Cricket's Love Song
cricket's shrill
courting love
each shrill digs
at my lonely heart
each shrill
an extra inch
of lonelines
cricket's shrill
a field of love songs
not even one for me
each shrill chills
this lonely heart
cricket's shrill
courting love
i wonder whether
she would come
for this late night tryst
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Greater Plan of Day
the cock crows
because the sun
has his heart all
fired up with the
golden promises
of the new day
the crickets shrill
and shrill because
they wish to polish
the shine of the moon
their prayers
pierce and pierce
the night sky
sharpening,
brightening
the edges and faces
of the moon
morning stars
fade away into the day
to give way to the new
and greater lights
in everybody's heart
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Lonely Cricket
In the darkest hollow where
echo giants live,
a Lonely Cricket screams cowardly
in cold boots
Lonely Cricket gasps, hidden
in a musky capsule away from
eager steps
Lonely Cricket falls mute from
the trivial flirt of a monstrous tread
In that cave, Lonely Cricket cries –
spewing shards of gossip to cut
insomniac puppets
“O Lonely Cricket what bulbous grapes you have”
“dimmed reflections of your desolation”
May blind feet find you hermit –
a crusty delight of incarnate shell
Creak not your raspy venom
Lonely Cricket…
“For I too can spit”
poem by Phil de Lange
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Legs, hands, legs, hands, the city grinds to a halt
when they took the subway
they threw bombs
they threw bombs
shrill, shrill, shrill,
the screams, screams, screams
louder than the train's engine
legs, hands, legs
hands, legs, hands everywhere
could not get the train going
could not get the city going
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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To A Cricket
Voice of summer, keen and shrill,
Chirping round my winter fire,
Of thy song I never tire,
Weary others as they will,
For thy song with summer's filled -
Filled with sunshine, filled with June;
Firelight echo of that noon
Heard in fields when all is stilled
In the golden light of May,
Bringing scents of new-mown hay,
Bees, and birds, and flowers away,
Prithee, haunt my fireside still,
Voice of summer, keen and shrill.
poem by William Cox Bennett
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The Captive Knight
The prisoned thrush may brook the cage,
The captive eagle dies for rage.
Lady of the Lake.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!
And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower,
And a Christian host, in its pride and power,
Thro' the pass beneath him wound.
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I knew 'twas a trumpet's note!
And I see my brethren's lances gleam,
And their pennons wave by the mountain stream,
And their plumes to the glad wind float!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by,
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host, to its battle-plain!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'Must I pine in my fetters here?
With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight,
And the tall spears glancing on my sight,
And the trumpet in mine ear?
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'They are gone! they have all pass'd by!
They in whose wars I had borne my part,
They that I lov'd with a brother's heart,
They have left me here to die!
Sound again, clarion! Clarion, pour thy blast!
Sound! for the captive's dream of hope is past.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Kimo's About Nature In The City
The thunder branches, crackling down blue-white,
on the inner eye the power
of God is lingering.
*
At the old pond each raindropp circles out wide
before a fish gleaming gold
brake through the calm surface
*
With the first cold rain shower that is falling
steam hisses in snow white clouds
reaching up to heaven
*
No croaking frog or cricket that screams shrill
can be heard above the noise
of a train and lorries.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Whose house is this?
whose house is this?
silence crawls on night slowly like bugs
I stretch my limbs under warm woolen rugs,
a shrill cry of the moth and whistle of house cricket
dueling under my bed to have their accounts set,
The sound of feasting ants from a slit of wall
half sleepy I hear lover flea's invitation call,
two pigeons making love near ventilation hole
my existence feels affiliation with nature's whole,
a spark of the firefly in the black night
reminds a fall of star once shining bright,
a mosquito murmurs a secret in my ears
an expansion of universe my eager heart hears,
a house within the house within the house I live
mine is not mine this foolish mind can't believe
poem by Mukesh Raval
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For Shrill The Piper Plays His Tune
When thoughts are idle wanderings
Words tumbled round and round
When feelings they turn inwardly
Still I hear the piper's sound.
When happiness is broken
And the Kings and Queens are gone
The piper's tune keeps playing
And I hear his victory song.
For even when awoken
From the sleepiness of time
There's a distant music playing
Heard clear within my mind
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
No-one has seen this piper man
And no-one has seen him play
But we all can hear his mournfulness
And fear for what he'll say
No folds of fathered cornfields
And no breaking of the bread
The piper's tune keeps playing
With his words as yet unsaid.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
We can all hear if we but try
The piper's song so sweet
The musings and meanderings
Of souls lost whole complete
No piper plays before we're born
Before we touch the earth
The piper's tunes they all begin
From the moment of our birth.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
Like happiness disease'd
And all the notes that he plays out
Are our moments ill at ease.
Not one of us pays him to play
Nor gives him any score
For every note that he blows out
Is fully paid before
We entertain our wanderings
And confusion in the mind
For the piper's very soul turns out
To be both yours and mine.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
poem by David Keig
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Blueness
Blue moon
shrill dandelion and
a pocket of fallen teeth
happen once
in a bruised moon.
