Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Paige Miller Feb 2013
Even sound leaves an impact
a trace in the air that meets your ear. A planned impact.

Shuffling feet on grass can crush
the hills of ants whose homelands impact.

Bombs leave silhouetted scars,
bodies slip between cracks in politics. Man’s impact.

Vist a foreign land for a week.
Carry-back-culture-in-boxes-and-cans-impact.

The aftermath of a butterfly’s wings?
Can we ban impact?

Finally able to withstand the sharpness of tongues.
Stop walking on eggs shells. Demand impact.

When a King turns his head, let the letters roar.
Revolution makes a grand impact.
i saw a little butterfly his colors they were bright
the colors of the rainbow a picture of delight
sitting on the plants sitting there so still
it was so delightful and gave me such a thrill
then i took his picture so he was there to stay
he posed for my camera and gently flew away
now i have is photo hanging on my wall
the beauty of the butterfly i always will recall
Mohamed Amer Oct 2011
In a mood of silence, I sat on the balcony
I looked at everything around me
Things are loud and noisy
Car horns drive me crazy
Began to feel sad and lonely
Can’t I be dancing in the fields of fantasy?
Lying under the shade of a tree
Where I can be only me
No rules, no laws, I just want to be free
But then I’m back to reality
Then amid this chaos came a breeze
Brought the humidity of the seven seas
Brought the scent of the spring trees
I just couldn’t stand it, and fell to my knees

There was a flying flower
Drawing a rainbow in this happy hour
The clouds were no more
And the sun shone on the happiness door

This flower was dancing in harmony
It was fluttering, playing a Mozart symphony

But that was no flower dancing in the sky
It was the prettiest butterfly

I asked ‚Can I fly with you?
And sail around the way you do?‛

She said ‚Come, we will have so much fun
I will take you so high, to the summer sun‛

I tried but I don’t have wings to fly around
No matter how I tried my feet were on the ground

She moved a wing in a dance
And with simple glance

She filled me with feelings of ecstasy
Never felt this way, like sailing to the eternity

Where endless emotions fly to the forever
When we keep our eyes cherish each other

When we go so deep
Our eyes can’t sleep

Lost in world beyond description
Filled with divine emotions

But when I open my eyes and see myself on the balcony
I had that distant look with a smile of serenity
Where I have been in dreamland with my fairy
And still the great feeling echoes in reality
Where I smile to the sun as it shines upon me
Where I write this poem smoking my cig, and drinking my coffee
And yet I want to be back to the balcony
To enjoy endless feelings of great moments with her company
Mohd Arshad Sep 2014
O Butterfly! flying over the balloon!
do you want to get a great victory?
will you keep climbing there in blue?

O Butterfly! What a dream you have!
what a determination to achieve that!
be my guide to take me along with you!
Notes (optional)
jane taylor May 2016
i fight to peel each moment
of pure stagnation
off of me

a tinnitus cacophony whines in my ears
as my dilapidated fan
keeps slow rhythm to the faucet drip

minutes drag like molasses
handcuffed to the daily lag
groundhog day

i escape into the forest
running, the breeze caresses my face
wildlife pries open my desperate eyes

a spider’s web bends and sways in the wind
fine strands of silver silk flow
soaring they meld in crescent waves

a butterfly glides gently by
befriending gusts of air
softly breathing in another tomorrow

the conductor of the symphony
with sculptor’s hands i cannot see
whispers ever graciously

life is not your enemy
drink it in and let it seep
drop your sword i’m molding thee

©2016janetaylor
Madeysin Feb 2016
You wanted a butterfly
But only peeped in
On a mere caterpillar
Unsure on the process
  Of using wings
And when she did
You gazed upon her lovingly
Your butterfly lips ******* on her skin like mandarin oranges
Next spring you'll go away
To find another butterfly
In her cocoon is where she will **stay
Josiah W Menzies Mar 2013
My feet sweat, my shoulders burn
But I am indifferent.
Nature plays around me.

Close your eyes. The last thing you see
is a white butterfly dance past the tree-line
into oblivion blue.

Bush leaves crackle above you in branches
and below you, let loose through brittle grass.

A light wind conducts a symphony in which
Each shrub plays a part.
Each dry branch, kindling ready to explode,
Itching to snap its dangerously perfect note.

Thorns whistle sharply - reeds hiss and hum.
Every breeze is a clown, taking up instruments
And jostling melodies to play all at once.
The grass rushes to its queue, dry as a bone.
Leaves follow behind in vague harmonies.

