They don’t live long,
But you’d never know it,
Their cries resonating throughout
The thick summer air,
You always know when they come
But you can never tell just
When they go.
If you hurt again and again
Forgiveness becomes a sin
Lean on me
I'll be descreet
Winking down the hall
Have you seen a hamster ball
The kind that spin around
Tell me more
And anything else
I'll dance until I fall
Cicadas whine metallically
In trees along the sweltered streets;
Wasps and hornets arc angrily
Enough to cause me fear.
Late summer’s not my favorite time of year.
Flowers nearly done;
The tulips, irises, and poppies
Long since seeded out;
They’ve had their fun.
Bedraggled day lilies remain,
This is the beginning of the mums.
Bees seek latent nectars
Or tap into their golden stores
To supplement their bumbling runs.
Lawns foist a burnt but stubborn edge
While only thistles still refuse
To bow to August's incessant heat;
Their spikes sprout poisonous defiance.
The dog’s left yellowed pools of dying grass;
I admit the neighbors’ lawns surpass.
I suppose the time to gather
Drying excrement’s returned, alas....
Keeping up appearances is hard at summer's end.
Ennui of season full and just past ripe
Leaves tired old men like me
A chiding cause to gripe.
Morning thoughts August 17, 2018
it is a revelation
not one cicada
sounds the same
a butterfly sitting
by me admiring
something I lose
myself on such lightness
I use to tell children
to stop and to listen to
the songs of
they nodded back
This poem is from the collection California Notebooks 01
a nighttime lullaby
sending me off to sleep
I sit in a forest, with my back against a large oak,
and listen. Among rustling leaves and
whining cicadas I hear something else.
It's moving through the forest on jointed legs,
snapping the branches of century old trees.
An insect the size of a castle. It lets out a cry.
Sounds like a thousand year old whale's
death rattle. The cicadas stop whining and I
It's heading to the lake to breed,
or to die. Their kind begins and ends in water.
Very morbid creatures, they are.
I can feel its steps shake the earth as it comes
closer and then I see it. Ten long, jointed legs
support the bulk of the thing. It towers over me,
silver. Its shell is a knight's armour and its red
eyes are the devil's. I stand up in awe of the
colossal bug as it lumbers past me, blocking the sun
and casting me in shadow for a while.
I light a cigarette and listen to it move through the forest.
Eventually, I can't hear it anymore and the cicadas
start to whine again.
She's an imp of a troublemaker fairy
they call her Heather Featherwand
she lives midst ancient ruins
'pon Saturn's ringlets
of ethereal ice & dust
you might get a peek at her
neath a summertide night's dream,
she wears lavender and tangerine
to blend in with the blazing cosmos,
her pale peachy butterfly wings
make sounds like katydids
singing in the treetops and
cicadas come to life at night
further adding to her mysterious flight,
she took off one day, they say
with the man in the moon
and they've been starstruck ever after
Supposedly my fairy name is Heather Featherwand, long story, just having a little fun with it!
Taking a drive on a Summer night
getting lost on country roads
Windows down, holding hands
the smell of fresh-cut grass
the harmonious sound of cicadas and tree frogs
while the wind blows through our hair.
It was perfect.
Parking the car beside the lake
Beneath the stars
on a cheap, cotton blanket
making love on the riverbank
We were perfect.
Breaking the rules
dancing on a bridge
You falling asleep on my shoulder
as I drive us home.
Life was perfect.
These are memories I will never lose
from a Love that didn't last
the cicadas are singing
and the cats stare in quiet contemplation
a cool breeze passes through our window
and my heart perks at the sound of your foot steps
love is knowing your steps
and greeting the rhythm of your breath
with wonder and gratitude
— The End —