Run away to a foreign country, one with plush yellow green pastures. The grasses hiss soothingly as the breeze brushes them down this way and that. My home, a simple one room shelter built atop a broad and wise dark leafed tree who has welcomed me to its strong open arms. The skirt of my plain brown dress tickles the tops of my feet as I step down onto the soft soily earth.

There are no people here but I am not alone. The wind is here to lift the overflow of thoughts from my ever questioning mind and the water is here to soothe me and commiserate like an old companion purified from the complications of humanity. The dirt is my mother and my father, providing for me. Nurtures me with its succulent plants and cups its hands so that I might take a few small fish from them now and then.

A spotted sun perch hangs behind me as I perambulate meditatively. I see a few delicate vibrant blossoms on the side of my arborous home. They chime a brilliant tune that I will later compose onto a clay canvas. The afternoon is spent cleaning the small token and then toasting it over fire. I tend the patches of nearly wild vegetables and fruits. The most desirable ones plucked for my plate.

Guardian stars begin to dot the serenity of a dazzling dusk that demands my awe. I am aware of my tiny existence and its grand insignificance yet at the same moment I feel as though I was specially chosen by the cosmos to witness this perfect event. An intoxicating shiver grips me suddenly as a gust flits up my spine and through the back of my hair. Slowly it falls and the lulling chirps of a million violinists begin to play to one another. An admiring amphibian adrift the pond lilies relinquishes some commending croaks.

As the dark begins to settle in I climb to my aerial cottage to lie down. The rustling of my nest-bed reminds my neighbor owl of the time and she hoots appreciatively before flying off to begin her hunts. The splendid nocturnal symphony soon sends me to my dreams.

Bright light attracts the bugs at night,
So I got smart and dimmed my glow.
Barely noticeable to untrained eyes,
I just simply glide through the day.
A little less unimpressed at sunset,
Watching all my circles shrink.  

It can get a little lonely here,
But the past comes to remind me;

Sleeping with dogs can give you fleas,
So I adopted a no animal policy.
I haven't had an itch in ages,
But I miss the companionship.
It can get a little lonely here,
but at least I have no bugs.

I dug ten arthritis pains deep
The cool earth's full worth sunk beneath
And then. when old Midas gained sleep
A pooled corpse pooled forth from its heath

And thus revealed the pungent mass
Form of twig, thorn, vine, and berry
Banana peels and rotting grass
Slick earwigs, horned beetles merry

En mis jardines de brujos mandaba a los amigos:

Formicidae, Armadillidium,
Gastropoda, and Annelida all
Wake for the feast of the beasts by this call
Take of your share where the least of you crawl

I feel them staring, glaring --
I'm never sure.
My mind rewinds
to a different shore,
where fish have armored skin
that protects them from
pressures of Earthen spin.

They have legs like fingers,
the fish, the people,
that tramples me, samples me
until I'm withered, feeble.

The stares are like bugs,
striding across with curious rage.
Biting, learning, living
in the hollow of my rib cage.

Black bug bleeds black blood.

Blue bug feeds blue blueberries.

Brown bug brings brown bread.

Hard to believe it was 18 Years ago, 1998.
Waiting that long to make love is an unfortunate fate.

A July rain awakens the sleeping nymphs’,
Like old Rip Van Winkle, a yawn & stretch those limbs

Clawing their way out of an earthen cocoon,
Metamorphous begins by the light of the moon.

An electric buzz fills the West Virginia holler,
Charlie Cicada says “Connectin’ with them females is the problem”

And not long after… a loving relationship is bequeathed,
For the less fortunate, the brown trout waits beneath the Sycamore for a tasty treat.

Well there you have it; such is the life of the Brood Cicada,
And for new born nymphs’, it’s time to go sleep until the next Mania.

K.E. Carman 2016

The limbs grow, cover and cradle me
Like the arms of a forgotten lover
The maggots give me love bits as they slowly consume
The worms slither round about, in and out
Never again will my face wear a frown
Never again will I worry about zen
Or about how's and when's
This moss is my bed
Where I lay my weary head
Off to rest for eternity
Where the animal and insects show me love internally

Finally LOVE!!!!!!

The caterpillars preach their sermons,
Crickets string their choirs,
Under the shade of Broadleaf.

Beetles teach their classes,
The sunlight shines through the foliage,
In the morning at Broadleaf.

The leaves are green,
The airport of insects is blue,
A canopy above Broadleaf.