The Song of the Cicadas
Yesterday there came to me
from a green and graceful tree
as I loitered listlessly
nothing doing, nothing caring,
light and warmth and fragrance sharing
with the butterfly and the bee,
while the sapling-tops a-glisten
danced and trembled, wild and willing
such a sudden sylvan shrilling
that I could not choose but listen
Green Cicadas, Black Cicadas,
happy in the gracious weather,
Floury-baker, Double-Drummer,
all as one and all together,
how they voiced the golden summer.
Stealing back there came to me
as I loitered listlessly
'neath the green and graceful tree,
nothing doing, nothing caring,
boyhood moments spent in sharing
with the butterfly and the bee
youth and freedom, warmth and glamour
while Cicadas round me shrilling,
set the sleepy noontide thrilling
with their keen insistent clamour.
Green Cicadas, Black cicadas,
happy in the gracious weather
Floury-bakers, double-drummers
all as one and all together---
how they voice the bygone summers!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Related quotes
Voiceless! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Climbed the stairs slowly due to arthritis
Rummaged in the bag for the house keys.
Unlocked the main door, and wearily stepped in
Laughing Buddha seemed to mock and grin…
Kept her stuff, and rushed to the refrigerator.
Took out frozen food along with a bottle of water.
The house was quiet, after the din of work place.
Badly, needed some solitude and her own little space.
Just then she got two messages from her family on mobile.
Hubby- sorry, a client meet, she read with a taste of bile.
Son- ma, last moment decided to go for Oscar winner,
‘Slum Dog Millionaire’, so please don’t wait for dinner.
Was she mad or glad when she threw the TV remote?
She took out her pen and made some notes.
Later, she made a salad and chicken roast
And had it with chilly pepper and garlic toast.
Outside the cicadas were performing a concert
There was a light drizzle, as she had a dessert.
A shower of rain and cicadas come alive.
Is it because they have voiceless wives?
In his book ‘The wonderful world of Insects, trees and wild flowers’
Ruskin Bond, quotes a Greek poet
‘Happy are the Cicadas for they have voiceless wives.’
Apparently, female Cicadas are dumb.the Greek used to keep male Cicadas in cage, as they loved their music.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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0029 This night, this night of endless miracle
On this Mediterranean night with its light breeze
scented with the sun-warmed herbs
drifting down from cooling, stony hills,
a million stars you’ve never seen before
shine on a million crickets singing
as if from eternity to eternity
and you cannot say, and there’s
no need to say, which is which;
the trembling of the stars,
the susurration of cicadas,
join as in endless praise
of the imagination of their maker
who made imagination too
and though the cicadas, singing, may never know
that the stars they sing to
are shining from a thousand years ago
and though the stars may never know
that the cicadas that they shine upon
are a thousand years here from their now,
it’s all known, to the mind that made the vines
that made the grapes that made the wine
singing in my veins tonight
like cicadas susurrating in the starlight
as you hear them now
this night, this night of endless miracle
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Under the Purple Flowers
In the purple flowers’ shade
You kissed me the first kiss.
The moon lit its light of jade;
The cicadas sang their song of bliss.
Then, time passed fast and blind;
You went to your studies above
Leaving the purple flowers behind
With such a dreamlike love.
In each letter sent to the old place
You said you still missed this start
With the purple flowers of grace
And this young and true heart.
I have come back each day alone
To see the old flowers obsess
And hear the cicadas groan;
I feel such a vague distress.
