It’s not the heat that brings them out
It’s written in the genes no doubt
that’s what the buzz is all about.
A sound like nothing else you’ve heard.
A life’s tale told without a word.
A number, prime, of years has passed,
up from the ground awake at last.
A life, into the air is cast.
They’ve only just begun to live,
all the life they have to give.
Good design is timeless still.
No need to change what works it’s will
on creatures even time can’t kill.
Lacy wings as strong as steel,
bulletproof from deck to keel.
A timeline reaching back, unfurled,
revealing from a capsule curled,
a face that’s from another world.
The term bug eyes was meant for them.
Bejeweled, a living diadem.
Years in the earth for days in the air.
Is this bargain really fair?
Too close, too like our own to bear.
Sleeping, waiting to be born.
For time gone by, no need to mourn .
June bug, Hot bug, buzzing thing,
Magicicada on the wing.
The song of life, time now to sing.
Know them now before they’re through.
A few more times then we’re done too.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Quillian Crisp
Dave Rickert
Kent Pitman
Laurie Middendorf
OS BOOK CLUB
Chuck A. Stetson
Salon.com
Comments
No more sure sign of summer than that electric trill in the air.
It's winter hear.
It comes in waves. I love this poem, about cycles and singing, the way I read it.
The one you pictured here we ( in Australia ) call a Black Prince.
There are childhood memories of Greengrocers, Cherry Noses, Yellow Mondays, Floury Bakers, and the elusive Wednesday ... I wonder, do you have these as well ?
You give me a taste of Summer, thanks.
Scanner, Dude! That made me bust out laughing. Now I have the confidence to submit this to the International Journal of Insect Verse, Cicada Division.
Chuck, Nature’s design is always the best.
Greenheron, They are among the best bugs ever made.
catch-22, I just learned that word today, No way I wasn’t using it for a title. For me it’s everything but the humidity.
Kim, I grew up hearing these bugs but I never saw one until I moved to New York. We don’t have the variety you have in Australia, I think. When I was a kid no one even knew what they were called. We called them hot bugs. I just learned today of the terrific names you have for them. We have the imagination of...insects here sometimes. Knowing how dependent the Australians are on deep fried food, I wonder if you ever eat these as do the Chinese? Extra grouse (gross) tucker!
I mean, wasn't it your Elvis who brought deep-fried banana sandwiches to the table ? Come on !
As far as deep-fried critters, you can't go past the kids on the street in Siem Riep, one with a basket of tarantulas, and a stick to keep them down, and one next to him with a wok ...
Great poem.