Once a caterpillar between a dream and reality thought she could be beautiful
~so on she dreamed...
Creating a shell to protect
under the bright new moon
Inside she wept
A fantastic fantasy of what she would some day be,
The very colors of life upon the the Earth as she struggled to crawl
A slow progression; every day she saw
in a mirrored shell
She dreamed her colors, she connected with divinity
as her memory recalled the sky so blue, the warm sunlight
To the very hope to one day fly
What color? her imagination touched God's heart
One day she emerged through the darkness, the seclusion,
The shell now out grown...she pushed her eloquent wings through
Standing upon a cracked open cocoon,
her wings tested the winds of kindness ~
Her first flight, she the Miss, fluttering about without direction or care, enjoying the Summer air~
The flowers sent scent to comfort, to rest there, she;
in awe of her wings, the colors, they were just as she dreamed!
I heard of a human tell of her beauty, then suddenenly became sad
Not for the glory upon, but the time as her flight would expire
Yet, tell me, what is time to a butterfly?
When time itself is calculated by man and the stars...
Yes, she and I know the majestics of God's creation that some take for granted
As the stars shine tonight
I think of the butterfly's flight
I know all is right
I know mans's calculations are right
But, somehow, it is not a sadness
but courage spilled upon the Earth
of the butterfly's rebirth from a worm
I, in all that I am can relate
I embrace, know her way
Once a worm as I, now my colors motivate my flight
Life is so short~
Copyright © Cindy Lu | Year Posted 2013
Between the granite stones
Of the dead
Long ago last breaths do part
Memories seeping in dirt
Black birds and magpies
Lace and knots
Swaying too and fro
On top of the dead
Lover is all but gone
That life flies on
As shadows rest
Upon ones breast
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
I always dwelled on my faults
never saw the beauty others saw
hidden beneath the insecurity
falter in search of validation
from the things and people that
would never mean a thing
trying to hide
until that day it was easier to face the truth
or maybe not easier just a time
where running away and cheating myself
ripped through the core of everything that is me
you come to a point where lying to yourself
is not second nature anymore
trapped in a space where you know
it’s time for change
it’s time to take the blindfold off
time to embrace you
and not what others see,
not look for gratification from outside
try to feel within, even if it means
having to deal with pain in the now
instead of chucking it away
and bounce around on an emotional see-saw
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2012
When you look into your daughter’s brown eyes
And see the eyes of your own mother long gone
But still smiling there, and understand that she
Too will hear something of you in her own son’s sighs;
When you pass a bearded hobo in a thunderstorm
Standing on the bridge and in a flash you see that the world
Is filled with such people, and that Christ himself
Also stood like that on the road to Jerusalem;
When you hear a nightingale and marvel as you realize
That all nightingales have sung the same song
From time immemorial;
Or see a butterfly and admire its colors in surprise
As Roman soldiers did before battle for Rome’s fame;
And know that your daughter’s daughter will chase
Almost the same butterfly around some
Future garden of perennials, almost the same;
When time ceases to have meaning for you
Because you realize instinctively that you see and feel
All the same experiences people have always felt :
Then, with the universe you become one and true -
And you live forever.
(Theme = Cosmic Consciousness)
Written By Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest DeLIGHT, Good Vibrations
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012
When Fancy`s Fairy barefooted runs in the happy green,
The blond bees dance near honey comb in New Jersey…
One Ocean distance to lie in daily gray and self mercy:
This butterfly lost the way of Brasil Carnival just seen
In virtual 3D in the last movie of the “generation mall”
At the European new poles beyond the old courtain.
The goldfish .jpg ,pdf , new prezi in chatrooms mentain
Virtual people looking for exotic food, forgot the call.
Beyond pictures.jpg, new projects.prezi kept in leptop,
Postmodern hermeneutics of love lost the compass
And compassion in this aquarium whose ocean may pass
All in those proclaimed Mayas last days ,they will stop.
Staying on the large yellow water lily, a frog like me
Is fascinated by the ocean of your eyes and their swords.
I Goggle out at the little crumbs of bread and words
As thrown by the good visitors of the small lake free.
“Your bread is dry and dull: You are not good for Soup!”
I wanted to share the dinner with my noble neighbor:
A reddish tortoise stopped near my poetical harbor.
I know. I know I don`t live in Galapagos with your group.
Defiant white and red beets wait on the table` bands;
Horse radishes with invisible pricking javelin, vinegar,
Turkey, salad decorated with sweet basil, potatoes eager.
Family, Trinity, prayers, smiles, candles shaking hands.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012
The aching wings of the butterfly did quiver delicately.
How with such immortal beauty do you escape my grasp?
Alas my sordid fingers could never uphold such grace.
Copyright © Joshua Zack | Year Posted 2011
I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside
a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...
