Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And I was determined to travel both. So I weaved between the two, Exploring this one and that. The distance between the roads grew, And I found myself absorbed in the in-between space, No longer concerned with traversing the paths, And that has made all the difference.
W3 Prompt #126: Wea’ve Written Weekly poet of the week, Nolcha, prompts us to write a poem using a line or two from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken.
Carolina Mantis stands alone Its territorial pursuits A voracious cannibal Mating can be risky How quickly it moves Grabbing a fly Tiny claws Pinching Life
There are spies everywhere. They spy on us in the streets and in our own homes. Ears listen at each corner, in shops and through wires in our walls. But, I spy on them as well… I sit each day at our cushy conference table at Stasi headquarters, bantering with my “comrades” as we plot atrocities against the disloyal people of our city. Pertinent information is gathered and stored in my “superior memory.” Each week, on alternating days, I check an inactive mailbox to learn the time and place of the next rendezvous with my true associates. This week I am especially anxious for our meeting, as I have urgent news to share. It is just after dusk on a Tuesday. I loiter at the edge of the alleyway until I see the mysterious figure drop a note in the mailbox. I wait until he (or she) fades into the distance before I casually stroll down the alley, scanning all directions. I slip the note out of the mailbox and read the message inside: “WE’VE GOT YOU!”