I wait on the edge of an eventful storm.
The sky is blue.
A storm of events - something big,
Behind the horizon, behind the mirage.
A rhino.
A microlite .
Electric fences, purring.

A wan nation celebrates, then groans behind the hills.
Natures orchestra sings to no one in particular
GC Kruger Aug 2011
He held the butterfly close
on a terrace green and far,
not too hard, as it might scar
hopes of which nobody knows.

If only he could dare to dream
take a deep breath and spread their wings
"But this world has many vile things,"
he closed his eyes with no esteem.

She gently came along, first quietly -

"I know a lovely world out there
with birds roaming high everywhere.
Sometimes we need to be naive,
open our eyes and just believe."

And with open arms, she had set him free.
Stu Harley Oct 2015
oh
what a
lovely surprise
in
the
cream-colored eyes of
the
bamboo butterfly
breaking
out of
the cocoon
at sunrise
frankie crognale Dec 2013
there’s a girl i know.  she sits at the end of the table in the coffee shop all by herself.  i’ve never spoken to her, but she’s the most interesting person i’ve ever encountered.  she sits there with her music blasting her ear drums, unable to hear the regular coffee shop madness happening around her.  she’ll glance up and notice it, but she chooses not to actually see it.  she’s in her own little world, and she liked it that way.  she’ll sit in her chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop for as long as you’ll let her, flipping the pages of her favorite book or creating sparks with weapon of choice, the pen.  she’s in her place where she feels secure in her chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop.  every season she’ll be there.  the dead of winter brings black rimmed glasses, flannel shirts, ripped jeans, and combat boots. rugged, yet suitable.  her sweater weather drink is a medium hot peppermint mocha with an extra shot of espresso, normally with a wedge of cheesecake or a cinnamon pastry.  as winter comes to an end and spring begins to bloom, she emerges out of the tiny cocoon she’s put herself in for the winter and flies into the world like a beautiful butterfly. when the sun is out, she’s shedding her own light on all the regulars in the coffee shop.  she might not be talking to them, but she’s enchanting them in her own special way in her chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop.  she has the most mesmerizing eyes, from what i’ve seen of her.  her eyes can pierce you right through your flesh, creep into your bones, and go straight through your heart like an arrow at it’s terminal velocity.  with those eyes, without fatality, she scans the room, her favorite book, her chipping nail polish, her clothing, which has now become high waisted shorts she made out of a pair of her dad’s old jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black converse sneakers.  simple, yet lovely.  her drink has gone from a medium hot peppermint mocha with an extra shot of espresso to a medium iced green tea with a squeeze of lemon and a drop of organic honey, nothing extra to go along with it. her skin is sun kissed, and her lips are cherry red.  her eyebrows are arched just high enough above her black framed glasses, and freckles spotting her tiny nose.  her hair is bouncy black curls, sometimes ******* in a messy bun or left down naturally. her music varied with the seasons, as well.  the sweater weather brought muse and two door cinema club.  bikini season brought the wombats or the arctic monkeys.  i knew what music she listens to because she blares it so loudly against the brick walls of the coffee shop.  she probably thinks she’s doing us a favor.  all of these attributes go into making this girl the most intricate girl i’ve ever come across in this small town coffee shop.  i don’t know much about this girl.  i wish i knew a little bit more.  i wonder what her name is, who her friends are and why they’re never there with her, if she has any cats, what dressing she puts on her salad, how many times a day she brushes her teeth, if she prefers pen or pencil, what kind of sushi she likes, or what kind of shampoo she uses. i wish i knew every single detail of this girl, but i do know a few things for certain.  she’s the seasons.  she changes her appearance and her mysterious attitude towards everything outside her little world. her drink and her music change, too.  the only thing that still remains the same through all of the changes is her spot in the chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop.
until the day i said hello.
ashley Apr 2013
lying in a field of dandelions
with our chests rising and falling
in the cool summer breeze

watching the clouds drift away
skin to skin
with my head resting upon your chest
listening to your steady heart beats
ba boom, ba boom, ba boom
against your rib cage

kissing so gently you could mistaken
it for a soft flutter of a butterfly's wing
my skin tingles with delight
and my body radiates with glee

what could be better than lying here
with my soul mate?
i couldn't picture anything in the universe
that could be more fulfilling
than hearing your strong breaths,
hushed whispers,
chest beating rapidly

