Linda's Cicada Lament - in rhyme
As a recent inductee into the ranks
Of the elders, the aged, the seniors, the cranks
It’s incumbent on me to guide the youth
Toward the summit of wisdom, the essence of truth.
Dreams worth pursuing and precepts worth trusting,
For discerning the pure from the purely disgusting.
Search as I might for my inner sagacity
What eluded my grasp was the elder’s capacity
To mine the depth of the human soul
And weave mental schisms into a whole.
Alas, my soul lacked its first mystic flight.
I’d not seen, nor felt, nor unshackled God’s light.
As time drew near when I’d fall apart
On my maiden voyage this hag did depart.
I embarked on a quest to ensure my success
In endowing my kin with a sage’s bequest.
Twin paths I trod to solve this shortcoming
Hoping that wisdom would soon be forthcoming.
My left-sided brain led my first pursuit
Into science texts of great repute.
Searching for signs of Nature’s acumen
To exceed the limits of just being human.
I studied the plants, the weather, the flowers
Seeking signs of the planet’s mysterious powers.
My right-sided brain sought sensations internal
To free suppressed insights profound and eternal.
Long hours were spent in deep meditation,
Breathing and chanting without cessation.
Always hoping that there’d arise from my soul
Revelations to help me fulfill my life’s goal.
I failed …
Uninspired by evidence of slow mutations
Food chains, cycles, and swift adaptations,
The sacred proportions of pure Fibonacci
Left my spirit mundane, uncentered, and crotchy.
I failed again….
My mindless habits and stubborn cravings
Resisted blissful alpha-wavings.
My soul remained fallow. My brain remained stuck.
Enlightenment had not yet struck!
I resigned to ditch this whole enterprise
When an unexpected surprise did arise.
A banal email delivered this miracle.
And vanquished all troublesome thoughts satirical.
It arrived exactly in the time of nick
From your friend and mine, the poet named Mic.
After seventeen years of cicada hiatus
Their return, at last, really does await us.
We’re gathering to honor the insect’s arrival
Of billions or more that ensures their survival.
Please write a poem that helps us confer a
Collective bug hug to these hemiptera.
With eager excitement I answered Mic
“Yes! Add my name to your cicada shtick.
I’ll hone rhymes and verse until I complete
A tribute to thwart deadly thoughts of Deet.
These insects may guide my quest to heighten,
Arouse, inspire, and enlighten.
Through millions of years of natural selection
Cicadas embody nature’s perfection.
Biological wonders. They’re born operatic
But through their long sleep, they’re purely pragmatic.
Synchronizing births as if one compound being
Without ever speaking, they’ve mastered agreeing.
If meditation’s the means to secure
A vision of truth everlasting and pure,
As radiant as if it were sent by the gods,
It would be revealed by these arthropods
Who measure the units of their sitting
Adding ten years to seven without ever quitting.
Another failure …
Alas, my rekindled hopes for a teaching collapsed
I learned, before an hour had lapsed,
Cicadas have squandered advantage sublime
From Mother Nature and Father Time.
Cicadas are vulgar, gross, and uncouth,
Conduct that can’t be excused by their youth.
These sex-crazed bugs seize all temptations
With violent spasms of dorsal vibrations.
The ear splitting din of competitive shrieking,
And nasal assaults from pheromones reeking
As sacks of carnal liquids combust!
They’re consumed by passions, devoured by lust.
The shocking truth lies beyond all doubts
They’re a raucous bunch of horny louts!
Please excuse my bold negativity
As I proclaim “Folly to this festivity!”
And lest you resent me as your party pooper
Here’s a remedy for our communal blooper.
When cicada lifecycles are diagnosed
May I revise the reason to offer a toast
Let’s celebrate a new condition
To replace our old depraved position
That honored their periodic RETURN
When it’s their DEPARTURE for which we yearn.
Let’s gather to breathe a sigh of relief
And rejoice that this grief is infrequent and brief!