I'd forgotten that. Even after I wrote a haiku about it for class, once. I've forgotten the first line, but the second and third went:
[blah] proclaiming the temperature to the night air.
Which doesn't technically scan unless you move the last syllable of line 2 to the first syllable of line 3, and IIRC failed to include a reference to the season. It might be fixed by assuming it's being read in a Texan drawl, which will shorten the second line because "temperature" is really "tempachur" or "temprachur" in Texan, and then changing the 3rd line to "to the summer air." Or something.
The teacher was a bit weirded that I had this scientific, mechanical thing going in the poem, and it's not like it was great poetry, but it was better than the ones in class who were thinking that poetry could only be made about Great Statements and were producing haiku about the Immense Power of Friendship and the like.
Once - when I was working as an assistant manager at a record store, the manager had gotten a bag of crickets for her iguana - and she left them in the office overnight - and I was closing that night - and they chewed a hole through the bag - and the crickets woulndn't shut up - and I slowly went crazy...
Yikes! Hell, indeed. I've discovered that this cricket will shut up for a while if you go lean over the desk so that your shadow falls back there, but after a while it'll start up again.
There was a cricket under the stands by the horse ring yesterday. It chirpped until I got close to it, and then it stopped. I thought maybe I had stepped on it, but I hadn't.
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On the bright side,
Re: On the bright side,
[blah]
proclaiming the temperature
to the night air.
Which doesn't technically scan unless you move the last syllable of line 2 to the first syllable of line 3, and IIRC failed to include a reference to the season. It might be fixed by assuming it's being read in a Texan drawl, which will shorten the second line because "temperature" is really "tempachur" or "temprachur" in Texan, and then changing the 3rd line to "to the summer air." Or something.
The teacher was a bit weirded that I had this scientific, mechanical thing going in the poem, and it's not like it was great poetry, but it was better than the ones in class who were thinking that poetry could only be made about Great Statements and were producing haiku about the Immense Power of Friendship and the like.
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And this one time - at band camp...
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It chirpped until I got close to it, and then it stopped.
I thought maybe I had stepped on it, but I hadn't.
O_o;
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