with the hope
of what's to come


a.m.
Zhavaed Haemaed Jun 2020
Don't touch me by the tender points
It hurts more than a soul can bear
Be gentle lest the pain doth spread
It moves me on to silent tears
Don't judge me as I let it pass
Let me lie down in bed & writhe
And wish for a reprieve of sorts
Or drug that cures me of this plight
How 'd you know how much it hurts
I have faked on a smile and laugh'd
Sanity hangs loose on edges now
If only I could alter the story's draft
Yet, clarity missing from how it ends
Unforeseen misadventures lie in wait
I have learnt to be at ease; with ache
And strife, this life & dragging weight
Anyone suffering from fibromyalgia will relate.
Sara L Russell Sep 2009
Ch. 1.

1.

Behold, thou art dark and comely, my love;
richly hath the sun favoured thee,
delighting in thy presence.
Let me savour thy kisses of wine;
for in the gardens of the temple
the lotus furls open,
wild bees fall asleep on her face.


2.

Lilies and jasmine bloom
in the garden of my love;
falls of wisteria,
carpets of thyme.
Let us lie in the shade of the olives
to gaze on the sky.


3.

For many hours my love slept
  beneath the cedars,
couched on cool swathes of linen,
like the Lord of Midnight enthroned on a cloud.
Long tresses of willows shivered to cool his face.
I called his name but he heard me not,
being entranced in slumber,
deep in the thrall of dreams;
therefore I shall let him awaken when he please.




Ch. 2.

4.

A warm breath of nard is my master, my king,
A great golden deity haloed with stars.
Behold, the noble bearing of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
In my dearest dreams he standeth before me
out of my reach, gesturing for me to follow,
calling unto me like the very embodiment of love.


5.

Night comes softly, o daughters of Jerusalem,
My king's desirous eyes have grown heavy with sleep.
His black hair ripples about his face
  like curtains of smoke,
gold bracelets entice my gaze to
the sinews of his arms.
Like roses unfurling, so open the lips of my love,
  I burn for their flavour,
yet awaken him not till he please.





Ch. 3.

6.

Out of the forest I came, with my
maidens and minions;
with carpets of hibiscus strewn at my feet.
Columns of frankincense curved into the air,
burning from lamps of copper and gold.
From the broad slopes of Edom
my soul's love stopped to observe us.
I felt his warm gaze upon me,
so soft a look as touched like caresses of hands.
I am weary with desire, my lord and king,
Bring me the looks of thine eyes, dark as midnight,
That regard me with touches of silk.


7.

Though I may stand with my legion before thee,
an army behind me,
The west wind roars to my left,
the east to my right,
a million strong with all my banners, warriors
and standard-bearers,
still my delight were only to serve thee,
see how I tremble with awe by thy side.


8.

Behold, my ladies, the noble bearing of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
My king is a custodian of the sanctity of love,
see those arms with the strength to smite
yet full of the will to embrace.
Nightly cometh he to my chambers,
whispering of love,
with the stealth of a lion,
as meek as a lamb.




Ch. 4.

9.

Preparing for my beloved,
I have put on my mantle of midnight sky
garlanded with stars.
My black locks are hung with beads of gold,
my neck is anointed with sandalwood and rose.
Come, my ladies,
Bring me my white chargers,
my sedan lined with silks from Lebanon,
my heralds and cavalcades of guards;
My beloved king awaits my pleasure.






10.

When I am in the embrace of my beloved,
He is worlds of landscapes of desire,
he is all the earth, air and sky to me.
His eyes shineth as my sun and moon,
his broad chest becometh as the
cool desert dunes by night,
where I may rest my head.
Go safely in thy dreams, beloved king,
with sentinel angels, to roost with the doves.




Ch. 5.

11.

Such a turmoil of a dream
hath troubled me, my sisters,
I dreamed that my love approached my window,
Calling unto me through the
rosewood trefoils of the lattice.
Forgetful of our tryst I answered him not,
all oils and fine trappings were put away,
mine eyes were full of slumber.
When finally I rose from my bed
   he had gone.


12.

Overwrought and afraid,
I went out in the streets,
  calling unto my beloved,
receiving no answer and calling again.
  The night watchmen came and found me,
they smote me and denounced me as pagan,
calling me harlot and worshipper of false idols,
harshly they beat me with flails
and threw me into the darkest cellars
of the palace of Solomon.


13.