Written By: Christina A McCullouch
Copyright © Christina McCullouch | Year Posted 2013
I need to get back to me, a butterfly sheds its cocoon.
Copyright © HOLLY MOORE | Year Posted 2013
SEND A BUTTERFLY OR TWO
soft-scented and serene
drifts dispersing dreams
past and present—poised
melancholy memories merge
quest questioning quietly
deflecting definitive destinies
Please send a Butterfly or Two
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
Reach through the glass to where
A thousand suns ripple in the rivers of your hair
Reach through the glass to where
A garden of roses blooms in a moon beneath your eyes
Reach through the glass to where
Earthquakes resounding chaos reside in your quivering lips
Reach through the glass
As my clouds begin to roll away
To where my raindrops danced on the tongues of gods bowing at my feet voracious starving
dogs quenchless and subservient ignorant and blind as their worlds crumble and fall and
every ancient star and dancing horse in the night sky collide with the invisible walls of
futility and I trample on all and nothing in a spiraling cataract of silver water and a
silken spray on a butterfly’s wing fluttering the childhood fields of yesteryear and
evermore forever young in brilliant dance immortalized in wheat and dirt and wind and rain
and I stand defiant!
To where my fingertips can reach no further. Butterfly wings in fields of concrete.
Copyright © Moose Bak | Year Posted 2010
Writing a poem does not always seem
Like a process of creation, but instead
More like a surprising discovery
As if a butterfly was fluttering
Around inside your soul, and then when you
Open your mouth to speak, there it is, look!
Impossible, yet there, iridescent,
Before your own wide, incredulous eyes
And perhaps I am a hypocrite for
Wanting to capture it, to pin it down
To see if I can find myself between
The lines; puzzling out the rythm
Of my own heartbeat inside its wingbeats
Break it open like a fortune cookie
To discover if my love might be true;
Is it not cruel to keep it in a jar
Contained like so much spice or honey? Then
I'll release it to the wind; let it breathe
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2013
wings against the sky
autumn take a bow
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
The butterfly flutters by begin, begin
as in true in nature love springs.
Ageless amazing nerves sing,
bowed tension on cello string.
Eyes which will not let go,
Father of Fire was bound, just so.
Bound was man by the gift of flame
for love brings man both joy and pain.
Butterflies flutter within the begin
ageless amazing nerves sing,
Bowed tension on cello string
a trail of kisses flowing, sting.
Dry tinder burning in Earth bound glory
love to Eye tells a comet’s trailing story.
Love begins on butterflies wings
with the bowed tension of a cello's string.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
I wish the butterfly effect
Could ever work for me,
I'd like to see the life I wrecked,
The person I could be.
I'd be much wiser, change my mind
And play the magic chess,
I'd live the days I left behind
Another way, I guess.
I would erase my past mistakes...
Or make them even worse?
I'd just forget how much it aches
And never feel remorse.
What if..? What could it all have been?
The answer is unknown.
I see the pictures on the screen
My swollen mind has drawn.
I'm suffocated by regret,
This life's not truly mine,
I'd fall asleep and just forget,
Dissolve it all in wine.
I'd write a letter to the past,
Replay the fatal game.
But it's too late... I'll live at last,
I'll get my luck and fame.
Copyright © Ria April Avalon | Year Posted 2015
The Butterfly and the Caterpillar
“This is the end,” said the caterpillar.
“This is the beginning,” said the butterfly.
The butterfly is fulfilling its goal by leading
the life of a butterfly.
Why should he live like a caterpillar, only so
the caterpillars can be less afraid?
Since the butterfly knows the life of a caterpillar,
he can help the caterpillars to be less afraid when
he lives the life of a butterfly.
Who knows the sweetness of nectar,
shall never want to eat leaves again.
And how about you?
The rare moments you feel like a butterfly.
And there are days you feel like a caterpillar.
But isn’t it you who is exactly that butterfly,
who is helping the caterpillar to be less afraid?
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
July 10, 2017 (Free Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017
I'm fine! Really, I am.
My eyes may give way
To emotions, but I've found
That hiding them is okay.
No one wants to live with
Their heart on their sleeve.
That'd be just fine if
People didn't care or need.
As it is, no one can
Survive. Not alone that is.
Clinging to one another and
Crying together like kids.
I want to surpass that,
I want to be able on my own.
In many ways like a cat,
I would do more alone.
Sometimes, when I think this
Loneliness pushes it's way in
And it gets so hard to resist
That noxious butterfly's sin.
Sure, I care for others
And want those feelings in return.
People are like wet covers
Weighing you down to get burned.
My feelings, I want to cut them.
To tear them down and rip them out.
But once it's dance has begun
The butterfly will win, no doubt.
No more! Leave me be I say.
You imploring noxious butterfly!
