.

To a Cicada

So, welcome back, you ancient thing!
Some time ago, your tribe took wing;
But here you are again, my friend,
These summer nights with me to spend.

Some may have thought you’d left for good,
But you’ve come back—I knew you would!—
To comfort aching hearts that grieve
With soothing songs this tranquil eve.

You’ve come with many a minstrel friend,
Your treble voices here to blend;
And as you sing, the world around
Throbs with a glowing orb of sound.

Such otherworldly tones you make!
Your trilling makes the still air quake;
Its strange vibrations hypnotize
And cast a spell on drooping eyes.

Your alien strains are so bizarre—
Like saucers from a distant star—
Yet with a sweetness from on high
Like choirs of angels in the sky.

Entrancing, weird, mysterious,
Like sounds which drove delirious
Ulysses when he dared to hear
The sirens singing in his ear.

Your sounds are not lugubrious,
But pleasant and salubrious.
And so, I give thanks for this balm
That fills my heart with quiet calm.

It always makes my heart rejoice
To hear your shrill, yet cheerful voice.
And so, my songful friend, I say,
I’m glad you’re back; I hope you’ll stay!

.

.

Fiona

Beside me on the couch she lies,
Her boney body next to mine,
Curled up in total trust, she sighs,
Content beside me to recline.

A pile of wrinkles, flesh, and fur
Poured out and pleased there to abide,
She rests in peace, without a stir,
Her wet snout pressed against my side.

I scratch behind her outspread ears,
Which crown like fronds her agéd head,
Then, looking up, she slowly peers
Into my eyes, with thoughts unsaid.

She listens as I speak her name
And in her cloudy eyes that gaze
Into my soul, I see a flame
Of deep affection warmly blaze.

That flame like some bright beacon shines
Through days of darkness, rain, and fog;
It streams from that pure love that binds
As one a master and his dog.

“Beloved Fiona, sixteen years
You’ve been with us and borne your load
Of testing, traumas, trials and fears
Along life’s dusty, pilgrim road.

“I thank you, God, for this sweet friend
You’ve made to be a source of joy,
Who waits for me around each bend,
With playful gaze, so cute and coy.”

A model of undying love,
Her loyal heart is free of guile,
As pure as rain drops from above–
And how her antics make me smile!

Someday, upon the shore of time,
While listening to life’s rolling tide,
Upon the wind, an evening chime
Will bid us leave this world so wide.

Joined in our shared mortality,
We walk along life’s golden strand
But when that chime calls her or me,
Then one of us will leave the land.

Now sunset blossoms like a flower
With rosy beams at close of day,
But soon we’ll reach that shade-filled hour
Of sad departure and decay.

Till then, we’ll sit and rest a while
And I’ll be blessed each time her face
Displays a “Mona Lisa” smile,
And charms me with her canine grace!

.

.

Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth.

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23 Responses

  1. Cynthia Erlandson

    Thank you for the lovely poem about cicadas. I like the way you describe their music. It has long fascinated me, as well; I always wonder what it is that makes their music — which is probably heard by many as just a buzzing noise — sound so beautiful and peaceful, as if they are “choirs of angels in the sky”.
    Just a suggestion; one thing I would try to change are grammatical inversions such as “summer nights with me to spend” and “treble voices here to blend”. It seems to me that those sorts of inversions interrupt the beautiful flow of a poem by introducing a construction we wouldn’t use in everyday speech; the reader can see the poet struggling for a rhyme.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Cynthia, for your reflections on my poem. I know that many dislike the sound of cicadas, pero I remember how, as a small child, I would lie on the hood of my parents car on summer evenings and would nearly fall asleep listening to their pulsating drone; it had on me a hypnotic effect that was not unpleasant at all. Now, it could be that what I heard was really the sound of crickets, not cicadas– but I was TOLD that the sound I heard was produced by cicadas; hence the title of my poem.

      Reply
      • Edward Stansell

        Summer would not quite be summer without the buzzing tone of cicadas. I hear people complain about them and wonder how they could not like their comforting song saying all is right with the world.

