Why the cicada?
Why not the flea?
Think of how many more
poems there could be!
Why not the cricket?
Why not the gnat?
Those you can rhyme at the
drop of a hat.
Termites and locusts
donít stand a chance.
Neither do weevils,
grubs, ticks or ants.
Give the cicada
a well deserved rest.
Write summer poems
about some other pest.

The Tercet: The Emperor's New Three-Piece Suit?

Writing prose in
lines of three
doesnít make it poetry.


Roses are red and
violets are blue shouldn't be
said in a haiku.

by Connie Bryson

Connie Bryson is a teacher, songwriter and poet who lives in New Jersey. A member of the US1 collective, her poems have been published in Worksheets and elsewhere. She has read at the Princeton Public Library, the Barron Arts Center, Cafe Improv and other local venues, and now she shares her work with a wider audience online at, where she regularly posts poetry and random observations about life.

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