Awakening at last,
I felt a warm breeze,
It was my love's breath upon my face.
Let all the world suspend in time,
let hate, rage and darkness flee as a shadow,
otherwise let me die here in the arms of my king.
There is but this one hour, one place,
in one lingering moment,
When my soul's love and I are conjoined
in the petals of love.




Ch. 6.

14.

Midnight has fallen in the gardens
  of the temple of Solomon.
The moon communes with her sister in the lake,
painting the magnolias with mother-of-pearl,
turning her buds into silver doves.
Passion and beauty intertwine in my love's garden,
Like the twisted trunks of the fig trees of Judea.
Behold, my beloved,
thou art more comely even than the moon.
Come and walk with me
in the balmy air of night.


15.

Only through the love of another may
a soul come to know of itself.
My king is mine and I am his;
The sun and moon each taketh their
turn in the sky,
the shepherds go sure-footed
over their hills and valleys,
the merchants go their ways in the
spice markets of Lebanon,
while he and I are lost in one another's eyes.




Ch. 7.

16.

Love's weariness hath overcome me,
beloved lord and king.
Bring me thy pleasant fruits, thy tender words,
Lie betwixt my *******; my hair shall
be thy curtain,
these arms shall be as thy cocoon.
Let the tides cease their turning
and the winds give pause to hold their breath.
Awaken not my dearest love, until he please.


17.

Even in sleep,
such beautiful eyes hath my beloved;
his eyelashes rest upon his cheek
like the feet of a butterfly on a lily.
Come, my sisters, we shall make him
a bed of hemp and poppies,
with fruit of the lotus,
that he may languish beside me
for many days and nights.




Ch. 8.

18.

Filling my days and dreams,
here is a man with the grace of a young hart,
whose honeyed voice speaketh mantras of desire.
Arise and follow me, beloved, for my vineyards
are ripe with luscious fruits,
the doves beat their wings and fly from the cots.
Emerging from the amber of sunrise,
with a swirling of veils,
summer dances into the season of our love.


19.

Lying amid the twisting vines
My love and I are deep in each other's embrace
and his lips taste of roses heavy with dew.
I am a queen of the Red Sea,
an orchid from a sacred garden,
and my kingdom reacheth to the farthest hills.
None but my love shall pass the boundary
where my vines bear the sweetest fruit,
nor taste their heady wine.


20.

The gates of my vineyard are wrought of
iron clad with gold,
taller than cedars, decorated with
the royal insignia,
guarded by three score watchmen,
by day and night.
While other men are kept without
and the foxes are driven back by dogs,
see how swiftly they open for thee.




Ch. 9.

21.

Behold, the noble stature of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
In the sanctity of love
we may walk in the realm of paradise,
undisturbed by the foibles of men.
Come beloved, awaken,
the new dawn opens as wide and fresh
as infant eyes.
Come run with me through the spice hills
  and gardens of Lebanon.
WordWerks Nov 2015
a butterfly flirts with me

she stands before me
but turns when i look

then

she fans herself
like a spanish dancer
teases her audience

i wonder if she knows
how captivated i am
by her alluring ways

or

how i'd do anything
to hold on to this
moment

i can only pray
please stay
two women

a single
Gemini
of desire

the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable

swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis

inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore

T
the outer
R
the inner

T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity

bombastically
womanly

big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock

and those
lips

oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips

I’m puckered
up

begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips

press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face

wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug

shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang

you wow
the bow
out of this
dog

taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes

flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more

fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptur­ed
with quixotic
hypnotics

