The Giggle

[Namyh]

The Giggle

In the misty, murky mire of a mangled, marshy mud
rose a Moon betwixt the shadows ‘neath a starry night above.
No bird beat wings. No mouse squeaked. Not even an owl’s hoot
could pierce the stillness clinging to the leaves and plants and roots.

I stomped upon a cigarette. The embers fumed and fizzled.
As I turned to go back inside, I swore I heard a giggle;
not large but small, not big but tiny, not huge but very wee,
behind the house down by the marsh’s solitary tree.

I stepped on leaves. I sloshed thru grass. I parted a bush with fear
and beheld a sight, not often seen, uncommonly vivid and rare.
A tiny stadium filled with bugs, some odd some known by name,
were giggling, cheering in tiny voices at an Insect Baseball game!

Miniature floodlights lit the diamond. A roach hit a highball fly.
A beetle with cap and glove caught it. The audience roared and sighed.
I couldn’t believe it! My mind was blown! Legs and feet went limp
as mosquito vendors shouted “Get your hotdogs, burgers and shrimp!”

Mesmerized, my face went tense. The muscles cramped my jaw.
A scene like this comes only once to remember forevermore.
I moved and something snapped or cracked, a limb, a twig, a branch.
All bugs then turned their eyes on me. Their glare…an avalanche!

They scattered in an instant, even turned off all the lights
and plunged the field in darkness making shadows of the night.
The beating wings, the mouse’s squeak, the owl’s nightly hoot
then pierced the calm to chase the bugs in hungry, hot pursuit
and the tiny voices faded ‘neath a starry night above
in the misty, murky mire of a mangled marshy mud.

Namyh

[Namyh]

Thanks to all those who enjoyed the read. Namyh

[rowens]

I scanned the poem; I don't do that;
you see, I remember the girl who died in the 1980s, who was my best friend,
the meter and rhymes remind me of that, her, things back then.
We used to have Hallowe'en stores, they got real popular. We don't even have them, anymore.


I'm in love with a girl that I call Matilda.
The old feelings. The Cosby comfort of the '80s.


Topical, and super personal, is what gets attention.


Hell, I get the wrong attention.



Hold on,  . . . let me read your poem.

---

That movie called The Fog. The one from the early '80s.
Going to school in the '80s and '90s, these things...

---

They say Knot is good. You're pretty good too.

I watch The X-Files on Comet each night.

That makes no sense.

To me it does.


I'll explain, if you ask.


You have sharp technical skills.

I said it before:
Post your poems for real again, not in for For Fun.


People here are ready for Serious Poems for you again.

Maybe not me, I'm not serious.

But everybody else.

---

Maybe, you don't want your poems to remind of all that.
Maybe you do want your poems to be universal.

I'm was reading, just now, about poetry being about something particukr, or something far    ---- out.

---

I've, cuz I'm a wimp, read the poem six times.

on the side of the road,
Good things and flaws.


Like the old and attractive trailers and houses



come travel

---

The Giggle

In the misty, murky mire of a mangled, marshy mud
rose a Moon betwixt the shadows ‘neath a starry night above.
No bird beat wings. No mouse squeaked. Not even an owl’s hoot
could pierce the stillness clinging to the leaves and plants and roots.

I stomped upon a cigarette. The embers fumed and fizzled.
As I turned to go back inside, I swore I heard a giggle;
not large but small, not big but tiny, not huge but very wee,
behind the house down by the marsh’s solitary tree.

I stepped on leaves. I sloshed thru grass. I parted a bush with fear
and beheld a sight, not often seen, uncommonly vivid and rare.
A tiny stadium filled with bugs, some odd some known by name,
were giggling, cheering in tiny voices at an Insect Baseball game!

Miniature floodlights lit the diamond. A roach hit a highball fly.
A beetle with cap and glove caught it. The audience roared and sighed.
I couldn’t believe it! My mind was blown! Legs and feet went limp
as mosquito vendors shouted “Get your hotdogs, burgers and shrimp!”

Mesmerized, my face went tense. The muscles cramped my jaw.
A scene like this comes only once to remember forevermore.


That is pretty good.

---

I might sound weird; but, you write better poems than you get attention for here.


Write in the Serious and such.
As should spend more of my adventures in the hip areas of town.

I don't.


You: You can write!!!!!

---

The Giggle

In the misty, murky mire of a mangled, marshy mud
rose a Moon betwixt the shadows ‘neath a starry night above.

  You are satirizing yourself like Misty in Yellowjackets.

No. I will engage this whole poem.

 

No bird beat wings. No mouse squeaked. Not even an owl’s hoot
could pierce the stillness clinging to the leaves and plants and roots.

I stomped upon a cigarette. The embers fumed and fizzled.
As I turned to go back inside, I swore I heard a giggle;
not large but small, not big but tiny, not huge but very wee,
behind the house down by the marsh’s solitary tree.

I stepped on leaves. I sloshed thru grass. I parted a bush with fear
and beheld a sight, not often seen, uncommonly vivid and rare.
A tiny stadium filled with bugs, some odd some known by name,
were giggling, cheering in tiny voices at an Insect Baseball game!

Miniature floodlights lit the diamond. A roach hit a highball fly.
A beetle with cap and glove caught it. The audience roared and sighed.
I couldn’t believe it! My mind was blown! Legs and feet went limp
as mosquito vendors shouted “Get your hotdogs, burgers and shrimp!”

Mesmerized, my face went tense. The muscles cramped my jaw.
A scene like this comes only once to remember forevermore.
I moved and something snapped or cracked, a limb, a twig, a branch.
All bugs then turned their eyes on me. Their glare…an avalanche!

They scattered in an instant, even turned off all the lights
and plunged the field in darkness making shadows of the night.
The beating wings, the mouse’s squeak, the owl’s nightly hoot
then pierced the calm to chase the bugs in hungry, hot pursuit
and the tiny voices faded ‘neath a starry night above
in the misty, murky mire of a mangled marshy mud.

Namyh

[/quote]