The noon when mother
sugarcoated
her skin
when civil rights movement
painted its face-skin white
commedians dell'arte
locked jaws
a pocket of fallen teeth
shrill dandelion and
a bruised moon
happened once
in a blue noon.
Mother painted her body
blue commedians dell'arte
sugarcoated civil rights movement
a pocket of fallen teeth and false
painted mouths
obliviated
blackness&whiteness
af ter mother died of
blueness, sugar and shrill stupid
shows.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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She Loves Alone
Was it really love or was it care?
Or getting trapped in his smooth talking lair
The hugs and the touches have faded away
Should she leave or should she stay
Strangers again, like before they met
She still hangs on, for any love she can get
The silence so deafening, like a shrill scream
He only holds her, sometimes in a dream
Is this to be her life till the end?
Or will he love her, so her heart can mend!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Long Lost Love and Winter Chills
The frost that bites my nose and the turning blue of toes,
The rose, the snow she spills,
Lost love and winter chills.
The Christmas lights that twinkled, happy smiles from happy people,
Winter moon she beckons still,
Long lost love and winter chills.
The ragged tramp alone, in a doorway does bemoan,
Alas for the tinsel thrills,
Farewell to love and winter chills.
The time that Christ was born, another child, a frozen morn,
A world of bitter pills,
Long lost love and winter chills.
That winter night did pass, and found frozen to a glass,
His hands did clutch a memory, of a child and a life now passed,
No kindness shall be found, cardboard box upon the ground,
Just a distant crow shall shrill and far away upon a hill,
A beating heart shall banish forth, lost love and winter chills.
poem by Fergus Michael Condron
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night harbour
the shrill
of crickets
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Breeding Season Of The Spur Winged Plovers
The spur winged plovers breed in depths of Winter
And in the night you often hear them cry
Perhaps they scream at fox who is out hunting
As in the darkness he goes prowling by?
To where their eggs are far too close for comfort
Their alarm calls re-echo in the sky
And their shrill voices can be heard for some distance
As above their territory they scream and fly.
They do not waste their energy on nest building
And on the ground their green blotched eggs they lay
And in the breeding season they are wary
You hear them every night and every day.
When their chicks are young the plovers are quite fearless
And from their borders chase others away
They mob the currawongs and kites and kookaburras
And other birds who on their young might prey.
It is the breeding season of the spur winged plovers
And in the night their shrill voices you hear
Perhaps at fox out hunting they are screaming
As to where their eggs are he is prowling near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poem 8
HArke how the Minstrels gin to shrill aloud,
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud,
That well agree withouten breach or iar.
But most of all the Damzels doe delite,
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe rauish quite,
The whyles the boyes run vp and downe the street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce.
Hymen io Hymen, Hymen they do shout,
That euen to the heauens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill,
To which the people standing all about,
As in approuance doe thereto applaud
And loud aduance her laud,
And euermore they Hymen Hymen sing,
that al the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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I detest heavy perfume and shrill voices.
quote by Renee Vivien
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sun rise to the east
Hazy fog drapes the mountain
Cicadas cry shrill
haiku by Desiree C. D. (29 January 2010)
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piercing the serenity
of the mountain air
the shrill of eagles
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Beach Music Remix
These days,
on understated evenings,
those August afternoons
in Biloxi on the beach-
flimsy
shrill
transister radios
planted in the sand
screeching out a Motown hit—
resurface and I don’t care
that love is not like that.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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The Piper (#2)
When I'm confused and wandering
On a journey with no end
My feelings they turn in on me
Uncertain who's my friend
It's then the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tuned is full played out
He carries us away.
We can all hear if we but try
The pipers song so sweet
The musings and meanderings
Of souls lost whole comlete
No piper plays before we are born
Before we touch this earth
The pipers tunes they all begin
From the moment of our birth.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
Like happiness diseased
And all the notes that he plays out
Are our moments ill at ease
No-one it seems pays him to pay
Nor gives him any score
For every note that he blows out
Is paid for by that war
The one that's fought in solitude
And in that loneliness we find
That the pipers very soul turns out
To be both yours and mine.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
poem by David Keig
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Mixed Three Liners
winter blue
a flash of white
on taxi's top
daymoon
sounds of scissors
from impatient barber
soon
a river that wont
reflect the moon
irked by her
constant shouts
to keep children quiet
storm
the gods paint
the whole sky grey
end-of-world news
the old lady
farts
power failure
lovers in bed
unfazed
after not meeting
for 20 years, recognising him
only by his goatee
after dinner -
the upbeat children
in the field
silver wedding anniversary
the guests ask whether
their divorced son has married
clinic
against the be-quiet sign
the mother shouts at her crying child
silver wedding anniversary
divorced son gives toast to
dad as role model
cricket's shrill
our warm conversation
in the japanese pub
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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