Cicada summer - final edit

[just mercedes]

Cicada summer                                                                                    
 
 
 
At dawn they wake,
struggle up through the earth,
emerge into the light
exhausted, clinging helplessly.
Thousands have moved as one.
 
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva clustered like fruit.
 
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving skins like shucked gloves.
 
Wings unfold, pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling,
they reproduce their pain:
agony of light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
 
Disguised inside that serenade,
drifting in and out of focus;
the voice of a faint angelic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.





 








#3 Edit


At dawn they escape.
After seventeen years underground
they struggle blindly up through soil
into the light, exhausted,
climbing, clinging helplessly.
Thousand have moved as one.
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva in clusters, an alien fruit.
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving empty skins like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling for a mate
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that serenade
drifting in and out of focus
a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.


















#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright
they can only cling helplessly.
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with
red pinhead eyes. They crawl free
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings -
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.













This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.

#1 edit

Underground  
for seventeen years they waited;
this dawn they escape.
As the sky lightens they climb,
cling to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their pallid skins darken
then split, to reveal black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes. Crawling free,
they leave ghostly husks behind.
Thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then the din begins:
first painful light, struggle to climb,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.




Underground  
for seventeen years
they grew and waited;
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken,
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light,
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

[Tiger the Lion]

Great read. I enjoyed this very much and couldn't find much to tweak that wasn't just my own preference. "glassy red pinhead eyes" might be too many adjectives without a comma or an "and" in there somewhere.
I especially liked "unoiled machine", and how all the natural imagery quickly turned mechanical and tense.
Paul

[just mercedes]

Great read. I enjoyed this very much and couldn't find much to tweak that wasn't just my own preference. "glassy red pinhead eyes" might be too many adjectives without a comma or an "and" in there somewhere.
I especially liked "unoiled machine", and how all the natural imagery quickly turned mechanical and tense.
Paul

Yes - I knew there was one too many adjectives there but couldn't decide which to do away with. I think 'glassy' will go in the edit. Thanks for reading, and your comments.

[Erthona]

Underground
for seventeen years
they grew and waited; this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens

they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken, < creamy is not a color, there are many things that a re creamy beside cold cream, or cream>
split, reveal black gargoyles with <"then split to reveal...">
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling, >
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light, <"painful" was disruptive for me>
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

Most of my comments are stylistic, although they were also directed at what I felt from my own reading were disruptive.

I don't think the enjambment is generally working here, primarily because every time it occurred I said to myself, "Oh, enjambment". I'll admit I'm not a big fan of enjambment, but that has more to do with how most people use it, or overuse it, not against it when used well.

I do like the idea and there are some really good images here.

Dale

[Brownlie]

This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.



Underground
for seventeen years
they grew and waited; -- Well, I like the way it works in the poem, but your syntax would read a little awkwardly in prose without a comma after years, or by saying it like this: They grew and waited for seventeen years underground. Maybe even, They grew and waited, underground, for seventeen years.
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken, -- I suppose creamy and dark are more ambiguous ways of representing shades that are like white and black. The poem may benefit from some fancy more exact colors.
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then -- Maybe a comma here, but the line break already gives you a pause.
the din begins: first painful light, -- I really like this colon here
struggle to climb, torment of split skin, -- I suppose you might want to replace the adjective with a detail that suggests "torment."
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again, - I like do it again: it gives the whole poem a sort of cyclical feeling
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

These things are creepy. The unoiled machine is not a bad way to describe them. I don't know how much you know about cicadas, but you may benefit from putting in more exact details about them. I sort of think about that Short story "Consider the Lobster," by David Foster Wallace. Here's some supposed information on Cicadas I've pilfered from Wikipedia that may be helpful.

