Long Crickets Poems
Long Crickets Poems. Below are the most popular long Crickets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crickets poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a woeful early December night nigh,
Who am I, in this fateful time of scry’s reprise?
Over many a quaint reminisce of my ghostly past,
Suddenly, feel eyes piercing again, with no end.
I looked around, to no avail; my time has end.
I turned and saw darkness cast.
As I went out in the dreary night, I felt peace,
Oddly enough, the crickets chirp, and the wind speaks.
I walk along the road, and yet I felt uneasy.
Again, those piercing eyes sunk deep into my griefs.
“Where are you?" I call out. "Can you hear my pleas?”
Again, I turned to dark seas.
Strolling about, footsteps echo, though path’s untrod.
I falter back home, but it's inconvenient fraud.
Back to the untrod path of what could be or not,
I look around, to no avail; I feel this facade.
Eagerly, I call out; now there are piercing prods.
I seek out the darkness's fraud.
I see no evil, hear no evil. What are you?
I gently crept all about with no sound; I’m bound
Bound to seek you and end this childish game you play.
How come I have heard no sound? Are you not profound?
Thy hide an enigmatic like bound that surrounds.
Are you in the darkness bound?
Come out from hiding; I know thy eyes follow thee.
Why won’t you listen to me? Do you speak in threes?
I know you are out there; why do not you reveal?
How do I convince thee speak to me? Please, please, please?
I wait for an answer, but only I say, “Pleas.”
I spoke to you in threes; do you need some more pleas?
The wind blows against my ear, and I hear nothing obscure.
A distant echo runs into my ear; I call, “Who is there?”
Echo no more; the sound is clear, I call out again.
Footsteps follow; finally, it emerges from darkness’ air.
It has appeared. Who is there? Make me aware!
It calls out, but not clear.
I got a glimpse of the figure that finally answered my call,
A wraith that seems to haunt my memory.
Its eyes, like embers, cold, dead, and deep,
And though the form looked cloaked in dread,
A ghostly echo of what’s dead,
A past that whispers in my sleep.
The crescent moon spoke quarter truths
glowing yellow orange
in the evening sky.
Crickets and katydids chirped loud and incessant
and the gray day sky revealed
streaks of red, orange and purple.
A last appearance of the sun light grazed the heavens
brilliant yellow in the setting apparitions
as the trees remained still in the windless dusk.
Off to the west all settled still and quiet
but to the east, the ocean waves churned loud
and the fading tropical storm cried out again.
Storm surge, pounding surf echoed in deafening sounds
pulling sand out to the ocean floor
calling back in foolish unheard cries.
Surfers, swimmers, onlookers are few
most escaped to safety and retreat
to higher shores to wait the passing storm.
It's near midnight, whilst we moonlight walk
Palm tree lined fairway, Crickets singing
Hands clenched in loving vacationed talk
Hearts in wanting pound, Batangas is bringing
We, she and I, now amidst our intending lock
Serenity is the scene blessed by lunar watch
So late, but joyous we, soon our lips are speaking
Clouds now hover as we witness natures rain
Our apartment is distant, we welcome given
Through broken lunar light, stroking her mane
My hands in taken then, sensuously they're driven
Kiss me quiet is whispered, hearts now in reign
Walking, slowly walking, absorbing to us this night
Hearts in touching pound, Batangas has brought
.
Four legs quiver
like clumsy cabrioles
striking smooth gray rivers
of zig-zag sidewalk barrios
in rhythm with happy shivers
syncopated on a muffled drum
as we talk and stroll
On our way
hand-in-hand
we persuade and pretend
this day away
taunting and cajoling to demand
laughing “hide and seeking”
chasing and skedaddling
poking and peeking
like cuddly pandas
or canoodling otters
splashing and clambering
We roll and meander
impetuously twiddling all the way
atop gregarious green promenades
we pause in slight delay
as we prattle and prance
as we dance to the Crickets singing
nodding to their fiddling
frolicking with all the jiggling
Serendipitous stalks
of snickering flowers pop
to dazzle and razzle our wits
we glide in stripes of candy bits
of rainbows bright
Purple painted paisley
fragrantly flairs in pairs
of scented lavender sweetness
among black-eyed daisies
dusting the woozy air
in a meadow’s billowing bloom
sunflowers sunbathe in costume
We giddily tarry
as we carry
a feast of fancies and treats
artsy bits of charmed delicacies
filled with a peck of upcoming kisses
enticing fantasies that wink
Snuggling shenanigans lead us astray
as we find our rootie-tootie hideaway
hugs as we shy away
from tomfoolery jesting
to lay down and swoon
looking up at the soon to be stars
lingering for the coming of the moon
Murmurs of Starlings
gaggle their harmonies
of chirps
in cheeks and broadened beaks
thrumming tiny melodies.
Swallows sweep and woo
fixated on this unabashed swain
through songbird strains
announcing a shrilling review
broadening in sweet refrains
“I love you…I love you”
Fingerpainting the Monet sky
puffy white cotton words appear
from clouds passing by
while tiny violins spin in the air
piccolos peep
pigeon-toed Doves coo and weep
their contentedness to appease
trailing off the pleasant breeze
I fall upon my knees
My words explode to strew
like a thousand storms set free
“I love you…I love you…I love you”
The verdant leaves
of the cherry trees
rustle as a wagon
loaded with corn
rides deeper into the wide ruts
of a rustic road,
hungry ruminants wallow
by a limpid lake;
cheerful kids wave
and wagtails warble
at my unexpected arrival...
suddenly my Dalmatian barks.
