Cicada Dreaming was told to Roland Robinson in 1965 by Julia Charles of the Yoocum Yoocum clans from the area around Wollumbin in the headwaters of the Tweed River, Northern NSW and is used with permission.
Tiny Dreamtime children, imprisoned in the earth,
pierce the little tree roots to sip sap beneath the dirt.
For seven years, cicada grubs, as they scratch and dig,
keep getting so much bigger that they pop off their skins.
The final time they’re off and up: up a fence, up a trunk, up a shed.
Kids collect the shells they leave, stuck with claws on curling feet.
Buzz, buzz, buzz: cicada wings brush past my nose.
Their raucous chorus is a non-stop drone.
A thousand bodies cling on sticks and twigs and leaves.
Above my ringing ears their yellow wee rains down me.
Every year they deafen us. The noise is really bad -
crying for their mothers, screaming for their dads.
But, this year there are - none.
I’m surprised that I feel sad.
Where have the mad things gone?
Yellow Mondays, Green Grocers,
Black Princes, Cherry Noses -
Much as they annoy me,
I hope that they’ll be back.
He was carrying
an automatic,
ready to pop off;
Frozen in anger,
a wicked time bomb;
Pulsating now
emotional;
Off the handle,
he did not care;
Caught her eyes
on the street;
Fell in love;
Blushing
she smiled
‘Hi.’
Give This Guy a Chance
Throw in
Rowen
The Hypochondriac
Dyin’
Eyan
So Generous is He
Giver
River
The Sneaky One
Wily
Riley
The Parachutist
Glider
Ryder
Legal in Half the States
Ruby’s
Doobies
Cute as a Lass
Bonny
Ronny
So Sweet
Randy’s
candies
Always at the Beach
Randall’s
Sandals
Swam to Florida
Cuban
Rueben
Too Stocky for His Race Horse
Jockey
Rocky
Give him a Hanky, Please
Clammy
Sammy
Prefers Prosecution
Lawyer
Sawyer
Guy with Allergies
Itchy
Richie
Time to Land
Fly low,
Shiloh
Always on Dialysis
Sydney’s
Kidneys
A Simple Rapping Pieman
Rhymin’
Simon
Ballerino
Twirling
Sterling
Why He Was Put in Time Out
Sinbad
be bad
The Guy Whose Buttons Pop off
Glutton
Sutton
A perfect off switch
the soft silence of headphones;
Sink into the sound
of classic rhythm and soul,
take me outside of my head;
I want to be free
even if for a moment;
Acoustic flutters,
that high E string butterfly
snaps and bleeds out in the sky;
Turned all the way up
solace inside the volume;
Three minutes pop off
there’s a drumbeat in my ears
canceling all the world’s noise.
If you are in New York City
Where smog makes the air not so pretty
And a manhole cover explodes in the air
Run as fast as you can, get out of there!
These covers weigh three hundred pounds, these bad boys!
You will hear them pop off, for they make an incredible noise.
They can explode up to two stories high in the sky.
If they hit you on the head, you surely will die.
Glitter to give a shine to your pocket
hold it in your palm keep it to yourself;
Baby bottle of a bubbling rocket
it targets my words they pop off the shelf;
Setting free those comet tails with my fuse,
shattering soul becomes stars on paper;
Little messages with hearts to peruse,
quiet quatrains are more than they appear;
Aimed at you poetry explodes midair,
rich linguistic cascade of the cosmos;
I guess the Muse demanded that I share;
Still I hope you know it was about us;
Slivers of me lie in all that wordplay,
your memento to treasure everyday.
If you pop off like so Duh you’ll get carbonated by the greater leader/
Who’s lewd and balks will infuse and let loose the Dr. pepper/
True shrewd walks through new hues shake up and fizz out/
Who knew soft drink talks brewed late would diffuse and flatten down/
A few could have caught a case while flapping around/
There’s a new juice to use as you grew your own fruits /
To improve clues to truths of uncouth abuse /
How you’ve misused the news and stayed true to loops of untruth/
Life continues in new shoes with cues to choose moves for your crew/
Lives renew his aiming from hereon in we’re here to zero in/
Peer on in at the position I’m a hero in /
I’ve never been as near or within a jeer on sin/
Freer I blend gas and gear up a poster man for my own loved ones/
Disband from that brand with new planned action no acts spun/
Just realism with no love from realization of the matter of faction
There are many names for the common ‘Fart’
To name them all is quite an art
Let’s start off with good old ‘Smell’
Who it’s from we cannot tell
From the mouths of babes a ‘Pop Off’ comes
Always a giggle to all their chums
A ‘Blast Off’ is popular with the wee ones too
Often accompanied with “who’s done a poo”?
