Best Mariposa Poems
May your days be filled with happiness, joy and laughter
Always know I love you, a poem is what I’ll gift forever after
You’re in my heart and soul, as a child and as I mature then grow old
I cherish our memories, your motherly love, from sunrise to sunset
forever more
My mother’s eyes of ebony, sparkling stars
Carefully, she tints her lips gypsy red
A cascade of flowing ringlets, her hair shines from afar
Muscatels quaint yellow ribbons a lovely corona spread
Slipping on an elaborate Norteño style flared dress
Exquisite ruffles swirl and billow before her rapt audience
Instructor of folkloric dance, a god given talent unique no less
Her blithe unbounded spirit, free as a mariposa
Images of her forever I keep, radiant and hermosa
In Deutschland they're called Schmetterling
Mariposa down in Spain,
And although they're called, by different names
They're really quiet the same
Borboleta sounds like fun to say
and Farfalla twist my tongue
But when they're seen in France
They're simply Papillon
But in the Scottish hills
Where they migrate with desire
They call them Dalán-dé
When trans-lated mean "Gods Fire"
No matter what you call them
When their beauty meets my eye
I have to take a moment
To enjoy the Butterfly
Butterfly
painted lady
spread your wings
Thighs of color
pose your love
I light
candle flame
for you
I am
consumed by fire
Since my house
has burned down
I can see
the moon more clearly
I gaze upon
your Eden
falling upon me
I run blindly
to you
as you mount
flowers
in my garden
As I hold you
in my arms
do not
let me feel
your departure
upon my hand...
yam yam I went to the store to buy six eggs
and twelve cans of club soda
campari tomatoes smiling at me
I love my negroni and can make a mean martini
spinach came along to make a tortilla
mariposa a butterfly
walking the street with my bag
they chant we love your tattoos
nothing like the **** we see today
purple majesty
mariposa violet
truly uplifting
Me ilusionaba al estar en vasta y ambigua espera
Para saber si eras o no,
Para ver si aceptabas mis reclamos equívocos…
Me ilusionaba, al tener cirios desconcertantes,
Al abundarme en quimeras;
Quizás por querer tener lo imposible,
Queriendo tragarme constelaciones…
Me ilusionaba, quedando descarnado,
Sofocándome en aspiraciones ansiadas e indecisivas;
Asentado te gritaba en silencio agonizante,
Deslumbrado en mar de noches prisioneras,
Tembloroso ante la presencia de habladoras grietas emocionales…
Me ilusionaba, al intentar acariciar una mariposa moribunda,
Para ver si revivías;
Quería saber si reformabas mi corazón polisémico,
Pero al intentar ver, saber, sentir y tener,
Comprendí que estaba desilusionadamente ilusionado…
The Mexican Monarch
You may see them passing by
On their spiral flight, through the sky
You might see the North American Mariposa
While on your patio enjoying your Mimosa
A two-way journey, migración magnifico!
From frigid Canada to welcoming warm Mexico
On milkweed plants or the Buddleia bush
Imbibing on rich sugar beads, a butterfly’s kush
Dramatic millions! Bright orange trimmed with black
East of the Rocky Mountains where they’ll go back
Endangered phenomenon is the avian march
Overwintering travel of the Mexican Monarch
There's a fine line between fortune and fame
I was riding with the Devil till my horse went lame
I was all alone till loneliness came
The Count of Monte Cristo must have felt the same
Now I walk the dry lands of Mariposa
In the sun-scorched state of California
Was riding with a group that was supposed to
Raise the dollar amount on my wanted poster
We were moving with a man they called P.O.8
Relieving stagecoaches of unnecessary weight
A poem would be left just to leave them irate
A gentleman Bandit forges his own fate
W.H. Taylor was a formidable man
He was riding driver's box with a shotgun in his hand
Mama was grit and Papa sand
Taylor shot my horse and my face hit land
And Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
Wouldn't bother you
If you weren't carrying gold
Now Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
I just want to know
What your front boot hold
When I woke I thought I was dead
Sandy little spot I done soaked it red
Picked myself up on my own accord
I felt like a man that fell on his own sword
All I saw was red as my anger it poured
As I pictured my possie counting out their reward
Now it's time to find out what becomes of me
Walking across the desert at a boiling degree
I can hear my mama now saying nothing's free
When I got caught for the Cherry Creek robbery
Now I think as I walk to my desert grave
The next time around I might behave
But this Highwayman Soul can never be saved
Because what's in the Wells Fargo box is what I crave
And Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
Wouldn't bother you
If you weren't carrying gold
Now Roll, Roll
Stagecoach roll
I just want to know
What your front boot hold
In Spain, it’s mariposa.
