Calm is your nature so fair
O maiden of meticulous metaphor
like the white lilies in the garden, balms soft air,
amongst autumn’s signature rustling leaves
upon dried maples once green
In warm tones of terracotta her spirit roams free,
on earth she manipulates the mariposa monarca
butterfly migration in Michoacán’s fir forests,
clusters color trees with golden orange tones
trimmed in black lace philigree
skies are filled with beating wings
like a flurry of a rain's pitter-patter
O butterfly if you flutter by, I’ve left you aster
for your returns refuel in my yearning yard
Tonantzin our venerable Mother, goddess virginius
of virtue of vim and vigorous miss
Q3 keeper of chaos and order,
I’m forever thankful for your service ~
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
This December day that feels like March or April
Beckons me down to my old thoughtful spot
To the bench on the hill above the lake
Where I have discovered poems waiting for me
Behind me, the oaks are alive
With a red-winged blackbird raucous
Below me, a solitary doe grazes the tender
Emerald green left where the waters receded
"Hello, deer!" I call out to her, waving
She looks up, dewdrop eyes and ears
Like petals turned toward me curiously
A mariposa lily blooming toward my light
I feel the woodpecker’s fervent knock inside my ribcage
And the everywhere croak of a single unseen frog
Is the creak of a door I never meant to close
Slowly opening again, letting it all back in
The moss on my heart is cool in the winter sun
The lace lichen holds my dreams among the trees
And there is a brand new poem waiting for me
"Hello, dear," I say again, and this time I am sincere.
Seja
Doutor Lauro
Vejo-te
como o
vento livre,
em mar sem fim,
verdadeiro
consigo,
sem amarras
do ruim.
Sábio, sabe,
que o amanhã
é uma semente,
plantada em
cada instante,
e a mudança
é a mariposa,
na vida
que segue.
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
Mi cuerpo no esta aqui mi alma esta cerca Nunca me fui. Siempre estoy cerca. Piensa en m como una oruga cada vez que me ves. Me esconderé, pero me convert re en una mariposa. Me convert re. Volaré alrededor de ti todos los d as. Te demuéstrare que estoy cerca. Te abrazaré con mis alas mientras lloras No puedes entender por qué me fui pero nunca dejé de hablar contigo. Te escucharé aunque no puedas verme como era Estaré cerca como te dije el amor, la muerte del v nculo no me desgarrar a, recuérdame nunca me fui aunque siempre estoy en tu coraz n.
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.
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
purple majesty
mariposa violet
truly uplifting
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
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
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
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…
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
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