NaPoWriMo #3: Amphibian Night Commute

When the rain falls on the marsh,
it falls with the force of avalanches.

A frog out of water,
out in the torrential downpour,
commuting to the lake of flies
where pond-skates dance in chaos.

Her spawn clings to the lilies,
beer-frothing into being.
Limbs sprouting like roses
waiting to overflow.

The mother frog hops across tarmac,
glistening skin in the streetlight,
basking in the gift of amphibian life
as rain hammers the road.

She hops across front lawns
into the undergrowth of fronds.
Cats notwithstanding
she reaches the pond before dawn.

Cryogenic Foetal Lizard

One silver tadpole,
encased, embalmed,
caught mid-fall
from an oasis
in the branches.

A lizard, curled up,
almost foetal,
scales and claws
preserved, pristine,
by cryogenic sap.

A midge, taking off
from a petrified perch,
framed, glistening,
wings rendered still,
yet in permanent flight.

A red ant, crooked legs,
frozen in its prison,
a bulging abdomen,
a honeypot,
a golden bubble.

(This poem was inspired by a documentary about amber presented by Sir David Attenborough back in 2002. Check out The Amber Time Machine if you get the chance, it's really worth a watch.)