I have nurtured my pastoral love
Now that summer is back to see
With the purple flowers above
I am an amorous banyan tree.
poem by ThanhThanh NhuanLe
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hot summer night -
on a sycamore tree
the crescendo of cicadas
haiku by Marijo Pinero (2008)
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1: 55 A.m.
the cicadas still sing
that early
in this small town and
everyone is
in fact everything is
so quite that if you
are awake at this hour
unholy as they call it
(but so holy to me
i think)
i can still hear
the voice wanting
to be spoken
deep inside the
linings of my
esophagus
there is this mummy
of the sarcophagus
wanting to be
reborn
honestly the name
still slips
in my tongue
perhaps this could
be the poem
about cicadas
and their songs
or the sound of
quiet
the murmur
of peace
long gone
now
trembling at the
tip of my lips
who knows?
if at a little stare
on the wall
soon i shall understand
and decipher
what slime is there
that wants to speak
inside my
throat
but still wanting to
be swallowed
honestly
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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cicadas' frenzied song
a new summer day
has dawned
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In A Poem
in a poem
or even in a pseudo
poem
i like to be as articulate as a
winding river
as happy as a gazelle
jumping on a hill
as secretive as a cave
keeping my stalagmites
and stalactites
as social as a fish
talking to a fly
as loud as a frog croaking
with the rain
as blue as the cloud
as green as the grass
(pardon these cliches)
i like to be as true as
a barking dog to the wrong
tree wagging its tail
even to the wrong master
in any poem be it a true poem
or a pseudo poem
i like to sing with the cicadas
on lonely nights like this
and when my soliloquy is over
in all poems
and pseudo poems
i like to dropp
in my much needed
sleep in my couch
or on the solid wooden floor
dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From A Train
Green and green; and evergreen
in my all, and scurrying
in flickered films
of glimpses, painted green...
and a car in the lane silently shimmers,
as I hear the morning swaying past trees that,
green over green,
silently guard the wet summer sadness,
where cattle stare at the hopping rooks
and do not know
of the things that have been...
or care.
Cloudly and bright:
passing the green.
Where, in my remembrance of once long ago,
I felt the mist
rising unseen from the grass
that was green between green
when we kissed.
So I hum a small phrase
that carries my thoughts
ever and onwards,
listlessly flowing
like the world that is passing
the window beside me
all behind all, so totally green
and all in my knowing
and all in my all
and all in my green.
poem by Peter Jones
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Late August
Everything expires.
Even the cicadas seem
to run out of steam
poem by Morgan Michaels
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As the Monsoon Recedes
Besides the heady fragrance
Of the wet earth,
Freashly bathed green trees,
(Evoking images of a damsel
stroking her wet tresses)
Garden weeds,
And the sound of the rain
Music to my ears, after
Scorching summer,
Dust storms and hot winds.
I loved the
Croaking of the frogs.
After dusk fall
Twinkling fireflies.
The call of the Cicadas,
Although a bit
Eerie at night.
I would exclaim
Monsoon brings
Wild life
Full of sounds
And pleasing sights,
Though the family
didn't share my delight
Now, as the
Monsoon recedes
I realise, those sounds
Had long since died,
Couldn’t survive and adapt
To polluted environment.
Victims of
thoughtless human activity.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Under The Dark Of The Vine Veranda
Coral dust blows
off the white beach
onto the slatted table.
Overhead, a trellis
of brown wood and green leaves
and, pushing through, dense clusters
of pink and white
Ladies’ Finger Nails,
sweet scented with a trace of lime.
An orchestra of cicadas,
the rustling of a million
tiny silver bells.
A fine sprinkling sound.
Like frost.
poem by Brian Taylor
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The Green Alligator
There's a green alligator.
Lying on the bank out of the water,
His (or her) hide, a bilious green
And as it dries has a certain sheen.
Some would say that's most un-natural
But I reply that's colors, factual.
Brought about by being in a water that's
Filled with chlorophyll bearing plants
And as the gator swims along,
He can't help but being tagged upon
By those single celled organisms that live there
In the primordial soup we all share.
‘Haps, this is his way
Of disguise from his prey,
But I prefer to believe
He'd much rather have a reprieve
From the pollution
In his watery bouillon
That coats everything large and small
From snout to tail and all.