"The male cicada has loud noisemakers called "tymbals" on the sides of the abdominal base. Its "singing" is not the stridulation (where one structure is rubbed against another) that characterizes many other familiar sound-producing insects, such as crickets. Rather, the tymbals are regions of the exoskeleton that form a complex membrane with thin, membranous portions and thickened ribs; contracting the internal tymbal muscles produces a clicking sound as the tymbals buckle inwards, and the relaxing of the muscles causes the tymbals to return to their original position, producing another click. The interior of the male abdomen is mostly hollow, which amplifies the sound. A cicada rapidly vibrates these membranes, and enlarged chambers derived from the tracheae make its body serve as a resonance chamber, further amplifying the sound. The cicada modulates the sound by positioning its abdomen toward or away from the substrate. Additionally, each species has its own distinctive song.[1]

Average temperature of the natural habitat for the South American species Fidicina rana is approximately 29 °C (84 °F). During sound production, the temperature of the tymbal muscles was found to be significantly higher.[16] Cicadas sing most actively in hot weather and do their most spirited singing during the hotter hours of a summer day, in a roughly 24 hour cycle.

Although only males produce the cicadas' distinctive sound, both sexes have tympana, which are membranous structures used to detect sounds. They are thus the cicadas' equivalent of ears. Males can disable their own tympana while calling.[17]

Some cicadas produce sounds up to 120 dB (SPL),[17] among the loudest of all insect-produced sounds.[18] This is notable because the song is loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss in humans should the cicada sing just outside the listener's ear. Conversely, some small species have songs so high in pitch that the noise is inaudible to humans.[6] Species have different mating songs, ensuring that the appropriate mate is attracted. It can be difficult to determine from which direction(s) a cicada song is coming because the low pitch carries well.

In addition to the mating song, many species also have a distinct distress call, usually a broken and erratic sound that the insect emits when seized. A number of species also have a courtship song, which is often a quieter call and is produced after a female has been drawn by the calling song."

Well, I've tried to help you anyhow. Thanks for posting.

[just mercedes]

Thanks, Dale and Brownlie - I've taken some on board, ignored some, as usual ...I love the way a poem opens out again when another critical eye looks it over.

[just mercedes]

It's still not there though.

[billy]

only just started getting back in to feedback so missed the two other attemps. [i'll just comment on this one]
i like the poem, i'm a sucker for nature poems. standing back i get the feeling the poet is concentrating too much on enjambment and brevity and missing out on telling the poem they want to tell [just conjecture on my part] i think it can be lipped in some place and extended in others

you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
a faint ecstatic choir

i don't think you need to edit to much more. just concentrate on the enjambment and the connective tissue

#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright  feels cheesy [it's the only way i can say it. the bright light part]
they can only cling helplessly.  [can only] feels unnecessary
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells  what pendualtes? them or the twig?
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with

red pinhead eyes. They crawl free i like the image, it has a certain nasty quality
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle  2nd light, your choice but would another word do?
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings - been said 6 lines above
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral good simile to end on
that so frightened you as a child.

[tectak]

#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright
they can only cling helplessly.
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with
red pinhead eyes. They crawl free
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings -
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.



OK. Let's not get hung up on punctuation this is almost as good as you could get it without losing some of the charm having said that a little can go a long way towards clarity it is important.

So, L1-L3. Is it to be:
"At dawn they escape.
(After) seventeen years underground
they climb up in to light so bright...."
or:
"At dawn they escape (from)
seventeen years underground.
They climb up in to light so bright..."

You may say it matters not and I agree BUT whichever YOU choose make it clear. Why not?
It is the disconnect of L4 that is problematical...though not seriously. What characteristic of light, bright or otherwise, induces "helpless clinging."
Disputed imagery annoys me, too. After all, it is your poem, you know what you saw...but was what you saw adequately proscribed or described by light causing "helpless clinging"? The light I give you, it is without doubt causitive of something; temporary blindness, I would suggest. I will take a view here. I suspect that helpless clinging is NOT caused by light but by exhaustion. Yes? You see, it is  not until L9 that metamorphosis exposes eyes...veracity vortex, going down.
Now you have to take a hit. The whole idea, let's call it a concept rather than a conception, is WORTH spending some serious time on. I can feel your frustration with the way this cookie crumbles...but it does crumble. The whole damn thing breaks up into smaller and smaller chronological crumbs. I can only ask you to go back to it and make more, much more, of your cameo observations. Do not lose what could be a fine metaphor for the struggle of birth, struggle of life and the inevitability of death in teacup.
Good luck with it. It is all yours....what do I know about cicadas?

