Creation
A bumble bee
Busy in the buddleia bush
Getting nectar and pollen
For life all to go.
A butterfly fluttered by
Going up high
For a purpose unknown
Exploring the sky.
Below on a cabbage
A caterpillar chews
And spiders just waiting
To trap some more food.
Incredible creatures
All multiplied vast.
God’s glorious creation
Future, present, and past.
3 fugacity
Did you see the butterfly,
Flying in your garden,
To make one’s wings vibrate
To forage again,
Accept his happiness,
Breathe in the perfumes
The magnolia flower,
The butterfly tree, says
David’s Buddleia,
Dip your icy lips
In a glass of jurançon,
The moment won’t come back,
Did you see the butterfly?
13
As tu vu le papillon,
Voler dans ton jardin,
Faire vibrer ses ailes
Pour butiner encore,
Accepte son bonheur,
Respire les parfums
La fleur de magnolia,
L’arbre à papillons, dit
Le Buddleia de David,
Trempe tes lèvres glacées
Dans un verre de jurançon,
L’instant ne reviendra pas,
As tu vu le papillon ?
A busy bee browses the lavender bush
Collecting sweet nectar no doubt
Visits loads of blue flowers
Goes on round about.
Some distance away tall buddleia blooms.
Its long purple blossoms in spikes
The butterflies love it and never give up
Its nectar is vital for life.
The soil underneath is full of life too
Worms, woodlice, and beetles and plenty of bugs.
Some nice things, some not so
No-one ever likes slugs.
Oh thank you, yes, thank you, God, your precious plan,
No part independent though millions of bits
Each needing some others, some sharing of life
Each particle useless if just hit-or-miss.
Its September
Where is your rain muse ?
weve got our Autumn here
I'm drawing a line
on Summer past
like some bedraggled dragon
its chore has commenced
The buddleia is slightly drawn
and the red roses have died down
The Fern tree is re-splendid
in its promise
potted under my Robina
There's spinach and broad beans
for spring
Its September
Where is your rain muse ?
weve got our Autumn
I'm drawing a line
on Summer past
like some bedraggled piston
its chore has gone
The buddleia is slightly drawn
and the red roses have died down
The Fern tree is re-splendid
in its promise
potted under my Robina
and weve got our spinach to grow
for spring
The Autumn crocuses sway
Amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down
August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely
The impending storms
ignite the skies
We strife to Find a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany
August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke
callousness is her hallmark…
The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down
August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely
The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany
August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke
With your sudden guise
giving Shirley poppies seeds away
To Welford for the snowdrops
in mid February
a hushed garden
with done, knuckled buddleia
rose hips nipped
no surplus food for the birds
Spring like weather
down the South
no snow to contend
White butterflies flap
around the plump blooms
of a buddleia bush, heady
on nectar and a rush
of perfume from the thick
clusters of purple flowers.
They seem quite drunk,
roused in number to swarm
this beacon of pleasure.
Held within a cloud of ecstasy,
they are reluctant to leave,
wings hiccupping
in short flights never far
from the next feverish sip
of an ambrosial brew. Some
are carried off in their bliss,
wings waving goodbye
out of the grinning beak
of a bird. Others
just wear out, never troubled
by questions of why.
The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down
August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns shortness
Somber yet always lonely
The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany
August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke
Happy we drifted to November
with died down buddleia
and an abeyance of rose hips
the tree bark is clear
We held the half Moon at Battersea
and went out in the cold
along the maze of streets
everything mattered
The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down
August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely
The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding a talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany
August you are a gust of leafs
floating downstream
you are about heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoke
Between sips of Julep
birdsong wafts in the air;
busy bees and countless
butterflies abound on
blossoms of buddleia.
But me? I fall into
blissful torpid languor.
The Autumn crocuses sway
amongst the shadows of the pine trees
The air is resonant with smoke
As the buddleia dies down
August as thick as musk
Blackbird came a calling
about Autumns ephemerality
Somber yet always lonely
The impending storms
ignite the skies
Finding an amber talisman
To acknowledge the epiphany
August you are a gust
floating downstream
you are about heartfelt loss
Tameness is not spoken
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
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