"caterpillars" poems
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
19.4k
Change is necessary.
Right?
Change is a good thing?
Right?
Change is
Scary and confusing.
Change scares the hell out of me.
Change leaves me in a state of frustration.
Change can heal the soul and tear it apart.
Leaving little pieces scattered about.
But I must think of little caterpillars that turn into beautiful butterflies.
Change is necessary.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
.
1
death dirges
Frogs in distance sing . . .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
. . . A round of croaking.
2
love gifts
Her gift of flowers . . .
Came at night without garden,
. . . Were picked in bedroom.
3
twins demure
Full moon and she . . .
Beauties without crescent smile,
. . . Naked in starlight.
4
light music
Before even sun . . .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
. . . Beauty in birdsong.
5
iridescent
After sun showers . . .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
. . . Busy hummingbirds
6
chilling
Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
. . . Old winter creeping.
7
flirting
She wanted a child . . .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
. . . Clock set to maybe.
8
super villain
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
9
casualties
Blood spills in gardens . . .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
. . . Red robins, green lawns.
10
stigmata
Each spring miracle . . .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
. . . Holey hands of leaves.
11
consecrations
Ripples lead to bows . . .
After fish breaks the water,
. . . A kingfisher dives.
12
constancy
Steadfast as always . . .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
. . . Showing true colours.
13
roommates
Chaste lovers wonder . . .
How bodies weather the cold,
. . . Never knowing touch.
14
swept away
Suddenly we kissed . . .
At beach as tides rolling in,
. . . Drowning by ocean.
15
seductress
Her red hair so long . . .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
. . . A kind entrapment.
.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The process of becoming other than,
the shedding of the old by way of time
the hands upon the clock traverse their span,
the ever fleeting moment reigns, sublime.
The emptiness of all objective forms,
the rushing river, never stepped in twice,
the reconfiguration of all norms,
the virtues of lost ages seen as vice,
The elements converge and then react,
the caterpillars weave themselves cocoons,
the world amends its stock of gathered facts,
the moths emerge, in flight to greet the moon,
The firmament, destroyed and rearranged,
the universal essence, found in change.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
I kissed you because it felt so right
I kissed you because I knew it was wrong
I kissed you because I felt a connection that we both said we lost with our current partners
I kissed you because I knew from the moment I saw you accross the room that you would mean something to me and by something I mean everything
I kissed you because she can't
I kissed you because my undeveloped brain acts too much on emotion and impulsity and not enough on logic
I kissed you because the way the moonlight reflected your face was so beautiful
I kissed you because I couldn't pay attention to what you were saying because I was too focused on your lips and not the words coming out of them
I kissed you because it was the perfect response
I kissed you because the look in your eyes was something I couldn't explain with any words
I kissed you because I can't possibly explain to you how I feel when those sweet eyes meet mine
I kissed you because when I heard that song at work with the lyrics that I no longer remember I knew you were perfect
I kissed you because you have what she doesn't
I kissed you because you deserve to be kissed, actually you deserve much more than a kiss from me
You deserve a Grammy worthy kiss from a scene in a cheesy movie
I kissed you because I hadn't felt those caterpillars in my stomach burst into beautiful butterflies in so long
I kissed you because there wasn't anything else in the world that I wanted more in that very moment
I kissed you because it felt so right
But now it feels so wrong
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
He used to drink orange juice
out of cups that curved,
like his smile used to,
licking droplets of orange sun
off of his lips;
sun beams,
that shined from his face,
and his eyes,
which was unfair
because he knew;
I'm telling you,
he knew,
that summer was my favorite time of year.
And when the sun hit me,
like a thousand arrows,
from the bow of Heartbreak,
that I would think of him
and his orange juice cup.
And question all the reseons he sent me letters
with different stamps,
always scribbled in black lines,
like his pupils,
when I let him see through the jail bars of my soul,
and I asked him,
no,
I begged him to leave me cuffed to the wall,
with no food or water,
starving my desire to love again,
knowing that if I devoured every word,
every sound,
and memory,
of trembling hands on first dates,
leaning in to kiss me,
with lips and fists at the nape of my neck,
clinging to me like feathers;
with every single intake of breath,
and caterpillars that wrapped themselves in silk,
and waited for days and nights to pass,
until finally,
they spread their wings to reveal Picasso's paintings,
that I would eventually die of starvation,
as the words ran out,
and the kisses became short,
and the butterflies died...