I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire

R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place

she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart

she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue

limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations

the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement

her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze

her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests

I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat

my dear
celestial
twins

the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity

Dedicated to
T& R

Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women

Oakland
4/26/12
jbm
Kilam TA Jul 2017
Butterflies flap their wings to escape gravity
Allowing the winds of change to lift them towards peace
like a monk's prayer
Say what you will about this story of humble beginnings
True humility is in the lobe it takes to encourage this journey
through times darker than shade
So I say to my butterfly
Let me be your wind
And always support your flight
Lucy Tonic Aug 2012
Black butterfly is hanging round my yard
It looks so soft when life can be so hard
I struggled inside my own cocoon
But I grew wings that flew me to the moon
If peace is futile, then what else exists
Violent urges and profane twists
I need to find my day in the sun
Underrated, but still the night has won
Aoife Sep 2016
let these adolescent accounts pass
with tedious thoughts and feelings
you are not bound by the ribs of men;
remember
you were grown in the womb of women
despite the rain and wind
you breathed life and felt loved
these tiny caterpillar legs
took you so far
from small steps
to large leaps
you bit your nails in nervousness
and your plans became wings
these faint worries and tainted promises
held nothing in your way
please let your adolescent accounts pass
your tedious thoughts will wash away
small problems like these will be unseen
from your home in the sky
You will grow.
gd Mar 2014
He held my hand today in the most delicate way,     
as if my fingers resembled flower petals and my     
palm reenacted butterfly wings. My hand felt          
fragile in his grip, which mimicked my feelings        
towards him because his heart did not belong           
in the spaces between my touch - his heart                 
belonged in something as light as air; something      
as delicate as cotton. And my heart was tattered      
with thorns, assured to shred his into pieces. All      
the more treacherous, he traced my fingers be           
tween my mittens, and it still felt like fabric -            
contrary to your inevitable static. And that is           
when I knew that even though he did everything    
right, he made it that much worse. As much as he    
tried, my frost-coated lips challenged the warmth    
in his voice, and it wasn't me he needed. It was I      
that needeth not deserve him.

gd
Jules Oct 2017
Red
Yellow
Black
The colors of a monarch
When it is not weighed down
By cold wet sand
Its wings were wet and broken
Useless
So it lay motionless
Lifeless
Under the dull sky
It tried to fly
Only to be carried by the wind
A moment of hope
Before it was thrown down
Into the unforgiving sand
It should have died
Marcisouly it was still alive
I picked it up
It was so weak that it went into my hand
And stayed there
For it was to broken to fly
I carried it off the beach
And built it a house of shells
That will most likely be its grave
Red
Yellow
Black
The colors of a butterfly
When it is not caked with sand
When the beauty is not broken
When it is flying high
Instead of being batted down
By the wind
i wrote this for English call in about 10 minutes so don't be to harsh
Lorraine day Sep 2013
Like a whispered word
It flutters by with elegance and ease
Amongst the golden daffodils the ascending summer breeze
The captivating beauty
So delicate
Demure
Such freedom
It encompasses the spectator with much allure
Fleetingly it travels kissing natures path and sky
So astounding is the beauty of the butterfly
MelancholicPanda May 2016
I killed my butterfly.
Pure and sweet.
Her wings no tattered;
Heart can't beat.

She once flew proudly,
Way up high.
She now withers in shame;
Looking at the sky.

She remembers this pain
From long ago.
She thought it was gone,
Buried deep below.

But it rose to the surface
to disrupt life.
Creates stinging, ****** marks,
A rusty box knife.

Deep breathes, a sigh;
Releasing her pain.
Another one is needed,
To keep her sane.

Once beautiful and kind,
Now ready to decay.
Her essence defaced.
I killed her today.
Whiskurz Dec 2012
Behold the silence when a butterfly dies
That's heard throughout the land
For a gentle hush will start to rise
That no one can understand

Each time a butterfly falls from the sky
Another heart has been broken
The wind inhales and begins to sigh
For fate again has spoken

Can the butterfly feel the pain that we bear?
Or is it the other way around?
Does heartbreak come as they fall from the air,
And gently float to the ground?

One thing's for sure when butterflies die
The pain by both can be felt
The truth is we'll never know why
We just play the hand that we're dealt

Behold the silence when a butterfly dies
That's heard throughout the land
For a gentle hush will begin to rise
That no one can understand
thewi3rdthoughts Mar 2019
A butterfly on my notebook
Rainbow colored wings, as large as leaf
The other day escaped from my hook
Carrying the burden of my dreams and belief.

It flew in the midst of sunflowers
Gazing at the sun,never getting tired
No heat bothered them,nor the waiting
Without expectations, they were sired.

It flow above the ocean,endless blue
A reflection of sky,an estranged sister
To meet at the end, of which they had no clue
At night they stop, staring at each other.

It flew between the mountains,hard to touch
Singing a song, no one listens
Waiting for the shower, they care so much
Hoping at the end, they will be chosen.

It flew under the caves,secrets hidden
Needle of silence, vow they taken
Fearing the light, if secret get stolen
Day to night, their eyes are open.

