a life
When a spawn meets an egg, it is totally by chance the egg, and the spawn has no say in
the matter, in time life, is born, the new
Life's only duty is to produce another life.
The between beginning and the end is what we call living.
Some live long, others live short, and this is purely by good luck
A shivering August butterfly on the window sill When taken indoors flapped tired wings and lived a few days longer.
Many old human butterflies live in rest homes where they get fed
and medicated to live a few more years.
They are prayed upon by nuns and priests who tell them about Jesus, the most famous butterfly collector of them all
If they believe in him, they will go to heaven and be saved
A holy person will stick a needle in them and put them in a big book
and forever, they will be beautiful.
For non-believers, there is no rosy future
They will die on the ledge
turn into dust and washed away by the rain.
Categories:
butterfly collector, abuse, beach, beautiful, emotions,
Form: Free verse
Kaleidoscope of a rainbow's hope,
realizations of grandiosity from a splendorous mount-
A looking glass for a peace, alas,
crystallization of beauty from an azure fount.
Sunset hues of yellow and white,
with a splash of Prussian in rain's delight-
Contrasts of the day and night
with a flash of a lover's fantasy sight.
Spectrum dreams, not as it seems,
continuous light shines with fervor's gleam-
A rift of a cliff of a twilit stream,
clashes with reverie’s majestic supreme.
I've seen the beauty held in
a rainbow's desire, as the rain ends with sangria fire-
Releasing all the glow acquired with the flow,
glistened tints of pink sapphire.
Palatial sprays in canary ways are believed to
shower life with nectar,
my medallion stays on my porch
these days, and receive nourishment from a
butterfly collector.
Chartreuse and cobalt
with a splash of honeyed hazel shimmer,
brings abstruse beauty with a flash
of lovely palatial glimmer.
Date Written: February 13, 2017
Categories:
butterfly collector, beautiful, color, nature,
Form: Rhyme
(N.b- I abhor anyone who kills for beauty and art- just thought I'd let you know in advance x)
Let me look at you-
Aquamarine, ultramarine, powder blue
like paper Angels jinking on thin string
lightning wingbeats make your colours sing
flitting, unconcerned, unbridled joy,
loved you, stalked you since I was a boy.
High on Lavender, bathing in the sun,
pastel shades beating lazy applause
joy cut short by me because....
I wanted you.
And now you're mine.
Here you are, ready to take flight
but you can't.
I've saved you, really.
Whatever out there comes to pass
can't touch you now- you're safe
beneath this glass
in stasis, beauty captured at a cost.
Life was lost
but... I too feel a sense of loss.
Can't quite pin it down.
Categories:
butterfly collector, butterfly, crush, horror,
Form: Free verse
You cannot let it drop, the imaginary subtexts,
The ideas of reference in each line, each word,
Are you so important that it all is meant for you?
Or do you know deep down it’s simply too absurd?
I have kept each page of hatred you have sent,
Like a butterfly collector pinions wings onto boards,
In the electric yellow vaults of micro folders,
On hard drives and in memory meticulously stored.
Each savage comment copied, each venomous critique,
Each post of warped disgust, distorted and obtuse,
Each schizophrenic typo, every rant and every rave,
Every message of dementia, every email of abuse.
So I really have to tell you I have had more than enough,
And the evidence provided by your paranoiac prose,
Gives me all I ever needed to turn the game around,
Hold on tight and watch and wait, for it’s time to shock the rose.
Categories:
butterfly collector, on writing and words,
Form: Verse