Feelings, I will not hear of them today
There are no rules that life goes by.
But within me the dance continues,
Those horrid things I want to forget.
Some sort of personal revenue
My noxious butterfly, my feelings, kept.
Copyright © Theresa a.k.a. Reecie | Year Posted 2012
I believe Butterflies are the buffer
between heaven and earth
Just like the transformation
of a catepillar to a Butterfly
People often experience
the same kind of rebirth
The Butterfly uses it's wings
to paint as they fly
Communicating through absract art
on the canvas of the sky
The flight of the Butterfly
could be determined
by what you have done
The signal sent down
from the heavens
through the transmission
of the sun
Maybe Butterflies stay around
to keep a close eye
Acting as cab to the afterlife
for when you die
Copyright © chris lane | Year Posted 2012
my womb, my heart
I feel you fluttering like a butterfly in
my womb, my heart
taking shape, form…in
my womb, my heart
you need/want to break free from
my womb, my heart
growing heavy and restless, you have outgrown…
my womb, my heart
I must eventually let go!
my womb has healed
my heart still bleeds
You’ll understand…once you know your womb, your heart…
Copyright © Vanessa Hollenbach | Year Posted 2012
We are the dust upon butterflies’ wings
Musical notes on wind that sings
Grains of sand in on unspoiled beaches
Whispered words in poetic speeches
We are tiny fragments in endless space
Revolving mindless without trace
Softest velvet on fragrant petals
Silvery dewdrops that gently settles
We are powdery pollen on stamen tips
Which kiss the bees with enticing lips
Downy plumage of preening geese
Comforting feel of warmest fleece
We are the angelic touch of love’s caress
Giving freely without duress
Dancing in sunny rays of light
And dreaming into the darkest night
Copyright © Marilyn Clarke | Year Posted 2010
Down to moments of happiness
far away from the daily overdose
of continual joy barely broken
by instances of sadness
that yesterday held
Copyright © Ijm seven | Year Posted 2016
vanity will undo a man
sitting in an outpatient ward,
his, no minor ills
yet feeling worse
for the treatment
than its need.
Aware the ticking of the clock,
exchange of amiable words -
they never wear solid colors
always gaier prints
and smiles set
against hopeful eyes.
Apprehensions and myths
must be unravelled,
even thoughts deciphered,
so many stories of survivors,
and remembrances of those gone.
has no consciousness of fear,
and sparrows dart without tear.
To man alone,
God's ultimate created,
is the grimness of the grave known.
Yet, there remains on my lips
a boatload of gold,
while I am found, too,
in the shadow of my tears.
Copyright © Chuck Novotny | Year Posted 2012
She was just 8 years old
With freckles on her face
She was a little tom boy
Playing miles from the U.S base
Her name was parwana
Means butterfly in afghan
She was like a little princess
Born in a cruel land
She was with other children
Just playing under the skies
But they look like terrorist
to a robotic drone as it flies
So they all were killed
With bombs falling from the skies
Then Washington says on TV
It’s a mistake we apologize
We apologize for your lost?
How will that ease the pain?
Of the parents not seeing
Their little love ones again
Her mother cries oh god
Why don’t you kill me instead?
How can I live now?
That my little butterfly is dead
These are our children
Not a horse or a cow
Go look your self in the mirror
Who are the terrorist now?
The British prime minster
Says the terrorist will be beat
From his press conference
From NUMBER 10 Downing Street
The white house says
There will causalities of wars
While all the war mongers
Are safe behind their doors
Her father mourns her death
Till his cant live no more
So he drove a car with bombs
Thru the green zone door
There are good and evil
And we know what evil do
But when the good do the same
Then who is better than who
The lives of the innocent
Are being taken by both sides
And today there was a butterfly
Who will no longer flies?
Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Little butterfly musing.
Spreading her wings, flying
No room for blacks and whites,
The road ahead has many colours,
vividly her wings flutter.
She rides high, she falls
For one moment she see's black, but wait is that red that splutter's?
a crimson death illuminates her!
The white light is nearer,is is white or is it a rainbow?
Oh how happy she is- even heaven has colour!
Copyright © Shruti Vellody | Year Posted 2010
I've been worried lately.
I cry inside, and my smile
is just above the surface of
Often I'm afraid someone
may see that it isn't always
the genuine smile I claim it
I don't see me; accomplished,
I don't see failure either.
I see someone who is
With seemingly no way to
To wriggle free, and spread
As if emerging from inside of
A butterfly, transformed
from that of a lowly caterpillar.
Yet still afraid to fly, but longing
to soak up the wind blowing upon
her fragile newborn wings.
I wish sometimes I were a hobo.
Where my only worry would be
when I could hop the next train;
Just me and the train.
Nothing but the roar of the
wheels humming against the track.