        Fiona is a heart warming tale of a man and his best and most loyal friend and the bitter sweet thoughts of their parting ways.

        VERY enjoyable poems. Thank you.

  2. Paul A. Freeman

    Those cicadas really are something else, like those frogs that set up shop in dry riverbeds for years.

    And what a fine tribute to a man’s best friend.

    Thanks for the reads.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      And thank you, Phil, for taking the time to read the poems. I´m glad you enjoyed them.

      Reply
  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Since I am back in Texas, I must be missing the cicada songs that are mostly east of the Mississippi. You did wonderful job of describing them and their musical qualities. The love affair between a man and his dog was charming and beautifully rhymed in “Fiona.” This poem was easy to read and seemed just to roll along.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Roy, for sharing your thoughts. I know that poems about pets run the risk of being maudlin– but I think most pet owners who feel a warm affection for their pets will identify with what I´ve written and indulge me in a little “sentimentalism”.

      Reply
  4. Yael

    These are lovely and relatable critter poems and I enjoyed the details in each of them. They are very nice to read while I’m taking a little shade break from farm work. The second one also makes me want to go hug my dog right now.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Yael,
      Thanks for expressing your appreciation of the poems. I am very pleased to know that what I wrote moves you to want to go give your dog a hug!

      Reply
  5. Phil S. Rogers

    Really enjoyed both poems. I was afraid that Fiona was going to have a sad ending; so glad it did not. Thank you, Martin!

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Phil, for your response. Of course, since Fiona is still here with me and “smiling” away, there is no sad ending to the poem– though there is a note of “anticipated” sadness in thinking of future loss. I know that when she leave us, I´ll shed some tears, but I believe the sadness will be mingled with happy memories of the time she was with us and nostalgic chuckles thinking of her really humorous canine antics, mannerisms and expressions.

      Reply
  6. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    I thoroughly enjoyed both poems – although “Fiona” brought a tear to my eye. We have dear George Lionel, an aged family member who charms us with his feline grace. He is old, frail and almost ready to leave our sides. Your poem tugged at my heart with its beautiful words of appreciation for your beloved pet.

    “To a Cicada” has me grinning. For me, the song of the cicada has been an acquired appreciation. I have never found the clamorous cacophony “soothing” – but I have come to like it. Your “alien strains” (great assonance) resonates with me and I just love “Throbs with a glowing orb of sound” – wonderful! After reading your poem I am going to think of the cicadas as my little minstrel friends in the hope that I can embrace their song with enthusiasm. The aforementioned George Lionel once dropped a live cicada at my feet. It began to “sing” and I couldn’t believe that such an ear-piercing tremor could come from such a small critter. They are rather amazing. Martin – thank you!

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you so much, Susan, for your feedback. Somehow, the name “George Lionel” is just the sort of name I would expect you to give a pet– it sounds so literary! In fact, it sounds like a great name for a British poet! I hope he remains with you longer than you anticipate– but we know that sooner or later, our beloved pets must take their leave of us. When that day comes, maybe you will gift us here at SCP with a poem about the “feline grace” of this most distinguished sounding furry family member.

      Reply
  7. Isabella

    I absolutely loved both poems! I have always enjoyed the rhythm of iambic tetrameter and your rhyming couplets are charming.
    I hope Fiona stays with for you for many more walks and days to come.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Isabella! I know one runs the risk of sounding too “sing-songy” with whenwriting iambic tetrameter. But your positive feedback encourages me to think that I have avoided that pitfall. I, too, hope that Fiona remains with us for many walks and days to come.

      Reply
  8. C.B. Anderson

    A cicada is at its best when caught in the grip of a praying mantis. Their “song” is about as appealing as fingernails scraping over a chalkboard. Everybody likes a good dog, but too much is enough.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      As I said to Cynthia above, the sound I heard as a child may have been crickets, rather than cicadas– but I was told it was cicadas. There is no question the sound was penetrating; nevertheless, it somehow had the effect of making me drowsy! No telling why.

