We’re seeking more poems with the theme “Fireflies/Insects.” Send yours to Maryann Riker, maryann_riker@hotmail.com. All poems must be original and created for display here.
Terry Hahn
“THE QUIET LIGHT”
The moon ascends on silver threads,
The light in the sky,
It shines on sleeping heads,
And tacks in the stars nearby.
She drapes the world in ghostly glow,
With secrets soft and deep.
The tides obey her ebb and flow,
As oceans learn to sleep.
No flame, no fire, no boastful sun—
Just silence, pale and proud.
She listens when the world is done,
And dreams beneath a cloud.
Folks call her name,
Yet still she floats unknown,
A mirror of our hearts, the same,
Yet endlessly alone.
So raise your eyes when nights are long,
And let her light begin.
The moon knows every lost soul’s song,
And hums it from within.
Sandra Jane Zajacek
Lighting Bug flick Fire Flies
Attraction to Distraction
Little fire flies lights flashing
Sit staring into the Twilight
Anticipating
Looking for the flicker
Eyes open
My Brain wants
Desires
in sight
Little lights flashing
Seeing META Lighting
Bugs
flickers for attraction
Flying for
hours in distraction
Sit anticipating clicks
In the guise of
Insight
Eyes glaze open
it’s outside
out the screen
door
See In the twilight
It’s
In sight
The little lights flashing
Fire flies flick lighting bugs
Distraction to Attraction
Let Your Mind Rest in the Attraction of the Earth’s Lovely
Fire flies
Distraction
Robin C
A time when fireflies were called lightning bugs—and—the light from the moon meant hopes and dreams……
Scooping closed my hands—- and awaiting the sight—of the blink as I peek through my fingers…
They say fire flies are not bug or flies—-yet their name flies out of mouthes of those who know nothing that applies.
Is it then fair to say—-I am like a firefly— not quite what people think of me—-Yet my name buzzes in places -that are no longer meant for me.
They say fireflies love warm, humid weather
Is it then fair to say— I am like a firefly- because the heat that fuels my soul—-continues to weather any storm.
A time when fireflies were called-lightning bugs—and—the light from the moon meant hopes and dreams…… And now that I’m awake I can see. The blink was always right here inside of me.
Fireflies
Jei,Jei
“We used to count the fireflies”
John M. Furphy
We used to count the fireflies
Frank May
This webpage is part of the Karl Stirner Arts Trail Poetry in the Wild Project, which brings poetry and spoken word to the trail. It began with a celebration of National Poem from Your Pocket Day on April 18 and includes Second Saturday Poetry, which starts June 14.
