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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

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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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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After the Carnival

AFTER THE CARNIVAL
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass’s bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there’s no energy to pray.
.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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first date
cicada and me
seventeen

haiku by Ben Gieske
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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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on the tree bark
a cicada shell
its song remembered

haiku by Ben Gieske
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at the waterfall
trees rain down
cicada trills

haiku by Ben Gieske
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