      I´m not sure what the “too much” in your last sentence refers to– too much dog, or too much sentimentalism? As I said to Roy, that is always a risk when writing a poem about a pet.

      Reply
  9. Shamik Banerjee

    A certain kind of innocence and sense of satisfaction permeate your poems, Mr. Rizley. My house is in the foothills, and every evening, these creatures begin their strident sound. After reading your evocative and imagery-rich poem, I don’t think I’ll ever refer to their sound as sound but as “songs.” Fiona touched my heart strings. This year, two of my cats left me, stealing the once-joyful days. Life without these God-sent friends can be tough, and what’s even tougher is to see them go. They’re voiceless, yet they understand every bit of our emotions. Many thanks for writing this poem, which I hope will touch the hearts of many. You have a great poetic gift. Thank you for sharing it with us.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks you, Shamik, for the encouraging feedback. The “innocent” tone of the first poem probably stems from the fact that it is based on a shorter poem that I wrote in free verse as a child. I kept the same idea, but expanded it, using rhyme and meter. Here´s the original version:

      Welcome back, you ancient thing–
      I had thought you were gone for good.
      But here you are,
      You plated old bird!
      With your trembling, small voice–
      (A throbbing orb in chorus,
      The salubrious sweetness of summer nights!)
      Welcome back, you venerable trooper!
      And again I say,
      Welcome back!

      The other poem, on the other hand, was written very recently. It is quite sentimental– which is probably what gives it a “childlike” feel– but I submitted it knowing that the emotions it expresses are shared by all who feel that special tie of loyalty and affection that binds pet owners to their pets.

      Reply
  10. Gigi Ryan

    Dear Martin,
    Thank you for sharing these poems. While I do not share your fondness for cicadas, I can appreciate the beauty of their uniqueness and your lovely way of sharing it.

    You vividly painted a picture of the scene with your beloved Fiona. Comparing a dog’s smile to Mona Lisa’s may seem far fetched but really, it is perfect.
    Gigi

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Hi Gigi,
      Thank you for your feedback. I have a picture of Fiona that won´t upload to the comments section, but if you saw her, you would realize that I´m not exaggerating when I speak of her “Mona Lisa” smile. When she is in a playful or happy mood, she looks up at me sometimes with what appears to be a subtle smile on her face. I´ve never had a dog that was so expressive in showing emotion.

      Reply
  11. Margaret Coats

    Martin, the cicada poem takes time to go over the strangeness of the seasonal sound, and the attractiveness it can present to a poet (who may be something of an attractive annoyance at times himself). I like your highly descriptive assertiveness about the creature. Mediterranean cicada season must be longer than the Japanese, with which I am more familiar. Cicadas in Japanese poems can be personified sympathetically, as is your friend here, but more often treated as a symbol merely marking time, or of aging and approaching another stage in life. Your treatment here provides an opportunity to contemplate one small but significant part of creation.

    “Fiona” is a fine piece of “sit and rest awhile” companionship. None too long for a sixteen-year affection, easygoing enough for many of us to appreciate, with or without a dog nearby.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Margaret, Thank you for your always thoughtful and helpful comments. I also found your comments about cicadas in poetry informative. It makes sense that cicadas have served as a symbol of time’s passage, age and approaching death, since they are long lived creatures that appear periodically and shed their exoskeletons, which could easily be seen as a metaphor for the transition from death to new life.

      I find the expression “attractive annoyance” a curious oxymoron, and I am sure many would agree with you about cicadas being an annoyance– especially this year in which they are predicting a veritable plague of cicadas in parts of the U.S. However, having grown up beside a creek in Houston, Texas, I grew accustomed to their sound and find it more attractive than annoying. I may be in the minority, however. Let’s hope poets can attract with their words rather than annoy and repel. The world already has enough “annoyances” looking at rhe world of politics, academia and popular culture!

      Reply

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