At last butterfly came back
Drew pictures of places it has seen
Told me how my beliefs and dreams
Were the reason, who I have been.
Solegrina Jul 2014
Once upon a time
a butterfly noticed its own fragility
and submitted itself to the winds

Once upon a time
the wind noticed its own dispersion
and submitted itself to the hills

Once upon a time
a hill noticed its own hardness
and submitted itself to the grasses

Once upon a time
the grass noticed its own dependency
and submitted itself to the earth

Once upon a time
the earth noticed its own monotony
and submitted itself to the flowers

Once upon a time
a flower noticed its own inaction
and submitted itself to the bees

Once upon a time
a bee noticed its own irrationality
and submitted itself to The Queen

Once upon a time
a human could notice her humanity
and thus she beheaded the king.
Chiquita Jan 2020
You say life is a disaster
I tell you not
Have you watched the sun rise up?
Have you seen the flowers at early dawn;
The way the face of the sun is seen glowing in the dew drop.
Take a moment to see life is the world around you.
You say life is a disaster
I tell you not
Have you smelt the earth at the birth of rain?
Have you let the wind give you a loving embrace;
As the sweet smell lingers around and calms every soul it touches.
Stop whatever you are doing to see life is the world around you.
You say life is a disaster
I tell you not
Have you seen the moon kiss the night sky
And how it brings every hidden star alive;
The way it lights up the sky and illuminates the beauty of the dark night.
Take a moment for yourself  and see that life is the world around you.
You say life is a disaster
I tell you not
Have you seen the colours on the butterfly?
Have you watched a tiger prancing by?
They both are different in size but yet so majestic in their own way.

Take a moment
Take your time
Take note of what’s passing by.
You say life is a disaster
I tell you
To feel the wind, it is waiting to embrace you.
Admire the beauty in nature when the sun is born.
Take a deep breath of the earth and watch it as it moves.
Use your sense,
Use them all
And let your restless soul calm down.
You say life is a disaster
I tell you not
Life is You and everything around you.
There is beauty in every little being;
Even if life is a disaster
Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
Call me the butterfly maker,
for I the distracted crafter
often carves irregular squares
from changing planes of vision
into visual planes, flying
as monarchs migrating home.

Call me the snowflake cloud,
for I the cold observer
often molds objective droplets
from forgotten formalities
into memorable figures, coveting
as blankets embracing dirt.

Call me the stone sculptor,
for I the traveling poet
often lifts stone castings
from feeble footprints
into familiar portraits, beckoning
as mothers procuring peace.
Quiet May 2014
i am sorry-

because my butterflies flew away

because i wilted

and no amount of care could bring me back,

away from my silver sliver.
david badgerow Dec 2014
when you asked me about certainty
and if my mind was a tree
rooted in cement and truth
i was on my unaccustomed knees
blinking into a sunbeam's architecture when
the brilliant wind brought you to me
to cure me with the miracle touch
i was alone by a window dreaming through glass
you bent toward me in a mile wide sky
a butterfly with a skinny voice
or an adorable tomato in a retail uniform
before that i only knew the clouds
as bears wrapped in pastel baby-blankets
before i first kissed you in the street
i knew the sunset as a drop of fire
in a barrel of whiskey and
suddenly your eyes like a deep pool in a forest
seeking out my past with the molecular traces
of your fingers across my abdomen
mandalas blooming out of our palms
only touching at the fingers
as flames from mosquito torches filled
the round coral faces of my gauges
with apricot light
A butterfly danced in the moring sun
With colours so bright it was fun and
It sips the nectar from the blooming rose
And a beautiful sight I'm so happy in life
And a magic spell a captivating show
Oh little butterfly I love you so and
I'll watch the little butterfly closely
On this wonderful day before
It fades and softly flies away.
Butterfly 🦋 🦋
GailForceWinds Dec 2014
If I could just strip away
All the superficial crap
Am I too thin
Am I too fat?
Old
Young
Pretty
Ugly
Too outgoing
Too shy....
This is how I'm judged, I dare wonder why
If you could see past this cover, into my soul
You will find nothing less than a heart of gold
Peel away the layers, see what lies within
It's a beautiful butterfly, with a broken wing
F White Mar 2011
You just can't
compete with
**** Me
boots.

The leather-clad calves
that
whisper "come to bed...
I promise so
many touches"

Cardigans merely dictate
"shoulders maybe...
You  so much as peek
at my
collarbones, and you're
done for,
Mister."

Spoken -
Maybe I would
tease...

"Try only,
to kiss
my cheek
because I'm
on the
boring bus"
(and especially
in your Chamber)

Or so you
would suppose.

But inside this
sweater, I'm
a *Butterfly.
Copyright FHW, 2011

A.N: the things people wear in coffee shops..I swear...

— The End —