Cicada’s Farewell

Cicada’s Farewell
“I guess I felt attached to my weakness. My pain and suffering too. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound of cicadas – if I like these things, why should I apologize?” ― Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase

cicada’s voice – last
song of summer loud across
the brown pasture –
he sings to the clear blue sky
with newfound joy

Night Comes

For Kim’s prompt over at Real Toads, about the poetic form pastoral. She wants us to write a poem about night coming in the style of Jane Kenyon, ‘Let Evening Come’, “to inspire your pastoral poems this weekend” No more than six tercets. I have tried. I love writing about the night in the summer, any time of year!

Night Comes
“In the trees the night wind stirs, bringing the leaves to life, endowing them with speech; the electric lights illuminate the green branches from the under side, translating them into a new language.” ― E.B. White

in the afternoon the day winds down –
the shadows grow long winds gently slough
and the bees return to their hives.

toward the dark of the day
owls awaken and their sleepy eyes grow bright!
they stretch their wings and shuffle their feet.

rabbits cease their nibbling and head to their nests,
shadows grow longer and cross the road
to meet the cows lowing in the fields, heading to the barns.

the shadow of the moon glows white in the indigo sky
and early Venus glows. the bats come out to hunt
along with the owls and cicadas begin their buzz.

now the stars glow in the black night sky
and a rustle of the bushes as a possum
comes to the join the other night creatures for dinner.

lights snap on in the houses, bright yellow in the night.
the owl swoops down and grabs a baby rabbit
its squeal joining the buzzing of the cicadas in the night.

the night after holding its breath exhales.

 

The first fireflies

For Kim’s prompt over at Real Toads, Bugs and Insects. I love it!

shizukasa ya
iwa ni shimi-iru
semi no koe

it is so still—
singing into the stones,
the cicada’s song
My translation of Basho’s haiku.

The first fireflies
Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make! Bram Stoker, Dracula

July –
Hot summer night.
So still, so silent.
I am waiting for the first songs of the cicada.
In the ground for seven years
until it digs itself out and finds itself a tree.
Mating time has come.
Into the silence breaks the song –
Raspy, twirly, the lone voice awakens a chorus.
The next night I sit –
The chorus of cicadas again begin.
In the blackness of the moonless night
I see it –
The first of the bits of mini-lightning.
Exploding here, there, high, low.
The fireflies have also awakened.
Randy mating bugs singing, lighting –
The song of summer from childhood as I sat
At my window – listening.
Running out to catch a few fireflies to put into a jar
Covered with screen and filled with some leaves.
Fireflies by my bed,
Cicadas outside my window.
At last I sleep.
The cicadas continue,
The fireflies shimmer until dawn.
I open the jar and they fly away home.
I return to my childhood every summer.

 

Instagram Poem

Today at Real Toads is Tuesday Platform. Sanaa is Suggesting instagram sized poems. So here we go for day 24 of Nannumope. This is also posted for Poets United Mid-week Motif – Summer.

the full moon flutters
on the surface of the pond
lone cicada sings

Summer Moon Haiku String

Today is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. You can submit any poem of your choice, any form, no form, any subject. Come join us and find your new favorite poet. This was also linked to Poetic Bloomings.   OpenLinkNight #176

oborozuki is Japanese for hazy moon

I.
summer half moon drifts
in a sea of blue – floating
sakura petal

II.
summer night sky – I
descry through blacker branches
oborozuki

III.
luminescent pearl
worn by the night sky – baroque
purity enchants

IV.
the full moon flutters
on the surface of the pond
lone cicada sings

V.
the summer moon bursts
from behind the clouds – startled
an owl takes flight

free Getty Image for non-commercial use

free Getty Image for non-commercial use

 

mi ni shimu

dark night – quiet. sound
of cicadas a memory.
empty night – empty heart.

sunt lacrimae rerum

dead cicada lies
under fading crepe myrtle.
I stand. lone mourner.

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