Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Alice Morris' "Crickets" echoes other poets. Celebrate #NationalPoetryMonth

Alice Morris, a Minnesota native holds a BS in English Education from Towson University, and a MS in counseling from John’s Hopkins. Her traditional and contemporary white oak baskets have been included in Juried Exhibitions and in featured shows throughout West Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, her final exhibitions, in Lewes, Dover, and Wilmington, Delaware.  She has published articles about this artwork in The News Basket, edited by Shereen La Plantz, and has supplied text for news articles, exhibitions, and the occasional television and radio spot.  In more recent years, she has turned her creative energies toward writing both prose and poetry.  She is a member of The Rehoboth Beach Writer’s Guild, and The Coastal Writers Group in Rehoboth, Delaware.




Crickets

probably no wiser than a cricket's chirrup
I drive through the Bighorn Mountains
a sudden shower
drops the veil
of morning

crickets
leap from the stubble
sound like low lisp of rippling tide
sound
the minutest cricket – 
like a long line from a poem

nighthawks flit over fields along the river
like a
naked
soul
like
hedge-crickets
with treble soft
remembering the first star

midsummer
in a field –
crickets sing for a mate
I imagine
distant temples
where crickets sing all night, and the stars,
low lisp of rippling tide
whisk of the invisible  
Becoming

when the crickets stop their cry
I stop to listen
to trees digging the air for crickets
branches
where history spins
at dawn
here, here, here, crickets 
at the end of my hours



"And Now, Goodby" by Jaroslov Seifert, Three Songs at the End of Summer by Jane Kenyon, Long Island Sound by Emma Lazarus, How Baseball Saved My Marriage by Kristen Lindquist, The King and Seer by Emily Warn, At the End of My Hours By Dana Levin





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