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Desiccated Cricket Carcass would be a great name for a band

Well, are you all tired of wandering through my introspective little whiny-pants ramblings yet? Because I have a stack of bad, angsty teenage poetry I can post if you aren't. Don't tempt me on this one, I've done it before. Oh, except when I did it before I had about six readers on a really good day, so you probably all missed that. Too bad, it was fun, in a totally humiliating kind of way.

I actually pulled out my bad and embarrassing (and, well, huge) poetry notebook a couple of weeks ago when I was cleaning out some bookshelves in the basement, and there was a dead cricket in it. I regretted for a moment that I wasn't 16 anymore, when I would have taken that as some sort of sign and written an incomprehensible sonnet about it. Something like "on dead crickets and woe" or "life is dry and dusty like a desiccated cricket carcass." It's always good when you can work "carcass" into a poem.

(I must remember to add "embarrassing poetry notebook" to the list of things I need to destroy or discard before Mia gets old enough to go snooping in my closets. Or destroy and discard. Or shred, burn and scatter the ashes across several continents. No, I don't want to tell you what else is on that list.)

I swear I had a point when I started this, but I can't remember what it was. Possibly something about expectations versus reality, but that doesn't sound very funny, so it can't have been that. See, I'm exhausted and still trying to get over the fact that my darling precious brilliant little monkey Mia pooped on the rug, and also now I am entranced by the idea of sponsoring a dead cricket sonnet writing contest. Surely there must be some of you who have seven rhyming iambic pentameter couplets about carcasses in you just bursting to get out. Yes? No? Ok then, nevermind. (You guys just aren't any fun today, did you know that?)

You know, when I got home from whatever it was I was out doing tonight, I remarked to Chris that Mia almost never wakes up in the evenings anymore. Naturally, she woke up about two minutes later. Chris got her back to sleep, but she just started her singing again and it's my turn, so we will all have to just wonder where in the heck I might have been going with this. I truly hope the suspense does not kill you.

(Oh, first person to send me that cricket carcass sonnet will get a kiss full on the lips. I mean, unless you would rather have a cd or something.

Comments (26)

I'm confused about this pooping on the rug thing. Was this like, "Hey, Mom! Look! I took off my diaper, squatted and pooped on the rug!" was it "Hey, Mom! Some poop squished out the sides of my trusty diaper onto the rug. Very sorry about that..."

My sister always tells me of a time when I was little. I was running around without clothes and apparently squatted to tinkle on the carpet. Who knew I was so free-spirited?

Standing in front of the coffee pot, jonesing for my morning fix, I found a mummified cricket carcass in my scoop of java mix. How slow and dumb in the A.M. am I, that I only remembered that later as I drank that coffee on the fly.
Does that work? I know the poem is horrible (feeling better about those teenage rhymes?) but even worse than the poem is that the story is true. Okay, it was actually a june bug but the urge to vomit was the same.

Just so you know. I WAS eating my breakfast.
carcass. blech

Dude, haircut?? I'm SO jealous!! I need one so bad, but I can't convince myself to take Shepherd with me for fear he'll star screaming!

And the bad poetry? Dude... I'm so there with you, although at home (home as in where I grew up), in my closet? there's poetry written on the wall... very... very... cheesy poetry. And mom found it recently, and I nearly died of embarrassment. She swore she'd never paint over it because it was "too sweet". Next time we go home? I'm painting over it....

Was the haircut simply maintainence, or did you get a *new* hairdo? I'm looking for a comiseration buddy, since I have a new bad haircut, and want to fastforward through the next few months of growth - ooooooooh the "Bad Haircut Club for Women" I'm not only a client, I'm the president!

How about a haiku?

Summer soldiers on
Cricket dies in my notebook
Poor little cruncher

Hmm, or maybe "soldiers" doesn't look enough like a verb there. How about:

Summer takes its toll
Cricket dies in my notebook
Poor little cruncher

Yes, I like that one better.

I'm a cricket
chirping in the book
I saw Beth and thought I'd make a pass
"Oh Wow! Look at that Ass"
Now I'm a cricket carcass

Hehehe...I know that sucks! But thats just how I am in the mornings.

i'm just confused how "haircut and grocery shopping" are on your list of things you need to destroy or discard before mia gets old enough to go snooping in your closets???

poor deceased cricket
i hope he didn't die from
reading your poems

Cricket leaves its' dusty remains
Life will never be the same
Did you peek into my book
getting sucked in, just one more look
I hope you liked what you read
because now, poor cricket, you're just dead

Would you settle for a limerick?

I once saw a dead, rotting cricket.
All I wanted to do was just kick it.
I punted five yards
It burst into shards
Oh look, my dog's trying to lick it.

With another 12 ounces of caffeine, I might do better.

(and btw, I also have old notebooks full of "poetry" if you can call it that. Most of them are about Bono. I even attempted to draw a portrait of him once.) *shudder*

I've got a whole stack of old diaries (some of which contain many pages of cheesy teenage poetry), hanging out in one corner of my closet. Not quite willing to destroy them (yet), but need to find a better place to stash them before B can read. Like maybe a storage unit in Tibet?