Vibrations coming through the steel
of the rail car, into the pit of my being.
My bones rumbling.
My core trembling.
My soul shaken.
My heart, mending.
My wings finally,
When that train stops:
Fly away free.
Copyright © Julia Hill | Year Posted 2007
Dancing two petals
through needle sucking honey
Copyright © BL DEVNATH | Year Posted 2012
if i could rewrite my life’s story
would it change my destiny?
and who i was destined to be
could i have prevented the death of a friend?
of would more loved ones have died?
because i was not by their side
would more kids have been born?
as of now i have no need for santa’s toys
cause i have yet to conceive any girls or boys
would i have been able to cast my vote for the 44th president?
or have passed on and not seen the dream fulfilled
many passed away to young to even conceder writing a will
changing the past could very well alter the present
as i look back at my life and reminisce
i say to myself i could have done that should have done this
i know that i can’t change the past
and trying to change the world has yet to be done
all i can change is my future and hope that my living meant something to someone
one man may not be able to change the world
but one man may be able to plant the seed
that will motivate the reluctant to lead
Copyright © Samuel Byrd | Year Posted 2017
Two wraiths in a gust in-between frames with a Third
...was it when i bumped into you last
a little put out by the awkwardness
something not willed not even by chance
who knows an air of Oh please spare me the excuse
eyes darting from cheek to contorting lips
the turning breeze curling into your bitten bud of an ear
expiring burnt breath
just the intimate release of breathless control
shifting feet somewhere in some other film frame
a door closing creaking in the soft amber sheen
of the flickering street lamp
was it in another slot
of time held in some half-remembered patched-up reel
footsteps slap quick-shuffled the soundtrack dragging the heels
The Third Man
down wet cobbled stones claroscuro classic
no time to grasp even the outstretched hand
a finger or two trailing no the index thumb and Mount of Venus
ever so lightly alerting the eyes yet for a fractured second
averting eye-contact slicing presences
or was it just that i wished to overlook the rebuff
thwart the unkindest cut into my roiling belly juices
the day you took careful aim
for some slight some mite of a pain complaint
a moment so gossamer thin so ephemeral no trace lingers
in the wind-swept thrusts of the pulse in the brain
does one hesitate in the accusing hour
an old sagging man cap in hand wordless and wan
hardly daring to lift lame will and sorry self
for once the back is turned no thoughts
of humped puffing breath bathing the cheeks
the lips the bacteria baked unbrushed stench
and the less than hoped-for wish trailing aghast
when next we stumble and slip
from one another's grasp...
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017
Have you ever noticed
that when you hold a butterfly
its wings stop
beating against your palm?
Do you remember the panic?
One squeeze too tight
even if involuntary
and the wings will never
I recognize the feeling
even now, twenty years later
as I cradle your heart
in my hand
admiring the lacy vessels
streaming gracefully across the surface
and the solid rhythmic beating
Yes, you entrusted it to me and
But now I’m afraid
my hand is too clumsy
and life is too uncertain
So for now
I cling to you, losing
hoping our embrace is loud enough
to silence my thoughts
But I forgot to return
(and I think I squeezed too hard.)
Copyright © Jessica Walls | Year Posted 2007
Those green-black cobra eyes,
Are black-yellow butterfly wings
That hypnotizes you with a deadly sting
Return to thy hand weaved basket, from the land of Nod
Then, we shall rest upon your silent butterfly wings
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
DO WE COME UPON A TIME,
TO FIND OURSELVES, AGAIN,
DRIFTING IN AND OUT?
THEN, PERHAPS, FIND A DOOR
THAT MAY HAVE BEEN THERE
ALL THE WHILE...
IN THE MIDST, THEREOF...
AND DO WE CONTEMPLATE
GREATER THAN OUR OWN
THAT WE MAY COME UPON
THOSE GREENER PASTURES...
WE'VE BEEN SEARCHING FOR
AND LONGING TO ENDURE...
AND JUST A WHILE LONGER...
DO WE CREATE...
OUR PRECIOUS DIAMOND
IN THE RUFF...
A DIAMOND, IN THE END,
FROM OUR OWN STRUGGLES
THAT WE MAY FIND, SOMEWHERE...
AND FROM OUR LABORS
DO WE BECOME...
SOME ARCHETEHCT, PERHAPS,
OF OUR OWN FORTUNE
MATISSE WILL SAY...
FORGET THE PAST!
GET ON WITH YOUR OWN WAY
IN THE TIME OF LIFE...
IF ONLY TO EMBRACE
THE VERY FRESHNESS...
FROM OUR INSTINCTS
AND WHAT ABOUT THOSE
WOULD THERE BE A TRIFLE LEFT,
FEBRUARY 14, 2017
Copyright © Robert OBrien | Year Posted 2017