Butterfly School Poems | Examples
These Butterfly School poems are examples of School poems about Butterfly. These are the best examples of School Butterfly poems written by international poets.
JUST BE YOU
A Praying Mantis
Can’t be a butterfly;
Nor can a moth
Be a hiving be:-
Know that it’s not
What you are,
But who you are: God’s
Unmistakable child:-
Don’t ever strive to be
What others think
You ought to be;
Rather, always be
That great creature
God created you to be:-
Let the cosmic essence
Of your glorious being,
Forever be a shining star,
Enlightening terrestrial Earth
With God’s peace and love:-
Being who you are,
Is God’s divine purpose
Of your blessed being:
The creator of grace,
Peace, and love,
Never has, and never will,
Make a mistake:-
Thus, never attempt to
Exit who and whose you are:-
I prayed for you,
A thousand times, in a thousand ways.
But every single moment,
I recounted the days.
Never have I ever forgot to pray.
For which I tried so hard.
If only my eyes could say.
I cried for you,
In an endless cycle of nights.
I was sleepless for you,
For at least a thousand nights.
My eyes were wet,
Wet with sorrow and pain.
The pain of losing you,
Was making me insane.
Wherever I go, I could see you.
Whenever I dream, I dream of you.
You are an unforgettable memory of mine,
If only I could see you one last time,
I could say I am on cloud nine.
If only my eyes could speak,
The phrases of my heart.
I would have felt,
As if I conquered the earth.
Eyes can tell the truth,
Hidden within the soul.
Because they have natural innocence,
One which makes us whole.
But I guess it’s too late,
Yet my heart can't seem to forget.
For me, it will always be you.
Never will I ever forget to pray for you.
Alas! My Lady in Green,
You will always be a part of me,
Even if I die or the world ends.
You will always remain special to me.
Something’s happening, let’s call it sunrise, for now,
and summer vacation in Geneva, in umm.. 10 hours.
My heart-beat is spiking, like a flag or kite flying.
I’m leaving an empty room - making one last pass with a broom.
I’m stuffing my bag, with the last few things, for escape on aluminum wings.
My dreams, woven in bright, butterfly tapestries, are rolled and folded -
packed between urgent fantasies and harsh, time-sensitive practicalities.
I know you’re there, a quarter-world away, good news, pegasus awaits,
to streak gulf-stream high, over choppy oceans wide with mechanical fire,
its ice-cycle crystal contrail points, like cherub cupid's arrow, toward you.
Forget pixels, tech instruments, remote lifeline connections,
and prayer-like whispers over thin, criss-crossed wires.
I’m making my move, coming compass-needle true,
to press up close, reintroduce, extemporize and seduce.
.
.
music for this:
Someday by Sugar Ray
sunburn by almost monday
This Charming Man by The Smiths
Heaven by Los Lonely Boys
Every step she takes rocks her world.
A butterfly is a dragon.
Life is a beast that must be slain.
It rips her heart apart with its cruel fangs
Leaving a red raw wound.
The pain is so immense that she can hardly stand
Every touch is a branding.
It burns a mark on her heart that cannot be erased.
She cares too much.
She would crawl through hell
She would bang on the gates of heaven
for those she loves.
But love means pain.
Love is the brand that marks her heart.
Life shreds, love burns
but existence without them would be empty.
So the pain is a gift.
I could find my child, who's a butterfly lover,
Often bunking school granting many a reason;
Knowing her mad love, over the air to hover,
I allowed her to continue with no treason...
Having decided to find the reason from her
When, finally, persuaded her to open up;
Observing sage-like silence and eyes with no blur,
She blushed as though there's a tempest in her teacup...
Pleasing, easing, teasing, tiring, tempting, mocking,
Persuading, convincing, coercing, smooth-talking;
Silver-tongued sweet words on her slowly showering,
Ultimately, she spoke up as though rock-shocking...
Does schooling teach one to fly like a butterfly?
Does butterfly, in a school, ever long-time lie?
05 July 2021
Contemporary Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot
His voice is grating
Penetrating my daydream
I rapidly turn it into a mosquito
But it bites me, so I transmogrify it into a butterfly
It flits around turning different colors
orange as a flame,
red as a gypsy’s skirts,
blue as the dusk at night.
