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?
TINY CHORUS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
choir of crickets
small chorus hidden in grass
summer’s fading song
autumn crickets fall;
the noise they make they so call;
field crickets widespread;
~
fall cricket songs heard;
across North Americas;
ambience alone--
~
cracklings fire mist;
the waters flow and amiss
the grass still's grows loud;
~
cracks the crickets cricks;
the noise they make they so call;
field crickets widespread;
~
like a leap frog knee-
-deep embedded in a spring
log croaking ribbit
~
field crickets widespread;
the noise they make they so call;
cracks the crickets cricks;
8/30/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
Outside the trees are called
by the Autumn’s breeze.
The door isn’t perfectly shut
as the leaves seep through
the uneven cracks.
The whistling tune from
Nature’s broken karaoke
machine finds its way under
the door. Slowly the shadows
become dimmer as the morning
sun sets in and the birds begin
to chirp as the crickets causes
a ruckus enough to wake
the subconscious mind from
sleeping internally.
The couch as always hard
as a stone bruising my arms
and legs as I flail finding rest,
but consistently remains
courteous as my only true
companion who knows
me and my heart, becoming
a good friend. The bells
chime, the cars honk,
the sounds of the people
marching to and from
their next destination.
As I step outside with
my messy hair, bad breath,
blurry vision, I take a glance
and the air greets me,
another daybreak awaits.
I sit and ponder, allow my mind to wander
And wonder about what I ponder
Then put pen to paper, begin to scratch and scribble
Hoping endless hoping that someone will read my dribble
And then reading perhaps exclaim
“This poem deserves acclaim”
crickets
Ahh, what’s a poet to do
But ponder through and through
Then wander further afar
Find a wonder so bizarre
And purchase a better pen?
Or find a muse now and then?
crickets
Philosophical I suppose
The writing of great prose
But my reason has deserted
And my talent’s been diverted
So I scribble more rhymes
And then try to bide my time
crickets
Nocturnal serenades
Echo in the night
Under the Carolina summer moon
yellow light
tinge to the air ...
crickets fall silent
Grass is tall and thick
Expect lots of those crickets
Hiding and creeping.
Praying God for rain
Crickets are with devotion
Hot night keeps silence
Luna rises high
into an ebony sky,
as bats begin to fly.
Silence seeks sounds to amplify;
and while crickets comply,
Luna rises high.
Mating fireflies nearby
start flashing lights that mystify,
against ebony sky.
Warranting a sigh,
wolves howl and cry;
as bats begin to fly.
Three stained glass crickets hopping, dancing and twirling
Their smoky ambiance showing an insane like swirling
Who will be the lucky prize winners someone asks me.
Unknown at this time, but they are clever as they can be.
how do crickets talk
rubbing legs like violins
in awe music sounds
Who is he? We asked, for crickets always do.
No idea, but he is smitten with your cousin Lu.
We watched his long legs jump high over the dew.
Wow! We all said, he is a tight jumper too!
He is Jiminy Cricket’s great-grandson Lu told me.
I was stunned, astounded, how could this be?
Jiminy Cricket had been a shrimp, with barely a leg.
I tried to pretend I believed her as I scarfed down an egg.
Sweet crickets, the tune
You’re playing tempts me to sleep.
By your tune, I will drift off
Better to a place dark and deep.
The low moon and toads
As well as I are your audience.
Why, even the saguaro blooms
Have opened with interest!
The night will soon bend over
And kiss my eyelids closed.
From Earth’s port into the sky
Of oblivion, I will go.
But should I judge your tune
To be my favorite solace
Promise me you’ll return
One night to play for me again.
Splendor in grass
The crickets happy singing,
One September day.
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