O jovial Autumn
incite my surprise,
and renew my decadent mood!
The grapevines rest
while giving off their fragrance,
and this weary steed
must rest in tranquility
to continue this journey...
before he pants-up grief;
and for mine and his sake,
let him get some sleep!
A sanguine sky
promises the loveliest sunset
ever seen by me
in this rustic Vermont landscape;
thrushes sing with me
to embellish my harmony,
not minding the crickets that
conspire in the hickories,
or the fluttering hawks
that return to their nests..
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Within the first slivers of platinum moonlight, fireflies flicker.
Diamond dust from a bygone comet streaks by, piercing electric skies,
whilst a balmy August twilight enwraps an aging porch.
The gleam of a single candelabra casts light upon
harlequin-green ivy that tangles around worn banisters,
while primroses grow through cracks in the weathered stairs.
Creaking tones of oaken rocking chairs serenade hushed crickets.
Silhouettes of frolicking barn owls coruscate,
as the aroma of fresh peach pie floats along, synchronizing with the zephyrs.
Nostalgia-infused memories materialize, then vaporize like morning dew.
Your resounding laughter gets swept away,
like a swift current pulling transient sands of time with it.
Ephemeral remembrances are all I have of you now—
momentary glimpses through the Wheel of Time's mirror,
for it’s just the summer breeze rocking your vacant chair to and fro.
Chickens, spiders, caterpillars and ice cream ants.
They are dancing the jig in yellow pants.
Roaches, encroaching, poaching and wiggling.
They are trying to imitate with silly looking jiggling.
It is the annual Beastly Big Beetle Ball.
There are centipedes in the thousands, fleas and all.
They are clogging, and logging, and gyrating in the middle.
The crickets and grasshoppers are avidly playing their fiddles.
They are clipping and clogging and slipping, and whee!
Some are sliding and slurping and rubbing a knee.
Legs are whirling, and twirling, yes it is a beautiful fall.
A great October day for the Beastly Big Beetle Ball.
Hope and
Hold the dream
Or you will die fast
Life is the name of-
struggling frantic procession, chaotic crowd,
lunatic tsunami of the ocean, scream on the
broken coast, scorching sunlight, ghostly
thunderstorm, corpse lines for covid-19,
war face of country to country, scenery of poverty,
where you can lose yourself unanimously
So, hold the dream fast or you will die easily
Life is the name of-
winter shawl of father, prayer-mat of mother,
morning tea time of spouse, child’s undue demands,
beautiful dawn of dewdrops, songs of flying birds,
autumnal sun, Buddhist full-moon, love at first sight,
elopement flight, honeymoon night, smiles in bridal bower,
where you can lose yourself without a true life’s fair
So, hold the dream fast or your will die with vanity care
Life is the name of-
a poetry, mixed up poetry morning, sipping tea through
the gap of poet’s eyeglass, benumbed body of the newspaper
on the corridor’s table, banded together bathing of ducks,
velvet touching of blooming flower, reddish sky canvas of twilight,
lights of the evening lamp, prayer of crickets in deserted room,
where you can lose yourself in self-indulgence dome
So, hold the dream fast or your will die without wisdom
They say, "poet lives in future, the reader in present and critic in past"
I say, "live in truth with hope, hold the dream and care the dream fast"
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
09/11/2022
Open Your Eyes
by Kevin Davis, 2024
Open your eyes and see the beauty everywhere,
See the blue sky, the stars, the sun, and the moon.
Look to the trees, the flowers, mountains—stare,
See the colors all around, sing out loud their tune.
Open your ears and listen to the magic of sound,
Listen to the rain fall, crickets, and the birds sing.
Hear the voices of people talking all around,
The radio, concerts, church choirs, and bells that ring.
Open your hands and feel the textures of the earth,
The sun’s warmth, the cool breeze on your skin.
Touch the grass, the bark on the trees, feel their worth,
Let every surface whisper to the senses within.
Open your nose and breathe in the world so sweet,
Smell the flowers, the fresh rain, the ocean tide.
Each scent brings memories and new moments to meet,
Stories carried softly through the air, far and wide.
Open your heart and let gentle emotions flow—
Joy in a smile, comfort in a tender embrace.
Love in kind words, peace in living slow,
Hope shining bright, even in the darkest place.
Open your soul to the wonders that surround,
The simple gifts are found in each passing day.
In every sight, sound, and touch, something profound—
Life whispers softly, “You are blessed in every way.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lace of her glove catches
on the splintered railing~
a pause, unnoticed.
He twiddles with his cufflinks
borrowed, mismatched
gleaming in the afternoon sun.
They stand beneath the white lattice,
two figures pressed like flowers in a book~
her gloves clutching wilting lilies.
Paper lanterns above them
sway like porous promises,
their glow diming at nightfall.
The minister’s words dissolve
into the hum of crickets.
A single bee drifts
through the maid of honor’s
yellow roses.
The gazebo,
weathered white,
holds them all
for just that moment,
before the photographs
turn sepia.
*You may read the accompanying memoir vignette that inspired this poem at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/last_train_to_paris_13604