But as he sleeps along the shore,
Covered by this slime and more,
I wonder if evolution will raise her head
And make all alligators green instead.
Then no one will notice this one apart
From others with the same colorant.
Regardless, it's best to avoid the alligator, green
Lurking there, grey-black, or some shade in between.
He knows not why you're there,
But for him, maybe you'll become the daily fare.
One agator, Two agator, Three
Green alligators neath the tree,
Slipping, sliding, slopping,
Never stopping,
Green gators neath the tree.
Mouth open, teeth, a showing,
Just a grinnin
Green gators neath the tree.
Hides a glowing green
Doesn't seem so mean,
Green gators neath the tree.
Into the water he's a slippin
Just a dippin
One green gator's not neath the tree.
Silent swimmin, easy going
Eyes and nose only showing
Green gator's gettin close to me.
One agator, Two agator, Three
He's after m....
Welcome to Florida!
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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You Know That I Love You
Yesterday I was alone and Blue
My heart was heavy and then came you
Oh I can see that you were meant for me
Now I have found you, I'll never let you go
You know that I love you
I need you
You know that I'm caring, sharing
Everything I've got
Don't you know that I want you
I need you too
And I will be happy with you for the rest of my life
Many lovers they come and go
But your sweet loving lingers on and on
Oh I can feel, that this time it's for real
So hold me closer, and never let me go
You know that I love you
I need you
You know that I'm caring, sharing
Everything I've got
Don't you know that I want you
I need you too
And I will be happy with you for the rest of my life
And I will be happy with you for the rest of my life
Well your sweet love is all I need
Without you I just can't go on
You know that I love you
I need you
You know that I'm caring, sharing
Everything I've got
Don't you know that I want you
I need you too
And I will be happy with you for the rest of my life
I'll be happy with you for the rest of my life
I will be happy with you for the rest of my life
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Green Tree
All the trees shed their leaves
Stood under black dress
Everywhere white snows
Except Christmas green tree
Children played in the valley
Making Ice balls and stick
The black tree doesn`t open eye
Except Christmas green tree
Little stars glimpses on
With the trees waving head
Singing Carol on the way
Jingle bell and Santa Claus
The Only tree is stood in green
Horrible winter coolly days
Blessing infent`s Holy birth
Enjoy happy Praise the Lord...
poem by Vinod Kumar
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Some Summer
Blueberry skies and broccoli trees,
whipped cream clouds and
stripe-ed-dee bees,
Summer is here and it
tickles me pleased with it's
hazy, white daisy delights!
Kites on hot breezes,
and asphalt mirages,
the buzzing cicadas,
the sales in garages,
Summer is here and it's
time to switch gears into
slow glowing going sunlight!
Vanilla bean cream from
the ice tinkle truck,
the hot garden hose,
and mosquito smoke punks,
The furnace fast blast
makes me revel in past of these days
so some summery,
hop, skip and jumpitty,
sun-flowered, lillied,
and oh I'm so giddy for
Summer, green Summer is here!
poem by Sara Fielder
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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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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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When You Speak In Whispers
when you speak
in whispers
to me
like some
kind
of vespers
like some
code
of the cicadas
i have
actually
second
thoughts
listeni ng
i am
afraid
i always
remember
the kind
of deaths
fit
for my
godfather
lots of
little deaths
and i
ask, which
one
which one
is the
happy death?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Place Of My Dreams
Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Through the Green Valley
Through the green valley and past the crooked tree
there lies a place of love and tranquility
where food and water are in abundancy
and children play happy free from tyranny.
Through the green valley and past the golden tree
there is a place of art and wonder and glee
where people sing and dance in jeu d' esprit
and families are happy not refugees.
Through the green valley and past the diamond tree
there a place of beauty a land of the free
where people live in a state of ecstasy
and pain is vanquished there is no misery.
Through the green valley and past the godly tree
There the kingdom of heaven 'grandiosity'
poem by Wade Harlaine
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