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  • Writer's picturePoetry Earthlings

TED Talks, Musicals, and Deeper Conversations with Crickets and Lizards: (POETRY)

Updated: Nov 23, 2022

batting on sticky wicket A cricket has set up a bachelor pad inside the wall; it goes jar jar jarjar all night long singing loving tunes in thirsty croons to woo a mate to make love in the rain, playing violin in Fibonacci sequence with vibrating wings.

His raw adulation makes me envious of the brazen declaration of want that I can scarcely express with my silly words and I protest, ‘stop with your ecoacoustics, You and your virility make me feel alone and depressed.’

He retorts rather angry, ‘the dating game’s not the same. Here, I compose odes for my mistress and those competitive males who can’t hold a tune will plagiarise and rob my mate before my eyes afore I'd claim copyright. The other day those cut-throats traded my fiancé away to a flour merchant for sustainable nutrients (can you believe it!) and I underwent an elegy phase that wasn’t a hit at all among dames.

And there’s that cursed speaker you have which cuts my chord the second I sit before the harmonium for rewaz.’ ‘What, I can’t even drown your droning with Spotify?’ I interject rolling my eye. ‘Why,’ he replied defensive, ‘you don’t like my renditions? I wonder if I should change my genre to country?’ ‘Umm,’ I say, ‘Fine, I’ll give you nights but morning playlists are mine to choose. I’ll see if I can arrange an electric (guitars are a rage on Tinder) for you to try out some refrains to up your game. If that doesn’t help, maybe you need to experiment. Take a few grunge lessons on YouTube and see.

Lizards on my wall Rub glue on their feet Some old, some young Some big, some smaller Than my littlest toe Fattened by the flies The spiders don’t eat The lizards on my wall deliver TED talks On silence and observation Celebrated critics, they Tsk tsktsk from behind The poster of my favourite band When I watch another reel And don’t concentrate on work The lizards on my wall Are snappy dressers Some score their latest garb from sandstone, Others from igneous rocks Some wear crocodile skin They ordered from Amazon Others show off speckled Tattoos on their tail When they meditate Like bronze prophets A few tails are trimmed, Cut short by scary films They watch at night with me After which they Have their regrown tips Dipped in chocolate sauce Their bead eyes are stones When they grin wide at My inbred fear of ‘em But they are quite shy, you know They don’t mix at all With their green brothers On the lemon tree outside They have unspoken caste lines And separate temples And water holes divided by colour Their slighter tails discriminate And they never mingle But stay in at home And tan themselves Under tube light On the hinge of the wall Bulging with flies Chomp on cockroach Happily, with no need To flee from bird beaks They populate the ventilator Making money off selling Wall art for bedrooms And posing as art models Perfectly still untill Their glue dries out And these sculptures Fall down on heads And stir debates: Which shoulder was it? Was it the right? Oh that’s a good omen No wait, you’ll fight With a friend today But by the time you’ve Decided on which Prophetic divination To take, The introvert wall art has Staggered away like a Socially awkward snake

About the Poet:

Paperbird is a poet interested in nature, urban life, and all its peculiarities. You can find her weaving words on Instagram at

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