The ‘Clanger’ is popular with many a folk
Teenage boys and your average bloke
Grandma says can you please refrain
From letting ‘Fluffy off the Chain’
Here are some more just to name a few
There’s ‘Flatulence’, ‘Wind’ and ‘Air-Poo’
Honourable mentions go to these below
‘Gas’, ‘Toot’ and ‘Fluff’
Other names for ‘letting go’
Although impressive these names above
The trophy goes
To ‘Puff of Love’
Art is everywhere, buddy.
Flourishing all around you.
A stimulus maximus.
80 arrows at your heart
All the time.
Yet you don't feel it.
It's too much.
You're out there.
Somewhere.
You're somewhere all the time.
While miracles pop off all over the place.
Who cares!
You're trying to keep hold
Of your 5 year old.
There once was a man nicknamed " Nutty "
It was down to the way he played Footie,
Each match he'd score ten
Again and again
Then he'd pop off for a pint and a butty.
Each family tree has its nuts.
Such ones are quirky, have guts!
But to them, no surprise!
Their mum rolls her eyes.
She lets out a sigh and tuts.
He went to a sanitarium.
He thought it was an aquarium.
" So, I'm nutty says you?
You haven't a clue!
I'm really a veterinarian. "
" You are nutty! " Says you to me.
Is this a complement? Am I funny?
But then you pretend
That it wouldn't offend
You ask, " What's the matter honey? "
Written 19th September 2021
For the " N " Contest - Sponsor : Constance La France
Wonder what it would be like to kiss the sky
Something I want to do before I pop off and die
I would make sure that the sky was bright blue
Kissing a grey or dark sky just wouldn't do
The month is also a most careful consideration
Decided that it would be June after deliberation
Then of course the time is an important decision
Kissing it at ten o'clock would be my position
I would make sure the whole world could see
How happy kissing the sky would make me
Another thing to tick from the bucket list
The blue sky in June has now been kissed
Once upon a time, there was a young girl who filled the air around her with words.
At first, it was comforting to others that she showed the world who she was. But people began to tire of it.
The girl moved from place to place, trying to find someone who could appreciate the words the way she did.
But wherever she went, nobody enjoyed the words. Slowly but surely, the people began to leave her until the girl was all alone.
She didn’t know what to do. Everyone had deserted her. She was the only one left. Just her and her words.
But then she realized something. She was not alone if she had her words. She could fill her empty world with them.
So the girl weaved intricate stories with her words. The characters seemed to pop off the page and occupy her desolate home.
The storywriter filled up her life with words, and suddenly, she didn’t feel so alone…
In case you are wondering, this is the story of my life.
I am a bright yellow blossom
I spread beauty across the lawn
But, adults consider me a weed
And children play games
Wanting to pop off my head!
I am a Dandelion and deserve respect
I am prettier than muddy snow!
When I turn soft delicate white,
People shake me in the wind!
Do they realize my seeds spread more?
Now here comes a Dandelion plucking tool
Oh, My!
Heidi Sands
5/17/18
Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be
Oh Dear, what can the matter be
the mirrors all lie – they never flatter me
all they see is a much larger – fatter me
they should be charged with reflective battery
I think the wash shrunk my favorite top
for when I inhale – the buttons pop off
Oh Dear, the jeans in the glass
cannot be mine – just look at that ass
it cannot be true – there must be a flaw
there’s double the chin beneath a slack jaw
Oh Dear, look at that matted coif
I started teasing and just couldn’t stop
Dear, dear, it just isn’t fair
that reflection - it’s perfectly clear
full of looking glass malice
a “Rabbit Hole” palace
that tortured poor Alice
Oh Dear, what can the matter be
why must I seek flat glass flattery
2/1/2018
submitted to – Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Barry Stebbings
Winter forecast 2018
My life seasonally dull
Windy, clouded little sun
But I can see beyond the horizon
I'm lookin for
Whether forecast a better life being...
Forecast in 2018
Mood swings precipitation teary hues
Skies condition will be blue
NO! I see my future sunny and clear
No rain in the atmosphere
Still present feeling sad, partly cloudy
Thunder claps, loudly
Tornadic winds blow
My future clear I know
Let still blown winds I feel a little temperate
Hot, upper nineties
Self-destructive canyons
Valleys rivers full rain fallen in them
Mad at myself windy, forty miles per hour
Pop off emotionally hundred percent occasional tears
As I'm in medium range
My future seems bright
Unwanted pressure precipitation
Blizzard, tsunami, hurricanes none of this gonna be
In my weather forecast of 2018
1/12/18
For Contest: WEATHER FORECAST
Sponsored by: VIV WIGLEY
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