for the children of the Holocaust, Ukraine and Gaza
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails
when thunder howls
when hailstones scream
when winter scowls
when nights compound dark frosts with snow
where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
by Michael R. Burch
In my opinion, the most important human rights are the human rights of children to grow up without becoming the victims of racism, inequality, injustice, homelessness, malnutrition, starvation or war. I agree with Gandhi, who said that if we want to live in a better world, we need to start with the children.
I just want to catch you on a date
in the middle of the ocean,
with all the running lights
on your face.
Picturing us in the sky,
which are captured
in your eyes.
The breeze playing
with your hairs.
No crowd,
no noise -
just you
in the middle of the ocean,
with butterflies.
We tell a secret,
soft and slow,
that has been hidden for years
in a muddy home.
You smiled
like you already knew -
the change...
it happened through you.
So meet me
where the moonlight falls.
'Cause love
kissed the sky.
We find us
on the shore now.
We are in a peace
which never happened before.
Never happened before...
Never happened before.
they're flowing
without the wind,
catching my performance
way at my feet,
I don't wish here,
until the caterpillar
shall bring,
My transformation
will have to sing,
and the catch of
bees before they
sting
and finally
I shall breathe.
Not a demise
but a butterfly
and its
gorgeous wings....
Impresses
the choruses
Chasing the wind and butterflies
Blowing dandelions and watching them rise.
The feel of soft grass beneath tiny feet
Not yet knowing the feel of defeat.
Growing up
Mud puddles to jump.
Catching fish in the nearby creek
Playing games of hide and seek.
Growing older
Standing shoulder to shoulder.
Reading books by flashlight
Giggling with friends all night.
The excitement of a boyfriend
Dreaming of dances and football games to attend.
The crush of a broken heart
The feeling of your soul being ripped apart.
Slowly, bit by bit
A decision to not quit.
Watching clouds float by,
Makeup to apply.
Listening for a horn to blow,
Always on the go.
The end of school days,
The catching of bouquets.
Finally, the decision you must make,
Which road do you take?
Chase the wind and the butterflies
Or try to grab everything before your eyes?
pair of butterflies
flitting from bloom to bloom
~ gracious nuptials
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Shattered mirror pieces
in a cold room -
filled with invisible battles
as the heart
searches for warmth
Numb eyes
deepening scratches.
As seconds pass by,
the urge to rest in peace grows,
but own soul refuses to surrender.
A golden light,
from a narrow crack
falling on those broken pieces
reflecting buried dreams,
rising, drifting across the room
like butterflies.
Reborn charm
eradicates the frozen wall,
filling the room
with charming colors of light
that were once lost.
I am grateful for butterflies…
I adhere to the Native American point of view
that if you whisper a wish to a butterfly
there’s a good chance that wish will come true…
I’ve done this many times and I have to say…
how often I’ve been surprised…
which is great because I have a lot of wishes left…
and there are a lot of butterflies.
Every time we marvel at the beauty of the butterflies…
and a smile lights up our face
we should also marvel at all the changes
it took to get them to this place
butterflies and bees
pollinating the flowers
spreading new beauty
Some time just before the sunset,
When the butterflies were gone,
The moon was on its way,
There was no eclipse, but it felt that way
When there was darkness all around,
A beam entered in their life,
Turning the time around,
With 11:11, no longer on the clock
Beneath the sun's glaze, we often turn blind eye,
While seeing the perspective through the moon's eye,
We often forget to see from whom it borrowed that light
But the sun will always set right?
The moon will come again too,
For we will always appreciate the moon
Who will appreciate the sun for giving up its youth?
Now I keep a dead rose in my pocket
pressed in old pages of a faded book.
To hold you like a palm stone of garnet
I’ve stuck you right inside the story’s hook.
A frozen bud I can see how we met,
feel my gut fall with that very first look.
I peered into those dark skies of your eyes,
at once the storm swallowed my butterflies.
we are nothing but butterflies
flying for a day
but thinking it’s forever
wings soft as what we never say
hearts light
but the silence heavy
time slips like threads
unraveling steady
love lives loud
in a whisper’s disguise
sunset in our chest
while the morning dies
we kiss
like we’re carving our names in the breeze
but breath forgets
it doesn't beg
doesn't plead
our shadows stretch thin
where the light won’t stay
echoes of touch
in the slow decay
fragile
as the promise we never spoke
cracking
in the warmth like mirror smoke
still
we float
full of flame and doubt
trying to land
where the stars burned out
our wings
beat soft in the hush of regret
writing poems
the sky won’t ever forget
we are here
we are gone
we are caught in between
just a blink
in the eye
of an endless dream
In a world where words are butterflies of light dancing at dawn,
The poet becomes an alchemist of shadow, transmuting silence into gold,
A beacon spreading its ray through the waves of time's mist,
Critic of society, he digs deep into the soil of ignorance with a silver quill.
Verses flow like a river of stars through the eternal night of consciousness,
Unknown hero, uncalled, but carrying in his chest a fire of change,
For he knows that writing is not just the echo of dogs barking at the moon in the village,
But a pledge to build bridges across the abysses of lost hearts.
If these words are just wind whistling through the void of oblivion,
Then why write, why dream under the sky of indifference?
In each letter, the poet puts his soul as a silent offering,
Hoping that somewhere, a heart will grow wings and fly towards truth.
Somewhere, in hidden corners of the world, the echo of verse will resound,
A heart will stir, will feel, will understand the call from the star,
Writing is not just creation, but a cry, a desire for change,
A manifesto to make the world better under the light of eternal dream.
"We must say, goodbye to winter but do not be sad. It will come back again next year with a big smile and plenty of snow. Now we welcome Spring to enjoy." By Poet
Winter can be very cold,
the wind will sing and be very bold.
The ground is covered with fluffy snow,
to play in as the swirls will blow.
Spring is now in the air,
flowers and trees are blooming everywhere.
Springtime in my pretty garden is starting to grow,
oh no do you see a huge old black crow.
Spiced tea in my garden is for me,
I love the butterflies and the big yellow bee.
Spring can be so much fun,
sitting with my flowers and the bright sun.
From obscurity come the strangers
Fading away, like old dangers.
Walking the street of flowers
more people pass every hour
A few are pleasantry exchangers.
Near my porch, robin sings
Beautiful music for summer swing!
Red berries in a bowl
Kelly green butterfles, on patrol
Noontime's for swaying and musing.
Passersby, smiles of the moment
Starry eyes, upon distance fervent!
Jasmine fragrance in the air
Pink hummingbird is stopping there
Yellow balloon wafts by, silent.
Related Poems