He knew.
He knew that I loved summer;
and the drops of orange juice on his lips.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
*I will love you till the birds give up flying
Till eyes give up the habit of crying
I will love you till the cats make a truce with mice
Till probabilistic algorithm needs not a dice
I will love you till the Nile pours water into Victoria
I will love you more than war is cherished by any warrior
I will love you till Butterflies become caterpillars
And even if It's samson pushing the pillars
The pillars of my passion will never crumble
I will never change course even if I stumble
I will love you till the Doves stop to sing
Till entangled bees cease to sting
I will love you till the Sun grows cold
And the moon burns hot and grows old
I will love you till it snows in Hell
I will love you till Ants stop living in hills
Because I need you just as Snail needs her Shell
I will love you even when human heart no longer feels
I will love you till all African states unite
I will love you till old age steals my sight
I will love you till roads cease to have potholes
I will love you even after my destiny calls
I will love you till poems no longer rhyme
I will love you till the end of time*
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
The world is filled with liars
There are innocent liars
Like bagworms
Which look like caterpillars
But really **** your plants
Then there are kind liars,
Who lie
To keep you safe
There are guilty liars
Who lie
Because they can't bear
The truth
Finally,
There are real liars
Who lie
To see you writhe in pain
To feel the power
Of killing someone
With just words
These are usually the only ones
Considered liars,
But remember
The world is filled with liars
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
We meet again, young debutante!
but what next?
shall we ponder over coffee,
or dance through the streets
with only our thoughts to keep rhythm?
Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar.
nay, he says, neither are to be,
it is a picnic that you seek.
where the ground is warm,
and the sun is hot.
What a grand idea!
I shall go right off
to make thy picnic one of perfection!
but where to start?
to the butcher for meat.
the baker for bread.
...............................
Why must he bother me yet again?
He stalks me like a shadow,
claiming I talk to caterpillars.
he’’s raving mad!
A picnic? I will do no such thing?
however, I can use this to my advantage.
The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful,
the soft glimmer in the light,
Oh but if i could get my hands on it!
His back is turned, now’s my chance!
.................................
Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread.
come sit by me and tell me of your day!
Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings!
What beautiful hair you have!
It glows like the sun shines,
and your dress is even more beautiful than before,
tell me, how do you radiate such beauty?
................................
I will lie.
I can feel the cleaver in my bag,
a weight on my shoulder,
the meat and bread are horrid.
he is so pathetic!
Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest!
glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood!
gentle is the wind over his lifeless body.
Oh what a grand picnic indeed!
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
CATERPILLAR recognize me
BUTTERFLY (turning away glances over shoulder) excuse me
CATERPILLAR i’m you before you transformed
BUTTERFLY get away you ****** worm
CATERPILLAR you can’t be serious look at me i’m you
BUTTERFLY look at you? euwwwh you’re a sticky slug with too many legs (pause) i’m exquisite fluttering colorful poetry a celebrity with huge fan base wherever i fly people recognize admire me
CATERPILLAR (creases brow) what happened to you did you forget your past where you come from
BUTTERFLY my past is fiction i’ve always been this lovely luminary (turns profile to audience in exaggerated manner) can’t you see i’m busy go away please leave
CATERPILLAR (bluntly) you’re consumed in vanity drunk on yourself spectacle without substance you make me question my own growing will i become like you
BUTTERFLY stop talking i’m calling 911
CATERPILLAR (sharply) you’re a sickening disappointment another Paris Hilton spin-off i hope to die in the cocoon and be spared the sham of you
BUTTERFLY (speaking into cell phone) yes operator i’m being accosted violated attack in progress please dispatch police immediately
CATERPILLAR you’re pitiful over-reactionary spineless decadent
BUTTERFLY i have nothing more to say law enforcement will be here soon
CATERPILLAR quit fretting i’m out of here i need to find and warn other caterpillars this meeting is a bleak awakening
BUTTERFLY think what you like greasy maggot i’m late for a performance and need to skirt paparazzi
caterpillar trudges off stage left as butterfly ascends over audience
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
here I am
in the ground
my mouth
open
and
I can't even say
mama,
and
the dogs run by and stop and ****
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
bad
and yesterday
the last of my left
arm gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.
at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
engines and
33 men.
I can't
do
any
thing.
but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
he is
very bad
company.
