Yes, today's poem is yet another one about writing ... at least writing was what I had in mind when this poem came together.
It was written by a young whippersnapper, contemplating the approach of his seventieth birthday.
Since then he has matured a bit. He's a little more sedate, a little more laid-back, and certainly not the ruler of any tree, although he has received a bit of recognition for his poetry.
He has a first collection of poetry ... Chance of Rain ... on a few book store shelves, and even in some homes ... a second collection ... Hollyhocks ... which came out last year ... and a third ... Wood Smoke ... coming out later this year from Finishing Line Press. (Stay tuned for word on that one)
His song is a little more subdued than it was when today's poem was first written. But if you listen closely you might hear it, not so much a rasping, buzzing sound now ... something more like a soft humming, as though to oneself, or to those nearby.
And I thank you for listening to today's poem, originally published in Parnassus Literary Journal:
SEVENTY-YEAR LOCUST
I have lain dormant,
quietly mutating
into my present form,
and now I am
ready to cast off
that ancient husk
of my past,
emerge to my own song,
rasping, buzzing,
insinuating myself
into your consciousness.
I give you fair warning:
I am no June bug
on a string.
I am the real thing,
a rip-snorter
on the wing,
ruler of my tree.
Listen to me.
You can't help
but hear my song.
© 1996
***
Today's word: sedate
Afterthoughts ...in response to your comments:
I know, Helen ... seventy is stretching it a bit in the locust's life cycle, but I'm glad you understood what I was getting at. Also, I always appreciate the comments which visitors leave ... especially in this age when everybody is so busy. Even if they don't comment, I can tell they've dropped by (the all-seeing counter) ... maybe just to see if I'm still here ... maybe (I hope) because they enjoy the quiet interlude ... like watching a sunset with a friend. Whatever the reasons, I do appreciate the visits ... the comments ... the electronic pats on the back which keep me going when it seems so uphill. And I appreciate your contributions to the continuing conversations in "Squiggles & Giggles," too. Do drop by any time. I'll keep a light in the window.
2 comments:
I try not to be the only one to make comments...wish others would more often.
I had to laugh when I read this...first of all, I loved the title...being an entomologist's daughter, I first looked and wondered if there was a seventy-year locus...thought it possible, but hadn't heard of it. Then I realized when I read Chosen Words, what it was about and loved the poem, but had to smile as I read one...since, as you know I'm older than the seventy-year old free person in your poem...old enough to know better...well, almost. It's just when you go in to the doctor for tests...like yesterday...and they sort of pat you on the head--that makes your age hit you. They ask you if you live alone and say how wonderful that is and I know the young woman doctor giving the test was thinking that someone my age shouldn't. Almost all my friends do, unless they still have a husband. I still feel I can do anything I choose to do...but it may not be so. Maybe I could at the age of the poet at the time he (you) wrote this.
I do enjoy your poetry, Bob, Chosen Words, and comments--I wish I could see more often. Oh...and also, of course I enjoy S&G. I guess reading your site the about the best part of my day, most days. I'm not in the Seventy Year Locust stage, but a good stage. Now, I want to go on S&G to thank people who reccommend books. You have a way, Bob, along with your followers, of making life more interesting to all your readers/followers...thank you.
Helen
PS. I worded something completely wrong in the comment...I said I wished I could see more...with glasses I see all I want to see. I meant that I wished there were more comments on here to "see"...or read. Sorry. Helen
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