Locusts

Hatching hoppers,
neon newbies,
groom themselves on grass.
Wings of ultrasound
release the scent
of moving on–
pheromoaning.

One small swarm
hungry, groaning,
ascend the air like chopsticks
beating the clay bowl
of a summer day.
Goodtimers,
eating whichever way
the wind blows them.

Shy among farms,
swarms join arms,
a plague doesn’t spread
instead it grows,
a sprinkler with the widest hose.

Food thinned, they descend.
The roar of a billion wings in victory.
The spire of sticks without leaves,
and the weeping of a desert wind.

© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved 


All creatures great and small welcome tonight at d’Verse. Come creep and crawl through some great poems with us.

Chromolithograph from 1890 of a locust swarm

35 Comments

  1. Sunra Rainz

    Fabulous, K.Hartless. So many good lines:

    “neon newbies”
    “wings of ultrasound”
    “pheromoaning”
    “weeping of a desert wind” – wonderful last line to finish on.

    the whole image of them ascending into the air like chopsticks and beating the clay bowl of a summer day – so evocative! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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