Famous Cicadas Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Cicadas poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous cicadas poems. These examples illustrate what a famous cicadas poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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The Break Away

by Anne Sexton
 Your daisies have come
on the day of my divorce:
the courtroom a cement box,
a gas chamber for the infectious Jew in me
and a perhaps land, a possibly promised land
for the Jew in me,
but still a betrayal room for the till-death-do-us—
and yet a death, as in the unlocking of scissors
that makes the now separate parts useless,
even to cut each other up...Read more of this...

Road and Hills

by Stephen Vincent Benet
 I shall go away 
To the brown hills, the quiet ones, 
The vast, the mountainous, the rolling, 
Sun-fired and drowsy! 

My horse snuffs delicately 
At the strange wind; 
He settles to a swinging trot; his hoofs tramp the dust. 
The road winds, straightens, 
Slashes a marsh, 
Shoulders out a bridge, 
Then -- 
Again the hills. 
Unchanged, innumerable, 
Bowing huge,...Read more of this...

A Message From My Lodge At Wangchuan To Pei Di

by Wang Wei
The mountains are cold and blue now 
And the autumn waters have run all day. 
By my thatch door, leaning on my staff, 
I listen to cicadas in the evening wind. 
Sunset lingers at the ferry, 
Supper-smoke floats up from the houses. 
...Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again 
And sing a wild poem at Five Willows? ...Read more of this...

In the cicada's cry

by Matsuo Basho
In the cicada's cry
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die. ...Read more of this...

Stillness

by Matsuo Basho
 Stillness--
the cicada's cry
 drills into the rocks....Read more of this...

Integrity

by Adrienne Rich
 the quality of being complete; unbroken condition; entirety
~ Webster
A wild patience has taken me this far

as if I had to bring to shore
a boat with a spasmodic outboard motor
old sweaters, nets, spray-mottled books
tossed in the prow
some kind of sun burning my shoulder-blades.
Splashing the oarlocks. Burning through.
Your fore-arms can get scalded, licked with pain
in a sun blotted like unspoken anger
behind...Read more of this...

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