Gregory H. Wlodarski

Gregory H. Wlodarski Poems

On a hike in the woods today I found,
A fuzzy cloud gliding along the ground.

This amorphous cloud of blackish tones,


I was sitting behind the wheel of my car,
Simply driving to the store not very far.

All of a sudden I heard there a pop,

Did you get your flu shot?
Did it make you hurt?
Did it make your arm swell?
Did it make you burp?

I've long been waiting now,
To get the shot that keeps,
Me from turning into a sniffling cow,
Or a little lamb that squeaks.

I'm waiting for sleep in my comfy little bed,
A silken pillow for my heavy little head.

I'm looking at my two perfect little feet,


She sent me a note about how I'd feel,
If she serve for me a home cooked meal.

When she asked about what to prepare,

The end of the year is about to approach,
And stresses of the season on peace to encroach.

But the days free of work, they do permit,

They're silent and stealthy so look out, beware,
They'll sneak up and invade, you better take care.

Neither short nor tall, nor blue or red,

One day a seed did sprout,
About who it is that's sees,
Who's that person all about,
With the squeak in his knees.

A solitary sonnet, total and whole,
A certain refrain that brightens my soul.

It lifts my spirit, and cheers my mind,

Today just passed like any other day,
Nothing happened in an extraordinary way.

The President didn't call for my learned advice,

Reading them is an entertainment of sorts,
Match profiles, each person's personality reports.

We pick our photos to showcase ourselves and others enlighten,

Whatever kind of bird is served,
There's a preference that's observed.
"White or dark" is often asked,
At a feast when the platter's passed.

A dueling pair with agendas hidden,
One to smite, or one to be smitten?

To satiate hunger, will she submit?

Names for groups, collective nouns they are,
In our speech their usefulness goes very far.

For horses you know, the collective noun or word,

Nuclear quantum decay,
Alphas and gammas away,
As per the laws of chance.


I'm an extraverted introvert,
I'm bashfully outspoken,
I'm not at all perfect,
Just imperceptibly broken.

The Best Poem Of Gregory H. Wlodarski

Forest Walk

On a hike in the woods today I found,
A fuzzy cloud gliding along the ground.

This amorphous cloud of blackish tones,
Slid quietly over sticks and over stones.

Its shape was sometimes round and sometimes narrow,
And its size was that of a Mexican sombrero.

Leaning down and close to this cloud of black,
I saw thousands of little ants marching in a pack.

This cloud of ants crawled forward rather methodically,
But on closer observation, the they moved a bit chaotically.

About 4 inches forward each ant moved in this collection,
Then each went half as far in the rearward direction.

After taking their steps the rearward ants turned,
To join their comrads not at all concerned.

Despite this cycle, going rearward then forward again,
This cloud moved smoothly on the forest terrain.

I looked for a leader that could be steering them on,
But the ants looked the same, every Bill, Mary and John.

I couldn't discern who was leading the pack,
They all took turns going forward then back.

Then a question arose, was there a plan or a reason,
For marching so deliberately this very hot season?

To where were they marching, why such a huge number?
Was there a battle to wage and an enemy to outnumber?

I looked at the soil in front for a sign,
But I saw no trail, not even a line.

So ahead of these arthropods, I did make a swipe,
On the ground with my shoe, a clearing or stripe.

I watched with care as this army was nearing,
My six inch wide stripe made into a clearing.

The front row of ants then suddenly stopped knowing,
To the left and right and backward they were now going.

They walked up and down the edge of my clearing,
Looking for the way they all should be steering.

While all the ants looked confused so very.
For me viewing was fun almost quite merry.

The previous cloud so tight and compact,
Became erratic, loose, and very inexact.

Finally a few brave ants the clearing did enter,
They wandered up and down and to the center.

To the other side of my swipe, they crossed,
Marching up and down, completely lost.

At last some scouts what they were searching for, found,
It must have been a scent trail right there on the ground.

These brave scouts their friends, they didn't neglect,
They went back, laying a new scent trail, I suspect.

After reaching their comrades, the army heard their call,
The cloud reassembled and resumed it's purposeful crawl.

I wondered why, without further interfering,
I pondered where, to where are they all steering?

The multitude of footsteps clicked along the ground,
Thousands of such clicks made a imposing sound.

This army of ants then reached their interim goal,
I saw them march into the gound, a dark little hole.

At that entrance the ants were all a jumble,
Some ants stood up and others did tumble.

Was this just a confusion among brothers and sisters,
Or was this a battle, my ants fighting foreign resistors?

While some continued their entry, others were coming out.
The latter in their arms white bundles they did flout.

They carried their parcels across the grounds leafy span,
Complying with their swarm's mysterious master plan.

This marching army of ants now guarding their prize,
I followed them into the forest as would some spies.

I followed them under logs and over spongy moss,
I followed as over much of the forest they did cross.

Then I observed Into a new hole this legion did go,
Into the ground they marched single file, all in a row.

As always at the end of any marching parade,
Are those that are late, perhaps who get strayed.

Eventually the stragglers made it home with their prize,
And I ended my watching and rested my eyes.

Gregory H. Wlodarski Comments

Great poetry! Great writing! I enjoyed everything i read

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beautiful poem sir, please rate my poem at // poemid=58645586

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