How's the hair cut?

The ony good cricket
Is a dead cricket

Actually I rather like the live ones as long as they're not chewing on something.

I'm just not at my best this early. It's 8:30 where I am.

Why am I lying? I've written one poem in my entire life - about a cat. The best thing I can say about it is that it rhymed.

Ode to a cricket carcass
By Beth's inner teenage angst

I find you
Smashed and broken
Like my soul after he dumped me

I find you
Hallow and empty
Like the place in my chest where my heart used to be

I find you
Pressed between the pages
Like a crude version of a precious flower

I find you
A piece of my past
Preserved for my future

[snaps, yo]

I found the dead carcass of a cricket
It must have wandered in from the thicket.
Where once it made soothing sounds
It now belongs dead in the ground
So goes the fate of one dead cricket.

Hmm more limerick like than sonnet... lol

Just 'cause I hanker for just such a challenge ..


A cricket is a little violin.
Its leg a bow, that plays the other's frets,
and yet it's never falling out of tune.
Like tiny fiddles seems these bugs tonight,
these summer nights when woods are symphonies
of legs and croaking frogs on lilypads
from ponds beyond the grove of cedar trees
I ascended once, when I was but a lad,
when I could tell how hot it was by just
the rhythm of their chirping and how far
the storm by counting how the seconds passed
between the lightning and the thunder's roar)
Today, a carcass in my cellar lay,
a maestro bows and leaves the orchestra.


So, um, what CDs you got?

LOL...OK, it's official. I have a crush on Not Benjamin.

No, no, no -this one's better, erase the other one :)


A cricket is a little violin.
Its leg, a bow that plays the other's frets,
and yet it's never falling out of tune.
Like tiny fiddles seem these bugs. One forgets
those summer nights when woods are symphonies
of cricket legs and croaking lilypads
on ponds beyond the grove of cedar trees
I ascended back when I was but a lad.
When I could tell how hot it was by just
the rhythm of the chirping, and how far
the storm by counting how the seconds passed
between the lightning and the thunder's roar.
Today, a carcass in my cellar was.
The maestro bowed and left the orchestra.

Okay, I feel much better ...

...I have 6 readers on a really good day....Got a problem with that?? ;) Well, at least I have 6 commenters on a good day....

No cricket sonnet....I would love to partake, but Joey is not on her best napping behaviour....Can't. Concentrate.

Scoopin' out my Hood
loves my vanilla
embedded at the bottom
of the box from the factory
surrounded by the whiteness
a cricket carcass
I thought, "Bonus!"

Ok, I took some literary license. The story is true, but it was a roach at the bottom of the Hood ice cream box. I never thought 'Bonus', and I also didn't eat ice cream for about three years after. In fact, I may stop again, oh thank you very much for bringing back THAT memory...


The chirping music of the night is stilled.
The instrument of legs is played no more.
The darkness of the night with silence filled,
Her dessicated carcass on the floor.
She went not gentle into that good night,
But found her end beneath my Jimmy Choo.
My careless steps put out her life and light,
All that remains-- a pool of cricket goo.
On chocolate covered crickets some may lunch,
some believe they'll make luck expeditious,
But 'neath my shoe she made an awful crunch,
and was neither lucky nor delicious.
Still, I'd prefer a cricket to a leech,
And now I shall go scrub my shoe with bleach.

hey beth
tell betti the commenter that she should take prenatals to help her bad haircut grow out faster.

re: poop on the rug
Is this your first time? Get out.

Damn! Sheryl beat me with the whole Shakesperean sonnet thing. But I worked too hard to not post it...

Fair Cricket, you have journeyed far from home
Seeking the praise of all your peer and kin
Many began this treach'rous trek, now gone
The strength to carry on comes from within

Over floor of wood and carpet like sand
Fair cricket gird your loins! Continue on!
O'er legs and carcass to the promised land
To find a place to eat, frolic, and spawn

Oh, dark place to rest, indeed out of sight.
No fear of dog or cat. No sweeping broom.
Perhaps continue on during the night.
Hop hop Cricket out of harm's reach and doom

Fair Cricket, rest forever `tween the page
Cheesy teenage po'try of angst and rage

Also, must share about a friend's niece. Her best friend is the family dog. Wants to not ever wear clothes - the dog doesn't wear clothes. Also? Poops outside - that's where the dog goes. Not just once but has done it several times. Her mother just hopes that she gets to it before the dog does.

I have a poop story--because who doesn't love a good poop story? My boss came to work looking wan and pale, and he told us that his son, a toddler, had removed his poopy diaper and spread it all over their new light-colored couch. My boss said they were taking the cleaning bill out of the child's college fund.

haaaaaa!! I hadn't had a chance to come back and read these, but this is seriously funny. Also, gross, but that's okay. LOL :) I'm with Jaycie, too... I think I have a crush on Not-Benjamin too!!! just don't tell Joe. haha.

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So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

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