, but carrying a surprisingly heavy philosophical weight underneath. It uses the voice of an old man teaching a child, but what he’s really doing is laying out the contradictions of human nature.

My poem is about the complexity of being human. It teaches that:

• greed is addictive

• kindness is selfless

• power is dangerous

• love is sacrificial

• life is a puzzle made of both light and dark pieces

And that growing up means discovering all of them

THE FISH SAGE

(Jerry Garcia by Robert Margetts)

On a sodden stream bank

a pack lunch

just grampa and me

To teach me the art of fly casting

my teacher, the octogenarian, a dying symbol of fertility.

Casting

the bamboo rod

a peninsula in the mist

The line

titillating the ripples

as it skipped the waters edge

Taunting virgin gills

to a throat tearing breakfast.

An eager mouth

lurched high into the morning air

and swallowed the hot shrapnel.

Pain...Sheer panic.

Pain......sickening pain..

The burning poker ripped into his slippery esophagus

and dug deep into the gills

Blood and segment of his own flesh

filled his mouth.

The pain....sheer pain.

Must stop the pain, but how? 

THE NEW BABY

(new baby cub by Robert Margetts)

I'm not one to complain

but having a little brother is a REAL PAIN.

He cries just to get all the attention

and everyone makes a BIG FUSS over him.

They play with his hands and toes

and they even make STUPID FACES!!!

They tickle his belly

and make his bed.

MOMMY kisses his ears

and DADDY nuzzles his head!!!!

Now, I NEVER understood why

my older sister hated me so,

for I was not as BAD

as little bro!!!!!!

I  GOT  LICE

(good rice by Robert Margetts)

I got lice in my hair,
noodles stuck to my chin,
and a couple potstickers
stuffed deep in my pocket again.

Sweet and sour on my tongue,
sesame chicken on my face.
It all went wrong last Tuesday night
at that little Chinese place.

They steam your food,
they fry it just right,
flip it high into the air—
what a spectacular sight!

So why the awkward stares?
Why that look of despair?
It’s only lice, people—
relax. They’re everywhere!

They toss it in with fish,
they mix it in with rice,
they sprinkle it on everything—
a little extra spice!

The school nurse says I’m “itchy.”
She says it’s quite a thing.
But lice is good for growing bones!
It makes you strong and brings…
uh… nutrients? Or something like that.
(That’s what I read online.)

I’m pretty sure they eat it daily.
It must be totally fine.

The chef was juggling dinner,
flipping food through the air.
Things got wild in the kitchen—
that’s how lice got in my hair.

So now I’ve got a bowl of lice.
Let’s not overreact.
But I was suspended from school
just like that—snap!

The principal called my parents,
shouting through the phone,
“Why did you send him here today?
He should have stayed at home!”

Teachers screamed and ran for doors,
clutching at their heads.
One tripped over a spelling book.
Another fainted dead.

“Leave this room!” they cried in fear.
“We don’t want lice in here!
Go home and scrub your filthy head
before it spreads this year!”

I don’t understand the panic.
I don’t get the fright.
It’s just a little crunchy snack
that wiggles when it bites.

There’s no secret potion,
no magic cooking trick—
just water and lice,
boil it up quick.

Then fry it golden,
serve it hot,
eat it all—
why not?

Honestly, I think they’re nice.

I really don’t see the problem
with a bowl
of freshly cooked
lice.

GIVE  MOMMY  A  BURP

(baby burp by Robert Margetts)

Burp me, Burp me!!!!

I'm going to explode...

Oops, Mommy, I released my load!!!

All over your shoulder

and in your clean hair

Why that puzzled stare?

I warned you,

yes, I warned you twice.

I eat like a pig

Tomorrow, best you wear a wig!!!!

THE  WOOGLE  DOOGLE  MONSTER

(looking into the mirror by Robert Margetts)

He's mean and crude

and not my most favorite dude.

His teeth are yellow and green with slime

He walks like an ape

and is never on time.

His arms are big and hairy

and at first glance, rather scary!!

With a snort of his snout

and a twitch of his chin

He passes gas at the drop of a pin.

He's kind of crude and a bit mean

awfully fat and definitely not clean!

But as monsters go

I must say

My Woogle Doogle Monster is a OK!!

PASS  THE  SALT

(what's for dinner by Robert Margetts)

Salt my fries and my fish

Add more.....

Add more to this dish!!!!

A dash here

A pinch there

Fill the plate

I do not care!!!!

Open wide down the trap

Here comes that tasty sodium crap....

ARE WE THERE?

(The coming storm by Robert Margetts)

Stop the car,
are we there yet?

My pants are soggy
and woefully wet!!

Pee is seeping down my leg...
Speed up and turn down the heat
I fear wetness in my seat...

Pull off!!!!
Pull off here!!
I see a rest stop,
Hurry up, Hurry up!!!!!
Hasten up for Christ Sake!!
 My bladder is ready to pop!!!!!!!
Ooops....too late.....

GRANDMA BEAR

(Grandma bear and me, by Robert Margetts)

My daddy says my Granny

controls the whole family

My mommy says his granddaddy

controls everyone

I don't care who controls who,

I just love them all..

THE  DIRTY  ROTTEN  HAIR  PULLER

(The dirty rotten hair puller, by Robert Margetts)

Just look at sis,

her hair so fine

I would tie her to the railroad track

and leave her in a bind!!!

That would do the trick.

Well, maybe not,

On second thought, perhaps no,

That would be just plain mean!!

Grab her hair and push her face

into a bowl of cold ice-cream!!!

I like that idea.

Oh Lord,

how she would scream and kick

then I would grab mom's scissors

and Clip, Clip, Clip!!!!

Yes, that would be kool..

Off go her beautiful locks!!

To shut her big yapper

I would stuff in my dirty socks!!!

Now,

how do you like me, Sis?

COLD  HEARTS

(My heart burried under the tree, by Robert Margetts)

Chilling hearts and freezing nights—
another log collapses
into whispering embers,
while the winds of the past
murmur their secrets
outside my frozen door.

It was a time when heroes
walked in solemn silence,
and tormented children
wept into the black of night.
A time when death came at midday
and evil prowled the earth, hungry.

Where trees once rose in proud defiance,
there remained only rotting stumps
and splintered ghosts of forests.

It was a time when love felt like slavery,
when chains of obligation—
forged from iron memories—
bound hearts together
until they weakened,
tarnished,
and fell away.

And then,
as the rising sun met the restless wind,
she appeared.

She climbed the pyramids of Egypt.
She walked the patient paths of Plato.
She bathed in the seas of China
and laid her hand upon the Rock of Gibraltar.

She drank from the cup of Erasmus
and bargained in the bazaars of Istanbul.

It was a time of friendship—
of loving without armor,
of building fragile dreams,
of crying softly for tomorrow
yet believing fiercely in today.

Hands were held.
Promises were made
with the innocence of dawn.

And when the sun finally set,
she followed it
beyond the horizon.

Memories—
where do you go at night?

Memories—
why do you fade
when I reach for you?