Best Locusts Poems
like wayward thoughts,
in swirling swarm,
dark pestilence
from nowhere
suddenly descends
upon verdant farms,
darkening the summer
noonday sky;
hapless, helpless,
whole villages
scramble, stumble,
trying to fan
smoky embers
of hastily built bonfires,
to stoke torches' failing flames,
ah, frantic futility!
The climate of planet earth has always been in a constant state of change, but modern science seems to have discovered a pattern of transformation that is very disturbing. Such revelations enable them to predict changes that will occur based on conditions that we mortals have created or have been a great contributor. Whether caused by natural processes over time or due to the reckless greed of mankind matters little, but the bigger question is whether or not we can effect a change, or is it really inevitable that we are ecologically and realistically doomed to annihilation. For at least half to three-quarters of my life, the government and the popular media have given me endless scenarios of, not possible but most probable catastrophic outcomes barring some drastic altering of mankind's current way of life. The kind of climate change that they foresee engenders a wildly ballistic mentality of anticipated pain and lasting misery of yet unheard of proportions, and it has the feel of a movie whose director and producer are prepared for mad dashes to high hills, mountain tops, and cave dwelling as the borders of southern Oregan clear across the Rockies and northern states become mere icepacks and freezer zones. The entire state of California will break away along the High Sierras and slide into the Pacific. Massive earth quakes, tsunamis, ice caps, floods, mud slides, forest fires, massive power outages, regional droughts, tornadoes, and hurricanes will as if having a mind of their own form a treaty to create a perfect storm in the northern hemisphere. Like the wild animals of the jungle and beasts of the wilderness, mankind's only feat will be to survive in an environment where the reasoning and rationalizing ability have been exchanged for a chaotic world of anarchistic instinct. *It is said that the locust does not have a king, yet they travel in bands. I do not look forward to a time when the locust accomplishes more in a leaderless state than we humans will. We will not be unified but disconnected as we slowly drift into a planetary abyss after pounding each other into the dust from which we came. Need I say more about how long this distructive condition will last? I know. So much doom and gloom....but I have too much to declare.
06042017PSContest, The Bleaker The Better, Julia Ward; Proverbs30:27*, NA
A farmer caught two locusts
before roasting they cried out
“Spare us, farmer. Let’s agree
our mandibles are hoes
we shall dig your gardens
but allow us to eat all weeds
our abdomen are tanks of oil
domesticate us, live with us
cooking oil you will get free
smearing oil is there for you
only do not touch wings, legs
we shall sing, dance for you.”
The farmer was thrilled
Sang beautiful joyful songs
“I shall be happy forever
All riches are at my door
my friends locusts , a rare gift
free labor, free oil, free music
neighbors come to feast!”
But whenever locusts sang
and vibrated their limbs
generations of locusts flew in
annoyed, worried, tortured,
he ate, burned, crashed in vain
crops were eaten and locusts
inherited his farm forever.
The locusts are coming
They’ll be here soon
Turning all greenery black
Obliterating the moon
Devouring vegetation
Causing aggravation
Raising a ruckus and din
A sorry state the world is in
Yet in three weeks they’ll die out
And I bet you’ll shout
for joy as their shells go snap-crackle-crunch
when your pet aardvark eats them for brunch
In the old graveled alley, overgrown with weeds,
at footfall, locusts sprang and leaped,
triggering a riot.
But soon their swelling motion
subsided like fried popcorn on a skillet.
Conspiring locusts bring us plague, when fewer, good for catching fish,
The former more like devil's spawn that human lives impoverish,
The lean years seem to bring them out when futures look in doubt,
In good times though they lend a hand, help fishermen land trout.
It's crowding that's real enemy, lights fuse to 'population's bombs'
And fires up fascist enmity where good men morph to 'Uncle Toms!'
Our government looks like 'scorched earth;' is ignorance the cause?
Self-serving locusts storm our crops, devour protective laws!
Walt Kelly's possum Pogo said, "We've met the enemy, it's us!"
The far right hate has one design, to squash all science with a bus!
But when these locusts rape the land, they kill themselves as well,
I fear the 'present' they embrace bodes planetary Hell!
Brian Johnston
May 15, 2018
fooled
by deception,
bigotry and hate
set out
to seize the day...
totally unaware
they would encounter
justice...peace...love...
erupting from each step
along the way
they would dare:
truth prevails...
never fails...
Saša Milivojev - LOCUSTS
Black mountains are crumbling
The locusts hiss all around
Suddenly all is gone
The buzzing has harvested it all
Gnawed bones
Float soaked
Saša Milivojev
www.sasamilivojev.com
In those days, in the wilderness,
A man named John was sent.
“Heaven’s kingdom is at hand;
He calls you to repent!
The one Isaiah told about,
The one for whom we wait.
Prepare a highway for our God;
Prepare and make it straight!”
Now John wore clothes of camel hair,
And locust were his meal.
His beard: unkempt. His manner: crude.
The Christ: who he revealed.
The people flocked to hear him preach,
For they were drawn to him;
He baptized them with water, truth,
And they confessed their sins.
But when the leaders came to hear,
He took a different path:
“You brood of vipers, who warned you
About the coming wrath?
And don’t you presume Abraham,
And claim him as your own,
For God could raise his children up
From right among these stones.
For those unwilling to repent:
The axe laid to the root.
The whole tree tossed into the fire
Unless you bear good fruit.
For I use water as a sign
That you might turn and live,
But He who comes brings Spirit, fire,
Is able to forgive.
The wheat, He gathers in the barn
And thus escapes his ire;
The chaff, He throws upon the heap
And burns up in the fire.”
(from Matthew 3)
the lizard hears the muffled sound of the locusts coming,
his drool drips from his mouth and wets the floor,
everything is germ or germination.
the strong and indifferent sun burns the yellow spikes.
how many times do i need to say it will hurt?
that this path has so many and such holes?
if I suffered all this.
if I fell on everyone.
the living brown cloud swallows field and lizard.
this life is a barren arid moon,
sun and furrowed soil nothing more.
under the earth the heat strangles the seeds.
I look at you like I always did before,
what kind of victory has this demented pride built?
after all who loved who?
heat of the burning harvest,
the dry carcass of violated tenderness,
charred remains of what looked good.
Soft flimsy red moths
settled like starving locusts
over brittle straw
They left as they came
silent, unseen ~
pundits’ forecasts sucked
Only ten shopping days ‘til the locusts arrive
What on earth should I buy them
I’ve scoured the stores, and what’s more
Amazon, Tik-Tok and E-bay
But ‘gifts for locusts’ brings up very few items
so I’m conducting a mini-plebiscitum
Asking cockroaches, spiders and scorpions
if I should text ‘em or a love poem write ‘em
Locusts sing their dusk-soft hymn,
Fields grow still 'neath rising moon
Leaning in to hear them drone.
Music rocks the night.
LOCUST'S LULLABY
just something light I wrote last night while sitting on our back porch. The sound of the locusts in the background was soothing....
twilight hush descends
soothing serenade begins
locust's lullaby
their tiny wings beat
rhythmic symphony quite sweet
one played just for you
© 2025 Sara Etgen-Baker