The Cicada
The cicada sheds his skin in summer,
Leaving behind an empty shell, a trace
Of his former self. The callous is left
With the peeling of its flesh. Now, a raw,
Reborn body remains, unspoiled by
The surfaces he felt beneath his claw,
Or the textures that formed against his weight.
A new cicada crawls forth from this case,
And he is no longer any number
Than the Earth that firms underneath his feet.
His wings buzz, freed from the crispness of time's
Dusty chrysalis. A much younger face
Emerges with eyes fresh from the slumber.
Awake, he couldn't believe what he saw.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes
A Cicada Shell
a cicada shell
how like a porcelain
it breaks piece by piece
after a noisy night
the cicada waves at me on the floor
with its legs
A cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Heart Left
What happens when you feel
the heart is missing
out of something you once loved?
The entrails still linger
and everything is just an empty shell.
The family atmosphere
that once was there is gone
leaving you to feel like a stranger
with nothing to call home.
There are still faces,
but to you none has a name.
You can still remember the fun and smiles
of not so long ago
before the heart left
a body with an empty shell.
You wonder why it happened,
why everything went so wrong
leaving you to feel an outsider
in a place you once call a home.
31 May 2011
poem by David Harris
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Death Sticking On A Bark Of A Tree
as i walk today
under the trees
when rain starts
to pour and i
take shelter
to find a
a cicada
unmoving by
the side
of a bark of
a tree
light and empty
only a shell
left-over of life
clinging still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From the Ten, Laminated Minutes of the Early Morning
I found my body
Rubbing up against a coral reef,
My skin peeling off like cheese
In an aluminum grater,
Leaving little red holes, or
Empty pockets of air
That resemble little red holes
Where my flesh once was,
And I feel myself
Looking at myself
And I turn away from what I see,
But I'm not sure that's me—
How can I see myself?
How can I see myself?
I look back,
And nothing is there.
I thought I was there,
But now there is an empty space
Where I was lying down,
Submerging a thin stratum
Of invisible blue and white-
Washed reflections.
I wonder where my crumpled body has gone,
Where my consciousness
Or some Earthly force
Might've heaved
That heavy sack
That I was—in that puddle:
A bag of broken bones,
Serrating through the muscle
To breathe one breath of
What seems like air.
Then that ocean before me
Dries up, and all I see is sand.
It stretches for miles and miles
Around me, behind and forward—Completely encompassing.
Suddenly, I feel lost and embarrassed without any reason
To feel that way.
I feel as if I'm a grain of sand carried by the breeze,
Scattering the ground to new,
Yet similar landscapes,
Traversing me to where I began…
Which, to me,
Seems like nowhere at all.
Then, I start to like nowhere,
And I ponder about if nowhere likes me,
And I postulate that we belong together
If we commit to each other
In the way we pretend married people might.
Time begins to funnel in on itself,
And the world drains from where I came from,
And I come back to the surface,
Sunken through eyes that couldn't see,
And a cold sweat bathes my body
In the hot, summer swelter.
I'm curious to know what the night should mean to me,
But forget what it does,
And remembered something else instead,
Decided that epoché seems appropriate—
And that I create my dreams to dream new dreams.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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You killed me.
look what you have done,
im an empty shell,
i have no more life left in me,
you took it away that cruel cold dark night,
you overpowerd me with your cold heart,
you tore me mentaly,
you scarred me physically,
i sit with my razor,
i hear you gruff voice,
i push down on my skin,
relece all my fears,
your touch has left me afraid of men,
afraid on there voices,
afraid of intimacey,
IM JUST AN EMPTY SHELL.
sarah (my memoir of rape)
poem by Sarah Toonac
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The Grave Was Empty!
we took down the body of God,
and stripped the flesh
from the bones with razor sharp knives.
out of this flesh we made hunger.
we carefully cut the heart out,
and out of this heart we made weapons.
we plucked out the eyeballs,
and out of them we made greed.
from the bones we built houses
in which no one could live.
we scattered the remains
over the sands... and from them
we made oil, the force that drives!
there was nothing left,
not even for the crows...
and they wonder why
the grave was empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Know The Meanign Of Morning
mornings are
metaphors
though routinized
but each morning
is another
blessing
it is another promise
of life
another assurance
that no matter what
something with
light and warmth
unfolds before
our eyes
wake up then
to a new morning
feel the new skin
spreading to your
body
breathe the new air
and fill your lungs with all
of these
reborn, be reborn
there is no use for anything
dead past us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wonder About The Cicada That You See
i know that this morning
you walk on the park
on a sunny day and it
is, of course, hot
and then you see this cicada
and i wonder if it is
singing
or grumbling
on this very hot sunny day by the park
i wonder if the cicada stares
at you
i wonder if you talk to the cicada
i wonder if
something happens that you
cannot just forget
about the cicada
i wonder if everything is unfinished
images half-printed
i wonder if at all, to whatever we see and feel and
talk about i wonder if
there must be conclusions
i wonder if
we must limit only to our own observations
leave it that way
like a bat hanging on the wall
and then
just that, whether if flies away or drops dead
you say
i do not honestly know and
i have really nothing to say
i like it with you,
something unfinished, and perhaps that is the beauty in you
this suspended suspense
suspenseful till nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sleepless
Gritty eyed and sleepless
I lie cool and empty.
