Best Crickets Poems
i sit here
aside the lake
grounded
in thoughts
alone
the full-moon rising
casts a lambent light
on the watery stage
where the orchestra
of night normally plays
there is no song
falling off cricket's wings
no cicadas of melody
singing along
the flowers stand tall
for they cannot bow down
to the final chimes
in night's call
when a breathless wind
befalls around them
i sit here
aside the lake
grounded
in thoughts
alone
there are no echoes
of footsteps
to follow me
through the confines
of darkness or mind
just a linger of thoughts
and shadows
that cannot speak back
through the abyss
of my loneliness
Music of crickets
On warm summer morning
Praising God above
Take a flight
to the tune of this night
listen to the falling dew drops' song.
How they whisper love talks to the flowers night long
how jingles of silver moon make their love prolonged.
Sound of silence captures one and all
leaves murmur as they fall
crickets' call.
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Contest:Melody of night-Trois par Huit
Sponsor:Nette Onclaud
By:kash poet
Date:26th August 2012
yellow light
tinge to the air ...
crickets fall silent
warm breeze eventide
fireflies light pink roses
crickets sing a song.
There is a whisper through the wind
a sort of haunting
yet charming thing.
A quiet flutter
from an old oak tree
while cricket's
perfect rhythm
replenish the land
I sit by placidly
as if seized by a dream,
closing my eyes:
I wonder
and wonder
and wonder
but I'll never know
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
As winter approaches, their songs die out
Their gentle chirping I can’t live without
Field mice make their way inside
Lizards under my couch hide
So what’s with the crickets; have they no clout?
Green crickets in Florida grow quite large
Perhaps in cold times they cruise on a barge
Carnival Cruise Line reject
Like Dangerfield, no respect
Not even an honorable discharge
Do they erect shelters ‘neath a snow mound?
Their disappearance surely does confound
Like snowbirds, do they leap south
Hearing winter’s roaring mouth?
Could they be in a Mexican camp ground?
The wasps and bees, well, they disappear too
But I give no thought to the stinging crew
As surely as the sun shines
I miss crickets’ scratching lines
But in spring their songs will return on cue
Disembodied howls
Tunneling through the black night
My soul begs to rest
August 2014
© All Rights Reserved
CRICKETS IN HEAD
I’m a NeoPagan
From the Church of All Worlds
Dedicated to the celebration of Life.
I’m set on a land in the long run
Looking for crackets.
The brooms come higher that I expected
And the hole throws up and has to open its songs.
I have ears to hear them
And eyes to see a deep chair In a green dress.
I find myself between
Sabbat or Pagan festival
Smiling its ok. Look:
Here’ coming Oimelc, Ostara, Beltane
Ltha, Lugnasad, Mabon, Samhain and Yule
Wanting to touch my face.
Probably they rattling
Brushing me out of its night.
And there are others:
Cernunnos and Diana saying it to me:
“Those who have ears to hear
Let them hear
The crickets’ cri cri in head”
Ok ok as I say.
Me and We are programated holler, squeaky
Dreaming the green mats
Of a hit confusión of body and mind
While crickets have a narrow squeak.
Do You know, do You see:
In the new days the celebration is
As in the old days: Crimes, rapes, wars.
The Solstice and Equinox
Walk on bloody air.
From the Zenit to the Nadir
Wo/men pass their artificial time
Living by one’s wits.
Earth relates the Universe as we perceive it:
The Solstices and Equinoxes
Are tired of our criminal freak
And Dane Rudyar’s
“The Astrology of Personality” is broken
Founding fur in our dreams
In our stew.
Word, our Word now
Is tired and rap
Robert Heinlein’ s “Stranger in a Strange Land”.
Crackets sing Neo-Paganism
In its black wings
As in the Cauldron of Cerridwen and in the Holy Grail
The day of equal dark and equal light
Beginning anew.
nighttime crickets chirp
in a warm summer evening
loudly making call
Russell Sivey
Crickets chirping
This sultry summer night
Stereo panning
Left & right
Music to my ears
Thought they keep out of sight
Little black creatures
chirping through the dark of night
such a soothing sound.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Jan.21/2005
Dark moon day of August
I stepping on a nail
hospital tetanus shot
I draw Kenaz from my Rune bag
Sitting out at night
First time crickets sing
Starry sky's Milky Way
Two shooting stars see me
My black cat runs by
Dog howls down the road
Forest spirits are afoot
Really too much magic
Just a word against acrimony
the key is really this, you see
don’t let the bully rule
by reacting to their hideous drool
turn the intentional blind eye
away from their taunting cries
without “attention” they fizzle out
vitriol dries upon the spout
take the “high road”, it can be done
quickly the crickets will come
thus returning to how it was
flavorful soup, just because…
this how it’s supposed to be
kind poems to share between you and me…
…peace out!
12/18/2021