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Sing, Cicada. Serenade!

Randy Baker's prompt challenge

By Salomé SaffiriPublished 4 months ago Updated 4 months ago 1 min read
Cicada on tree branch; Wang Zhen (1867–1938); China, modern period, autumn 1919

Whisper whisper in the night

Chatter chatter

Tiny voices serenade

Of what matters:

Seventeen cascading years

Earth and air begotten,

Enigmatic life appears

Thoroughly forgotten.

Underground labyrinth -

To the highest branches

Velvety cicada nymph

In emergence dances

Sing, cicada, hymnal song!

Ethereal symbol.

Sing cicada all night long

Resurrection hymnals

Sing of winter in the night,

Everlasting slumber,

Sing of how you dream of light

And eternal summer.

Oh the things your hymnal bears

Your heart aching!

Seventeen longstanding years,

In the making.

Odenature poetryinspirationalFor Fun

About the Creator

Salomé Saffiri

Writing - is my purpose. I feel elated when my thoughts assume shapes, and turn into Timberwolves, running through the snowbound planes of fresh paper, leaving the black ink of their paw prints behind.

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Eye opening

    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

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Comments (8)

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  • S. A. Crawford3 months ago

    This is beautiful - I can almost feel the warm night air and hear them!

  • Randy Baker3 months ago

    Congratulations! You earned a 3rd Place win with your entry. Good job!

  • C. Rommial Butler3 months ago

    Stunning work! Well-wrought! The fan in the picture was a good choice too, a lovely, delicate depiction that matches the poem!

  • Omggg, this was soooo beautiful! I'm so mesmerised by your take on Randy's prompts!

  • J3 months ago

    This is so wonderfully worded, and the tempo felt so natural. If I were a cicada, I would be flattered.

  • John Cox4 months ago

    This is a wonderful ode to the cicada! I love your poetry, it tickles my tongue and brings pleasure to my heart.

  • Anna 4 months ago

    Incredible work! Well done!

  • Novel Allen4 months ago

    I felt like I was singing a song of the cicadas, this was a lovely read. Seventeen seems the heart of the poem, it lingers out there somewhere.

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