Best,
tectak







This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.

#1 edit

Underground  
for seventeen years they waited;
this dawn they escape.
As the sky lightens they climb,
cling to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their pallid skins darken
then split, to reveal black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes. Crawling free,
they leave ghostly husks behind.
Thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then the din begins:
first painful light, struggle to climb,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.




Underground  
for seventeen years
they grew and waited;
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken,
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light,
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

[just mercedes]

Thanks billy and tectak - getting there.

[tectak]

#3 Edit


At dawn they escape.
After seventeen years underground
they struggle blindly up through soil
into the light, exhausted, Period after a sentence.So:
After seventeen years underground,
they struggle blindly up through soil.
Exausted by climbing; each clinging helplessly.
climbing, clinging helplessly.
Thousand have moved as one.
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva in clusters, an alien fruit.
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free I shot an elephant in my pyjamas. the red pinhead eyes who crawl free? A must see.
leaving empty skins like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then "then" is superflous in the time continuum. Now would be a better chronological certainty.
the din begins - calling for a mate
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that serenade
drifting in and out of focus
a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.

...but going rapidly in the right direction.
Good egg,
tectak
















#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright
they can only cling helplessly.
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with
red pinhead eyes. They crawl free
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings -
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.













This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.

#1 edit

Underground  
for seventeen years they waited;
this dawn they escape.
As the sky lightens they climb,
cling to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their pallid skins darken
then split, to reveal black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes. Crawling free,
they leave ghostly husks behind.
Thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then the din begins:
first painful light, struggle to climb,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.




Underground  
for seventeen years
they grew and waited;
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken,
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light,
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

[/b]

[just mercedes]

Thanks tektak! I'll wait a bit and see if there's more before revising again.

[onepapa]

#3 Edit


At dawn they escape.
After seventeen years underground
they struggle blindly up through soil
into the light, exhausted,
climbing, clinging helplessly.
Thousand have moved as one.
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva in clusters, an alien fruit.
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving empty skins like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling for a mate
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that serenade
drifting in and out of focus
a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.


















#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright
they can only cling helplessly.
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with
red pinhead eyes. They crawl free
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings -
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.













This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.

#1 edit

Underground  
for seventeen years they waited;
this dawn they escape.
As the sky lightens they climb,
cling to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their pallid skins darken
then split, to reveal black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes. Crawling free,
they leave ghostly husks behind.
Thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then the din begins:
first painful light, struggle to climb,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.




Underground  
for seventeen years
they grew and waited;
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken,
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light,
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

just mercedes,

Only two small things to consider: perhaps you meant "Thousands have moved as one" and you might consider "blindly struggle" in pace of "struggle blindly".

This is extremely well done and I would stop editing it and send it for publication. The growing horror and chaos that ends with the air shrieking and then the transition to the faint choir is exquisite.

onepapa

[Leah S.]

#3 Edit


At dawn they escape.
After seventeen years underground
they struggle blindly up through soil
into the light, exhausted,
climbing, clinging helplessly.
Thousand have moved as one.You mean 'thousands,' right? I'm wondering about 'have moved' since the tense is a little different.
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva in clusters, an alien fruit.
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles I miss the description of their weird off white (pus colored, to me) skins before they emerge.
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving empty skins like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling for a mate
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that serenade
drifting in and out of focus
a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.






Finally checking in on this one...I really like it, and I've seen the cicada event twice in Maryland.











#2 Edit


At dawn they escape
seventeen years underground
climb up into light so bright
they can only cling helplessly.
Twigs and reeds sag under their weight,
pendulate, paused while their shells
darken and split, revealing
glittering black gargoyles with
red pinhead eyes. They crawl free
leaving husks like shucked gloves.
Thumb-sized wings pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - before flying
they reproduce their pain:
agony of first light, struggle
to change, ruptured skin, 
birth shock, stretching wings -
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
Disguised inside that alien finale
coming and going like radio waves
you can hear a faint ecstatic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.













This is another I've worked on for so long I can't see it any more - any help would be appreciated.

