Category Archives: Cicadas

In the Night

Guess I’ve decided I can’t let Andrew Griffin write all the good cicada poems. In the Night With you gone there’s nothing in the night but trees wild with wind and cicadas’ ceaseless longing

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cicadas, Cinquain, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, The Wind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Poe Vs. Cicadas

Was it these goddamn August cicadas Poe heard ring the thin moon all night against the high-pitched sky, or just fucking tinnitus?

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cicadas, Edgar Allan Poe, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka, The Moon | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment