Sunday, July 15, 2012

Calling Card

Where oh where are the cicadas? 
You can hear their quivering 

Insistence in the pines but never 
A sign of their presence in the air— 

Only their empty shells at the end 
Of summer remind you 

They too were there. 


  1. They're busy singing and listening.This poem radiates the chequered summer forest light of an eternal now. That soon enough will become the autumnal shell of an unremembered then.

    Esteemed you are by every human
    As the summer's sweet-voiced prophet
    The Muses love you, and Apollo too...

    (The Anacreontic odal chorus singing the praises of Vassilis... er, of the Cicada)

  2. Ah, Vassilis,

    the verses (like the man) seem refreshed from an Ionian holiday. Three days seemed an aeon. Welcome home, Odysseus...

  3. Friends—

    I thank you for these two welcoming notes and feel honored that you should place me in such illustrious company—that ubiquitous summer thrummer drumming his ephemeral life away.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...