#1 edit

Underground  
for seventeen years they waited;
this dawn they escape.
As the sky lightens they climb,
cling to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their pallid skins darken
then split, to reveal black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes. Crawling free,
they leave ghostly husks behind.
Thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then the din begins:
first painful light, struggle to climb,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.




Underground  
for seventeen years
they grew and waited;
this dawn they escape.
As light strengthens
they climb high, cling
to tree trunks, branches, twigs;
reeds bend under their weight.
Their creamy skins darken,
split, reveal black gargoyles with
glassy red pinhead eyes. Crawling,
they leave their husks behind. Crinkled
thumb-sized wings pump up,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins: first painful light,
struggle to climb, torment of split skin,
birth shock, the urge to mate, do it again,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine. Within
that alien orchestration you can hear
the faint mechanical chant of a choir –
the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so terrified you as a child.

[just mercedes]

OK, thanks all! Further edited (but not much) it found a place in Kind of a Hurricane Press anthology 'Emergence'. Available soon.

[just mercedes]

Thank you, all who helped me with this - it is in EAB Publishing's Midnight Circus, 2017 Summer issue, out soon.

Final edit:

Cicada summer                                                                                    
 
 
 
At dawn they wake,
struggle up through the earth,
emerge into the light
exhausted, clinging helplessly.
Thousands have moved as one.
 
Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva clustered like fruit.
 
Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving skins like shucked gloves.
 
Wings unfold, pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling,
they reproduce their pain:
agony of light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.
 
Disguised inside that serenade,
drifting in and out of focus;
the voice of a faint angelic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.





 

[just mercedes]

Cicada summer (as published in Midnight Circus Summer 2017)



At dawn they wake,
struggle up through the earth,
emerge into the light
exhausted, clinging helplessly.
Thousands have moved as one.

Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva clustered like fruit.

Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving skins like shucked gloves.

Wings unfold, pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling,
they reproduce their pain:
agony of light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.

Disguised inside that serenade,
drifting in and out of focus;
the voice of a faint angelic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.


 
Thanks again, all who helped with this! It was a long process.

[ellajam]

Oh, Mercedes, you're always a great example of the value of hard work, and of making those tough choices. Not to diminish talent, creation takes work.

I especially love

"they reproduce their pain"

I'm glad this poem will get a wider audience, well done.

[nibbed]

Hi Mercedes

What a wonderful poem, so descriptive I can see and hear the entire scene. The ending leaves me intriqued, too. Such an amazing pen. I love the"unolied machine" as they really have that sound, almost the screeching and spinning of a rusty rotor, that also captures how sticky those critters are. Good job, very well worked through. Congrats on your publication. Looks as though it landed it a very fine, befitting place, indeed!
Have a wonderful day!

janine

[CNL]

Cicada summer    (as published in Midnight Circus Summer 2017)                                                                              



At dawn they wake,
struggle up through the earth,
emerge into the light
exhausted, clinging helplessly.
Thousands have moved as one.

Twigs and reeds sag under the weight
of larva clustered like fruit.

Their shells darken and split,
reveal glittering black gargoyles
with red pinhead eyes who crawl free
leaving skins like shucked gloves.

Wings unfold, pump,
stretch and set. Then
the din begins - calling,
they reproduce their pain:
agony of light, helplessness,
ruptured skin, birth shock,
consciousness, loneliness,
all given voice until the air shakes
and shrieks like an unoiled machine.

Disguised inside that serenade,
drifting in and out of focus;
the voice of a faint angelic choir
like the one in St. Augustine’s cathedral
that so frightened you as a child.


 
Thanks again, all who helped with this! It was a long process.

That started as a series of nice descriptions that made me want to browse wikipedia and ended as a powerful metaphor that will be stuck in my head for the foreseeable future. I love how, starting with "agony of light (which is great, by the way)," you express the chaos of their experience with all those successive adjectives, and especially how you broke up the conceptual descriptions with those raw, physical descriptions (ruptured skin, birth shock). The way that stanza returns to softer, airy words like consciousness and loneliness right after those two intense, graphic phrases had this whiplash effect on my senses that really complemented the turmoil you were trying to express. And of course the last section triples the meaning of all that pain you described so well. I loved this.