The frog men sat criss-cross-apple-sauce around a campfire,

roasting oozing green smores on naked cattails.

Frog chief blew a bubble in his throat to call his wives,

and one by one they appeared,

eyes like floating tennis balls on black water,


Then the chief began to swell

until he rolled and wobbled on the putty shore.

The frog wives surrounded his vast bouncing body

and clenched their thighs before he took his final breath–

Like vultures they descended,

landing ravenous upon the chief,

vicious gums thrashing at his skin

tearing the webs that bound his feet–

and ate him whole.

The frog men could only stare

at the wives licking life’s syrup from smacking lips,

hopping back to the pond, turning to ripples as they dove…

Calm came for only a moment,

then the water filled with tadpoles,

blossoming like blood.


This post is only a draft. Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions below! Your input is appreciated!



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Ceremony

  1. That was exciting and unexpected. The detail is delightful. I even like the way the lines seem like a wave frantically finding calm.


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