Two weeks ago today, we had to say goodbye to our sweet Evie.
She loved to ride in the car…
…and lie in the sun…
…and on the couch…
…and on the floor…
…and she is missed most terribly.
The shock has finally worn off enough that today I was able to rejoin LexPoMo:
https://lexpomo.com/poem/presence-in-absence/
2025 really ate my lunch, and here we are, almost halfway through 2026, and I’m still recovering. The ills that befell me directly were minimal, but the ills that befell people close to me were staggering: terminal diagnoses, chemotherapy, radiation, hospice, deaths, evictions, relocations, and more.
My intentions for 2025 got lost in this sea of troubles, and I never really set any intentions for 2026. But the beginning of Lexington Poetry Month invites me to move the compass needle a little more in a direction of my choosing, so here goes: https://lexpomo.com/poem/unprepared/
Here’s to better days, a better month…and please, dear Muse, better poetry!
Periodical cicada Brood XIV has just about concluded its above-ground affairs in my neck of the woods. Most of the adults who emerged over the last several weeks have fulfilled their multi-fold purpose, and their small, lifeless bodies are everywhere. The grass and sidewalk glitter with crystalline wings, as if an army of molting fairies has passed through.
For me, the cicadas have been rather like fairies: mysterious and magical, strange and beautiful, deeply connected with the natural world but wholly unconcerned with the human world. They appear at regular and oddly spaced intervals, conduct their business without regard for anything else, and then disappear.
After weeks of deafening song, the neighborhood is strangely quiet. Already I miss them: the friendly chirr and click of individuals; the power of the full chorus, waves of sound rippling through a wall of vibration that is almost unbearable. It reminded me of the visions of Old Testament prophets, where winged beings fly through the heavens in dizzying numbers and cause the foundations to shake with their unceasing voices.
With the help of audio files on the University of Connecticut’s excellent information pages, I’ve determined that ours were/are (and will be when they again emerge) Magicicada cassini. You can hear what they sound like here: https://cicadas.uconn.edu/species/m_cassini/.
I have a final sweet cicada story to share. Yesterday I was in another part of town where the cicadapalooza is waning but not altogether finished. Before leaving, I stood in the shade of some trees to enjoy the chorus for several minutes. As I opened the car door and started to get in, a loud chirring sound, quite close, made me pause and look at my reflection in the car window. A cicada had landed on my shoulder. After saying hello, I offered a finger for it to climb onto; it obliged, and I transferred it to a nearby tree branch and took my leave.
Once in the car and up on the highway, I glanced down and saw another cicada on my sleeve. I said hello and asked it not to do anything crazy, or we’d both be in a pickle. It calmly walked up my arm and perched on my hand, looking out the windshield as I drove along. I used the first exit and found a gas station next to a wooded area. I got out of the car and left my would-be copilot on the branch of a tree, bidding it a fond farewell.
Lastly, I tried to capture something of my cicada experience in another poem:
Winding down
still they sing
on the sidewalk, in the grass
as they lie dying
cadence of whirs and clicks
ever slower
tiny, intricate, clockwork
musicians
(an earlier version of this appeared on the LexPoMo web site: https://lexpomo.com/poem/winding-down/)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged arthropods, cicadas, Lexington Poetry Month, LexPoMo, periodical cicadas
Happy Lexington Poetry Month! I have signed up once more for the LexPoMo challenge, a wonderful community of people who gather online to write and share poetry for this brief month. Here’s a link to my first poem: https://lexpomo.com/poem/cicada-on-my-shoulder/
I wrote the poem (and am writing now) from our back porch, where the cicada singing is averaging 85.2 dB. I’m wearing earplugs, as prolonged exposure above 70 dB inflicts hearing loss. I don’t want to go overboard out of deference to the arthropod-squeamish, so here are just a few recent photos:
Signing off from Cicada Central…
June is Lexington Poetry Month, and I’m late to the party (as usual) but not by too much. My first poem is posted here: https://lexpomo.com/poem/broken-things/
The last three quarters of 2023 pretty much ate my lunch, and I’ve spent what amounts to the first half of 2024 recovering. I’ll skip the tedious details but give a few highlights: relocation of an adult child and an elder parent; four surgeries on same parent; two respiratory illnesses (mine); one very scary medication reaction (also mine).
I managed to write between major life events and even posted a few poems during Lexington Poetry Month, which can be found here: https://lexpomo.com/poet/2023/jennifer-barricklow-2023/
We’ve reached the end of Lexington Poetry Month, so here’s my wrap-up post. I wrote a poem all but two days, and double-posted several days when my schedule got a little nutty. All in all, I consider it a pretty successful poetry month.
You can access my LexPoMo poems here: https://lexpomo.com/poet/2021/2021-04-15-150103-jennifer-barricklow/
More than 2,700 poems have been posted at the time of this writing, and there are still a couple hours left! Check out the work of the 183 poets who took part this year at https://lexpomo.com/
Here’s the catfish featured in one of my later poems:
We’ve reached the two-thirds mark in Lexington Poetry Month, so I thought I’d post again here on my own blog. I continue writing daily and posting at the LexPoMo site, and physical therapy has done wonders for my back.
You can still access my LexPoMo poems here: https://lexpomo.com/poet/2021/2021-04-15-150103-jennifer-barricklow/
Almost two thousand poems from two hundred eighty-three poets have been posted so far this year! https://lexpomo.com/
Here’s a cool orchid from an outdoor wedding we attended recently (our first post-pandemic event):
We’ve reached the one-third mark in Lexington Poetry Month, so it’s about time I posted something here on my own blog. I’ve been writing daily and posting at the LexPoMo site, trying to meet an editing deadline, and nursing a nagging back injury that prevents me from sitting more than 20-60 minutes at a stretch (depending on the day).
You can access my LexPoMo poems here: https://lexpomo.com/poet/2021/2021-04-15-150103-jennifer-barricklow/
Two hundred eighty-two other poets are also posting, so I encourage you to read some of their work as well: https://lexpomo.com/
Finally, here is a photo of lovely Dutch irises that bloomed for the first time in my yard this year.
We’ve reached the final day of Lexington Poetry Month, and it feels bittersweet. I’m going to miss posting at the LexPoMo site, but it will also be nice not to feel so pressed to write and post. Since I only found time to read a handful of the more than 2,000 poems posted there this month, I plan to go back during July and give them the attention they deserve. That’s the truly sweet part about LexPoMo being over, now that I think about it.
Today’s poem was drawn from Stanley Kuntz’ “Halley’s Comet” and Stephen Burt’s discussion of it in The Poem is You, pp. 169-73.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Halley's Comet, Lexington Poetry Month, LexPoMo, Stanley Kuntz, Stephen Burt, The Poem is You
I returned to Jo Bell and company’s 52 today and didn’t get past page 15. That’s okay; it’s all part of the work.
https://lexpomo.com/poem/a-kick-in-the-backside/
https://ninearchespress.com/publications/poetry-collections/52writeapoemaweekstartnowkeepgoing.html/
The Daily Compost 