August Exultation

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Cicadas sing as if pure piping is

The only thing.  It is their only thing.

They use their tymbals to produce their zizzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Unceasing in their days.  No angel wing

Is used and not imagined even in

Their brains.  The clicking membranes blur so fast

That they create a sound as long as sin.

Combined the buggie chorus dins as vast

As Lucifer’s rebellion so the noise

Seems like immortal limb percussion free

Of mere mortality.  The zizzzz has poise

Like Gabriel relating God’s decree.

  We Marys bow.  We think we have a choice

    But really only buggie minds rejoice.

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