Thursday, July 31, 2008


A couple of days ago, it occurred to me that I hadn't heard the cicadas yet this year. Not to worry. This morning, they sound like a chorus of bandsaws in the trees.

I like cicadas.

Unlike Billy Collins, I think we need more cicadas in our poems.

Anything as weird as a cicada deserves to be celebrated.


Blogger Karen J. Weyant said...

I agree with you Greg. I love the sound of cicadas.

1:37 PM  
Blogger Macy Swain said...

Yes, yes -- more cicadas, more cicadas! I love them too -- I like how you find their purple shells lying around, abandoned seemingly so casually. Did you ever see a bird eat one? They seem to really relish them. i hear they're full of protein.

3:01 PM  
Blogger Anne said...

I've got a cicada poem coming out in an anthology next year. :)

Squirrels eat them too!

10:01 PM  
Blogger Neil Kelly said...

Greg, come to Chicago if you want the cicadas. They're all over like drunk frat dudes in Wrigleyville.

I was writing an essay for this Chicago on-line site while waiting outside of an Emergency Room. I could only hear three things: the El, drunkards around Sheffield Ave, and the cicadas. Those three sounds, plus the one lone star, made the night go by much more interesting.

1:28 AM  
Blogger Christina said...

Man, Collins hates cicadas. He contributes about ten minutes in his workshops to the abomination of cicadas in poetry. I don't much like them, either, in poetry or in life.

6:39 PM  
Blogger Kevin said...


9:20 PM  

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