Random Prompt #8

[Tiger the Lion]

Write a poem inspired by "Mormon Crickets" 

( I mean, how could we not have some fun with this )

Go!

[busker]

Mormon Cricketers

In Salt Lake City
where summer's a piti-
less blaze, the inside of a sedan
that's been in the sun too long, Armageddon
came. For the crickets. Began Psalter Mitty,
binder of books. For there's a Jesus
to each species. Rhesus
monkeys, arachnids, dinosaurmorphs, megalodons,
and each has its own Book of Revelation
hooted or chirped in the desolation
of American Judea, from Iraq to Korea...

'Enough of that, show us titty!'
exclaimed Psalter's patrons, growing restless,
threatening to leave his Boob Launch Party guest-less.

For a typo to leave the brotherhood breastless
was unheard of in regional USA
where you're allowed to be witty
on any topic under the sun
(save for the god given right to a gun,
for on that topic do blood rivers run,
and patriots form a new SA,
but otherwise, you're free
to pee on every tradition,
even a first edition
of Homer's Illiad
in regional, small town USA).

In all this, I forgot to tell you all the fun
stories about Mormon cricketers:
the players, umpires, bastard union picketers,
sometimes all three
inspired by the trinity
being one.

[TranquillityBase]

Mormon cricket
you’re just the ticket
for a noisome plague
on Nevada’s desert plains.
Squashed on the highways,
your fellows come to feed
and get squashed in turn,
then a bit of rain 
makes for Mormon cricket stew
slick as greased owl shit
as my father would say.
Car tires slip and slide,
a little reminder there’s
too many of them, 
but their chitlin armor
is no match for us
except in a 50’s monster flick
The Beginning of the End.

[Wjames]

The demons hatched early this year,
crawling out of sand and into alfalfa fields
to feast on the young shoots
before their roots could take,
massing into a swarm
approaching the city
like a wave above a boat.

I am standing on black tar
with no shoes in the desert,
waiting to be embraced
by ten million limbs.

[brynmawr1]

I lie in the dark
questioning-
crickets
is all I hear.
 
In the morning
throwing the ball
endlessly for my dog
she leaps bounding 
off the patio
with such faith
 
I wonder
what song
in the dark
the crickets sang.