In Poland, you’ll hear motyl.
One says borboleta in balmy Brazil.
Pulali are a plenty around exotic Nepal.
“Come here pretty farfalla!” in Italy,
You would call.
Hawaiians sight pulelehuas
While strolling in the sand.
A child would chase a chocho if home is in Japan.
No matter how one says or spells it,
I always breathe a sigh,
Every time I behold a beautiful butterfly.
Standing in the meadow
Looking up at old Half Dome
Watching deer meandering
Across the front porch of their home.
So many years ago
When the Indians still were there
And the great Winona redwood
Could be driven through if you dare
The times were so much simpler
And the living was so free
When the life of a little boy
Was all that it could be.
Seems I've spent a lifetime
Looking for a better way to be
When Mariposa was just waiting
For me to come back and be me.
Indeed I've spent most of my life,
A lifetime running away
Trying to be what I wasn't,
A mask and a part to play.
Trying to be this one and that one
Running away from seeds that were sown
Breaking deals and breaking hearts
Even at last my own.
So I offer this advice
To those whose heart is achin',
Go right on and just be yourself,
Everyone else is taken.
by E. Marshall Evans
camino el silencia
una caida en el techo
redoble de tambor
estoy libre ahora
como un pajaro
la amo
estoy dando la bien venida
ellas es amable
el baile de tierra seca
su toque de amor
lagrimas de alegra
soy libre como
una mariposa
flotando ahora
abora la boca
a su generosidad
ella me cubre
sus besos humedos
ocultar mis lagrimas
en su regazo
ando en la calle
de la felicidad
orquesta de su viento suave
Bela é a borboleta
belo é o arco-iris
bela a poesia perfeita
que escreve a natureza
Bella é la farfalla
bello é il arcobaleno
bella la poesia perfetta
che scribe la natura
Hermosa es la mariposa
hermoso el arco-iris
hermosa la poesia perfecta
que escribe la naturaleza
Belle est le papillon
belle est arc iris
belle la póesie parfaite
qui écrit la nature
Schön ist der Schmetterling.
Schön ist der Regenbogen.
schöne perfekte Poesie
wer schreibt die Natur
Beautiful is the butterfly
beautiful is the rainbow
beautiful the perfect poetry
that writes the nature... !
Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, French,German and English
Mariposa lilies floated
cool white on the incandescent
embers of their core.
You shivered, pale as a silver
fever. 103 degrees. For days
you hallucinated Mercury.
Out here in sunshine, the world
has been spinning us dizzy.
Wake up and join the dance.
“Te quiero mucho mi hermosa mariposa”
What of the fire that burns hearts
into a dust that refuses to shake
from the bones of lovers?
What of the pain that makes
those lost in the wake
of life find meaning?
What of the sound that breaks
through doors of distance?
Is it not the gentle whisper
of a vocal caress?
Is it not a promise cradled
by the tongue,
And set free by amorous eyes?
Is it not the bloom of Forever’s bosom?
I shall not tremble before death,
I shall not shudder;
For I know your kiss
lay quietly with me.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.
Evening’s shadows start to drift
Down to the valley far below
Like glaciers made of amethyst
Crowned by the mountain’s alpenglow
Golden poppies and mariposas
Offer up their humble cups of dew
And I realize now why regal roses
Never make me think of you.