The cricket was only doing what crickets do
Walking slowly up the walk looking for more crickets
Looking north and south, east and west
He or she appeared to alone
Where were more crickets
Where was the orchestra of fellow crickets
The wonderment stopped when this cricket let out “crick-it, crick-it”
The orchestra followed suit and sounded out in cricket harmony
Cricket harmony so welcomed by this once lonely cricket
Off it hopped to join in the symphonic noises created by the once hidden fellow crickets
Crick-it, Chirp, Crick-it, Chirp, Crick-it......
Brian Hill - 2019 # 239
Felt a bit silly this morning..
Let your cricket orchestra sing out!
The steady chirping of the crickets
Is natures concert, without the tickets
How do they do it, I have to ask
Don't they get tired of their life long task
They click, chirp and clack, all night long
Hippin and hoppin to the same old song
It makes you crazy, I have to admit
I really wish, they all would just quit....
Brian Hill - 2019 # 194
Oh the sound....
Happy golden thoughts danced around my head.
Things of joy happen everywhere
Flowers grow towards the sun
Everything is happy
There cannot be evil,
Not in this land of yellow.
The people live lives in shades of yellow.
No dark color inhabit.
A place of happiness really does exist
I thought I heard a chirping bird
just about this morning’s sunrise.
Don’t think a mating call I heard—
sounded like a shriek of surprise.
I was surprised, too, and quite so.
Not from the bird’s chirp. Well, perhaps.
There were puddles instead of snow,
and snow-plowed mountains in collapse.
That chirping bird and I both saw
the cautious springing up of spring.
But while that bird sang to the thaw,
I don’t think I’m done worrying.
Seasons ’round here don’t change like that.
Although winter has one more freeze,
the bird on its Tree Ararat,
celebrates forty-five degrees.
This morning it was just one bird,
soon maybe crickets will chirp, too.
But I think spring is seen not heard,
and that chirp’s too good to be true.
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As the progression of time commences,
The birds chirp seemingly less ocassionally,
And their impression wears with time.
curfew relaxed, now-
voodoo in yellow, purple;
"we'll be fine” birds chirp.
Ideas grow like weeds
Cicadas chirping loudly
Radio spies and cerulean skies
Makes rain shout
But doesn’t calm voices down
Too many tubes of paint
Smearing across the creases
Into a new hue of brown
White clouds begin to deepen
The beast underneath the skin itches
Scratching brings relief
Only for a few seconds
Lights on and off
Can’t decide if tiredness
Dawns because of life
Or of sleep
Energy of a battery
Juiced up for an era
Stillness an enemy
Thoughts a plethora
Costly daily rituals
Ended with a wild escape
Don’t have sadness inside
Learn from their naivete
Take their advice
the sun vibrated
as eyes opened and breath anchored.
birds whispered inside stream of air.
the moment unfolded with grand dreams.
my heart echoed
with song for peace.
Don't know where this came from. LOL The word knock, entered my mind.
Birds come to aid of poets
who are stuck mid-air
They'll chirp and sing
their best song
that'll guide us long
and will take off
as soon as we drop the pen
to their own nest
dear black bird
with a purple neck
your familiar chirp
cannot be heard
through this glass