Field Crickets

Ah, the señorita listens

the song takes her

by the hands

bending backward-knees

whispering seductions

until she succumbs

to the longing call

of one lover over many

Tempting silhouette,

she throws her slender being

toward the heavens,

risking ravenous jaws

and terrible leather wings

that scream in the night,

for the sake of a single male

calling out to anyone

© Christopher Raine


I hear crickets chirp

from freshly

harvested cornfields,

laughing at diurnal crows

wary of straw limbs

and painted faces,

beneath the baptismal light

of a harvest moon



of their savoury

malt-molasses crunch

they dart in anarchy

abandoning sanctuaries

of pencil burrows

and canopies of

earthy curled debris


Bulbous eyes click

from anvil heads

before the rhapsody

of cellophane-semaphore wings

that flutter like eyelashes

brushing the güiro

keeping time

to evening stars