I can feel a smile on my face
that I do not often experience.
It is my giant love smile.
I am loving this daydream.
Miss Stone!
I sit up sharply, blinking.
Oh, heck. I am in my sophomore math class again.
Mr. Not-So-Nice is glaring at me.
The class laughs.
School Girl
A thick and heavy wooden door yanked off the wall
Carried into the street by a black man
Peddling wheels and bicyclists ran the streets
People strolled on sidewalks
With hands in their pockets
And music in their ears
A white woman with a large ball of shiny keyes in hand
walked quickly
Butterflies cut out on my pair of blue jeans
Delicate and pretty ones, too,
On my small white ,cotton tote bag
Colorful and young
I walked yonder
To my dwelling place
Into my chambers
Thick sheets and fluffy pillows
Floral window panels with golden accents
A black digital clock on the wall reads 11:11
Strong cologne
In fancy black boxes
A brown wooden frame
With a little school girl in white and navy blue
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
05/08/19
I went to a catholic school,
was made to heed, conform and obey;
oh, those nuns could be so nasty and cruel.
they even forced us to make up sins and pray.
I was trapped in a dark place,
a place where being CReAtiVe was a disgrace;
so I wore a mask of- I am happy on my face,
but, inside I was a butterfly just dying.
Though, in time I broke free and was flying,
letting my artistry soar- sighing;
writing poetry, yet still conforming to a rule,
but when inspiration hits me I admit- I stray.
Imagination and inspiration I embrace,
my past CoNForMiTy- I am not denying;
so, why am I crying, crying, crying . . .
______________________________
November 4, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/A Trapped Butterfly
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1082-696-04
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, CReAtiVe CoNForMiTy
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 11/2018
Fifth Place
It wasn’t her looks
which made her so unappealing
No, ma’am ...
that girl is a certified cutie pie
It wasn’t her demure charm
that caused man-child rebel teens
to sissy shy away
No, sir ... that young, yet-to-be
buxom woman,
cocooned in a size 5 butterfly body,
is so Spanish Harlem Rose beautiful ...
Eyes don’t lie, so says
this fanboy fella: Ah- ooh ah
She’s gonna honey bee
a statuesque,
regal queen Latifah
According to my secret admirer,
local enquirer text send ...
why
is she so unpopular then?
Perhaps, it’s because
she refuse to let herself be deflowered
and degraded,
by silly boyz-to-men
That’s the type of Zulu woman,
me low-popularity humble soul want
as my better-half best friend
It was just another ordinary day
Scattered notes are all over the place
Drums trying to maintain a certain beat
Guitars either strumming or singing
Violins studying their scales and arpeggios
The piano pouring out its player’s soul
Clarinets and flutes blowing out harmonies
A mesmerizing vocal cuts through
A white butterfly flutters freely
Basking in the building’s flowing melodies
Students rushing in and out of the cafeteria
Sheet music in their hands while eating
Leaves of variant colors fall from the trees
The wind blows in one direction
Compensating for the scorching hot sun
Taking turns as nature takes its usual course
Old friends reconcile and greet each other
Re-living past memories and narrating the present
Speaking of profound concepts within their discourse
Anyone overhearing may be left confused
It was just another ordinary day
Scattered notes are all over the place
Many things happening all at once
Yet the resonant music remained unnerved
Flying,
Beautiful,
Terrifying creatures.
As a young girl,
I went to a butterfly museum
on a school field trip.
I'll never forget that day
these colorful, fragile
little things with wings
were flying in the open
air as I entered the spacious
place.
Cages were forbidden
They were free
They could rest
and perch anywhere they pleased.
They didn't have a care in
the world.
A few of them landed on my
shoulder, my chest, and my
arms, and I panicked.
My cousin was there and
she laughed and pointed
as I flailed and screamed
doing anything to get these
terrifying little beauties
off of me.
It worked.
Frightened, they fluttered away
only to land on someone else
and, me, I dodged every other
one of those monsters that
came my way.
After it all ended, and we were
loading back on the school bus,
I was relieved that those harmless
little beasts weren't anywhere near
me anymore.
Those Flying
Terrifyingly
Beautiful
Creatures.