See, what's begun -
there 'neith the sun -
black latticed wings
on a milkweed!
Eggs will succeed
as each one clings
fast to a leaf.
Time is so brief -
larvae must eat.
Eat up today,
then make a "J" -
an agile feat.
A chrysalis
now, pretty miss -
a jade jewel.
Time to emerge,
yield to the urge.
Don’t be a fool!
See?
I'm here,
having split
my emerald,
gilded chrysalis -
as I emerge,
a monarch.
I'm here.
See!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They travel without passports,
these delicate immigrants,
their wings like stained glass windows
in a cathedral of wind.
They rise into the August sky,
a thousand orange and black wings,
paper-thin, trembling
with the weight of a journey
they do not remember
but instinctively cannot refuse.
They drift over highways,
tiny, winged ghosts in the exhaust,
mapping routes older than concrete,
older than borders, older than names.
Some will faIl, for
a highway stitches
through their flight path,
and the milkweed grows scarce.
The rest push on,
carrying the sun on their backs,
a flickering pulse
toward a home they have never seen.
What is migration but memory
written in the body?
What is memory but a debt
passed down in veins?
the companion memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/dinner_with_the_butterfly_whisperer_13613
she swooped in and around us
the dogs were curious
I had never seen such a dark butterfly
She was not as large as a luna moth
but rather large in butterfly circles
velvety black
when she landed on my foot and opened a bit
I noted that she also had gorgeous periwinkle blue
not a lot, but enough
I did a bit of research
She looks more like a black and blue monarch
than any other kind of butterfly
This delighted me
I had not seen a monarch for two or three years
She is still circling us.
I
fluttering patterns
wear the beauty crown
into the garden of the wilting roses.
greeting the thorns
with an aura of bliss
that disarms them
as they pass.
Asking God to speak
Forgiveness, I ask from you
Hitting rock-bottom
IN A GILDED INSTANT
The monarch’s wings opened as a picture book, fluttering by. It glided, uncertain but undeterred, through a gentle haze of gold and shadow, the garden’s hush punctuated by the faint murmur of leaves. Sunlight filtered in rare skeins, dappling the monarch’s patterned wings as it hovered, hesitated, and then pressed onward—a flicker stitched between petal and air. The world, for one gilded instant, seemed spun from elegant silk.
Painted in oranges, kissed with black lace,
the monarch glides through the air and
pirouettes in a ballet of grace.
Oh, to witness her beauty, a fleeting affair
a living poem, a jeweled muse~
a moment suspended in delicate air.
(Poem written for USPS Stamp Poetry Contest, Robert James Liguori, sponsor)
Finish my poem contest,
Sponsor Mystic Rose Rose .
Posted 12/4/2025
~~~
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true
on true
~~~~~~~
From flower to flower she wends her way, searching, seeking out the very best
The cottage garden flowers they all delight but is on the milkweed she comes to rest.
It’s here she’ll lay her clutch of eggs upon this common plant. and when the babes arrive
They will feed their fill on milkweed leaves, they need them to survive
Then nature, in her mothering way, in silk will wrap them up real tight
And they will slumber on the milkweed leaves ‘til comes the time for their maiden flight
Then through the miracle of metamorphosis when the work of the chrysalis is done
A host of Monarch butterflies, from out the lowly milkweed patch, will rise to greet the sun.
He is not a monarch
Possibly an inquisitive moth
His black lines are distinct, drawn on by a heavy marker
reddish orange body contrasts with miniscule white dots
He stays around a bit, curiously watching our discomfort
the Metamorphoses blamed it
for the death of lovers
who met under its branches
for suicide
the Old Testament believes
blood from its fruit
triggered war elephants
to do battle against Jews
its caterpillar feeds on it
insecta insearch of milkweed
predators soon regret
the notion to ingest
wings cloaked in naval orange
inspired ancients to etch them in stone
a balance of nature
destined for ruin
Gaius Julius Caesar
was not a real people pleaser
he tried to set himself up as a monarch
but never made it past the Ides of March
monarch butterfly
drinks Maximillian's nectar....
fall's angular sun
My beloved monarch or milkweed butterfly, Your many-miles migration may mystify, Are you migrate from Antarctica or Australia or America?, How do you ascertained this area?, Your journey holds spiritual significance, It serves as a symbol of existence.
she appears only when there is a double rainbow
so her presence is discovered more often in Australia
tonight she appeared in full colorful glory
she spoke not one word which we understood
as she is not a mere faerie, she is a monarch faerie
a butterfly, who has crystallized from another dimension
she flits and flutters, showing delightful delicacy
We watch her from afar, amazed and delighted
Sunlight in a blue sky
Dapples in and out of cottony grey clouds
Warming then soothing in turn
Two retiring humans under a tree
Amid a hundred shades of green
As a large yellow monarch
The king of insects
Glides and flutters by
With a sense of purpose and delicate grace
In perfect juxtapose.
(7/30/24)
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