Leaving a void in the bed,
A nullity,
Your body print remains
A soft indentation.
I kept your pillow
Trying to retain your fragrance
Till it soaked into the ether
Leaving only its memory
A sharp tanged essence.
But you had gone.
No forwarding address.
P H Brookes copyright 20012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Exoskeleton
I attempt to molt
My hard exoskeleton,
Exposing the soft
And raw meat of my insides—
Vulnerable flesh of mine.
I crawl for a time
In the unforgiving air
As it bakes my skin.
The light of the sun presses
Me further into the dirt.
The cool and smooth rocks
Rub against me like a rust,
A corroding floor.
I scrape my body along
As a snail would—so slowly.
The gentle salt spray
Curdles me, a foaming lump
Traveling through sand.
Sodium streams stain my prints,
A fossil made of the past.
My back is spineless,
Formless without its firm shell,
Unfit to support.
I flop like a dry fish would
As if deprived of water.
To protect myself,
I callous stone around me:
A coral shelter.
Safe within the walls I've built,
I remain fully contained.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Old Man
I’m not that lover, filled with passion, -
That youth, who left the world amazed:
Alas, my spring and summer passed now,
And didn’t leave a single trace.
Cupid, the god of youth and love and virtue!
I used to be your steadfast servant;
Oh, if I could be reborn, - I’d serve you
Even more passionate and fervent!
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Empty Arms,empty Heart
(copyright nazareth,tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Now you say youre leaving
Leaving me without a friend
How can you do what youre doing to me
How can you say you want to be free of me
Now you say its over
And your walkin out my door
Tellin me youre going away for good
Never coming back and Ill never see you again
Chorus:
You left me here with my empty arms
My empty rooms
And my empty heart is crying
Nothing is left for me now youre gone
It just aint right and I know it cant last Im dying
Repeat 1
Lead
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New Tune
Its written in the surface of her skin
Theres been a baby within
Given away in love
I see it in the little lines
Around her eyes, across her brow
Shell be driftin away from me now
See the shape of feeling thats not quite there
Inside her soul
Love has gone away now, leaving behind an empty hole
Who am I to try to compete
With again, as the silence so easily rushes in
I will fly away
It was something I only dreamed of
Something that Im not quite sure of
Something that Ill never tell you about
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Fling
Summer love what
a thing, it comes and
goes leaving you with
a summer fling.
It's happy and fun till
summer ends leaving you
sad. Say your goodbye's
and give your kisses now
because it's only a sumer fling.
Till summer rolls around again
your left with a summer love that
was only a simple summer fling.
(6/1998)
(Dedicated to Brian)
poem by AlissaMarie Unknown
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On Seeing You...
On Seeing You...
The body that so far felt
Like a hollow shell
Thrown on the beach
By a vagrant child
The body that so far felt
Like an empty piece of severed bamboo
Fallen on an untread forest path
No longer felt hollow or empty
The shell vibrated with the roar of the sea
The bamboo set ripples of mystic music on the waves
Strangely enough, even the half-moon
Sprayed brightness on the dark niches
Your joy resonated in my heart
Sealing all the crevices and pushed the body
Towards the one loved…
Ah, the stuff dreams are made of
13 May 2011
Evening
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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To A Friend That I Have Only Felt
if i shall not hear the sound of the wind again
i shall think of the shell
i shall imagine the flesh that once was there
the taste of my own tongue
i shall for a while remember but i cannot assure you
till when
for i am but a shell myself and time shall wrap me too
with emptiness
i shall be carried by the winds too and my tongue shall
not remember the taste of flesh the taste of water
and my skin shall not feel any coldness of the wind
my eyes cannot see what light has been in that previous darkness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Human Body And The Soul
the LORD made the human body
and all its frailties
and that is what he gave, to you and me.
our bodies go through so many aches and pains
and not one, is ever really the same.
the body is just a shell that holds everything inside
and it is hard to protect it
no matter how we try.
unlike a turtle that can climb into its shell.
unfortunatly! we don't do that very well.
emotions and feelings is hard for us to hide
for it is seen by every eye.
humans are the most complex animal
on the face of the earth.
with so many emotions down this two way street.
our brain can not distinguish which one to meet.
everything has an opposite that much we know
and we don't always know, which way to go.
love, hate **rich, poor ** skinny, fat
how do we get through all that?
but! when we are called and told it's our time.
the only thing we leave behind
is a shell of you and i.
the soul is the only thing that is not taken away
for it is met, on this your judgement day.
all human frailties are left behind.
and argue as you might.
the life you led, is in his plain sight.
souls are like spects of dust
that you can not see.
and it takes up no space.
it leaves no marks
not even a trace.
poem by Louis Rams
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157
My companion to this
Last journey
A cicada shell
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Cicada Shell
My companion to this
Last journey
A cicada shell
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wings Of Fair-Hair
August is the origin in us it rises.
The sky of song of the cicada, watch the sun.
Clear wings of fair-hair she has left undone,
with heat by the falls around us.
Sand crane of the dunes hoovering.
Left, us it' which is felt.
So it is heavy and heavy it is So, it is.
Emptied the grip which should be broken off freely, it.
And that you must be settled,
August because it is short than exact.
By September her journey' It has arrived.
Cicada's exacted simply,
from the ground, At the time of her sun.
poem by Is It Poetry
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