5.9k
INEVITABLE: unable to be avoided, unable to be evaded, or escaped; certain; necessary:
An inevitable conclusion.
Sure to occur, sure to happen, or sure to come to pass; unavoidable.
Change is not subject to time, change is only subject to change, and even though season's change, time changes, the weather changes, and people change, change is happening all around us, just to let us know, that change is inevitable, it has to happen.
Change is so inevitable, that you cannot stay the same, an infant child cannot stay an infant child forever, for at some point the infant child has to become a teenager, and the teenager has to become an adult, because change is inevitable.
Even a baby in it's mothers womb knows change is inevitable, for the fetus cannot stay in his mothers womb beyond it's time of change, for if it does, it will destroy the mother.
Change is so inevitable, that GOD shows us change in all creation, for even caterpillars change into beautiful flying butterflies.
An ugly green caterpillar with multiple legs knows he has to change into something beautiful someday, because change is inevitable.
Brothers and sisters, change is so inevitable, and it's so important that you change for the better, that time will work against you If you don't change, and time will destroy you if you stay the same, because time is changing whether you accept change or not.
So you might as well submit to change, or time will force you to submit to change, whether you accept change or not.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
If today was for giant caterpillars,
giant crowds,
giant sounds,
and chaos, then this evening must be for
Blueberry fingertips
white wine in my glass
the music of an accordion
and a paperback novel.
Breeze in the window that waltzes with ribbons
and fills the bottles I’ve collected for the past six years.
(soft t shirt from the first time I fell asleep on his couch)
mmm, stop WORRYING.
It is no time at all for any of that.
Take the time to take the time to take your time.
shhh, brain.
hush, mouth.
Quiet Quiet Quiet
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
The veins in my heart,
rooted down to my stomach,
and from these roots began to grow a tree,
and on its branches caterpillars did roam
right there in my stomach,
they made their home.
yet I was alone.
Enter the lumberjack.
The caterpillars cocooned,
ready to begin the transformation
from girl to woman, oh, the sensation!
Time ticked on,
the lumberjack and I,
with that little spark in our eye,
from the tree, grew a garden, into woods
our love resounding above the forest canopy
the feral instincts, the cinders, the shade
until finally the Sun no longer shone
so the wall of qualms had to go,
in the form of trees,
one by one.
chopped.
Yet.
the wildfires had sparked
and the cocoons were now butterflies
and the forest we grew together was ablaze
what he didn't chop, my cinders singed,
ash by ash life was ceasing to be,
and then from the woods,
were we forced to flee.
and the butterflies flew free
the blossoms,
the trees,
burned
but the butterflies flew free,
in my stomach,
they are free
so now a bit of our dead forest lives in me.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
I am deep inside this dreamland,
Where flowers always grow.
And caterpillars talk to me,
And cards stand up in rows.
I never want to wake up,
And I never want to go.
But in this dream I fear I must,
I do believe I'll miss it though...
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
The path i tread has many unknown particulars
The good choices appear in only perpendiculars
I find at times I get trapped in the luring circulars
I seek the butterfly but i come across confused caterpillars
The path is flooded with sad, intrusive manipulars
Some are merely spectaculars
Whilst some dare to strike your jugulars
...I wish to find spiritual teachers but I'm surrounded by lost seculars
I peer and search even using my invented binoculars
But this path i tread has very few, calm examplars
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
I remember well my first day of preschool
When the teacher taught us the Golden Rule
And how we were all God’s little caterpillars.
I remember the love I bore my stuffed horse
And how tightly I hugged my stuffed dog with great force;
I would be the world’s best zookeeper.
I remember my parents’ copious gifts of books,
How they were more important than my friends’ good looks;
Their stories still represent my dear childhood.
I remember the first time I discovered music of my own
Through a 90s band CD I had as a loan.
I danced with my headphones like a dryad.
I know the exact date I noticed at last
How much of my life friends had seemingly surpassed
And I vowed that I could never again be happy.
The stories were never again a fully open door,
More like a ditch dug out in the floor
Behind which I could hide my face forever.
One day, songs became a desperate race
To see who could sing and play bass,
So I’ve dropped out like a sixteen-year-old kid.
Now, lying under the stars thinking of this and that
I actually cower from the once-beloved animals like cats
Because they have uncomfortable interest in worms.
I was better off a caterpillar.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 3:58 AM UTC
Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars.
The Jew of Malta.
Polyphiloprogenitive
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
Drift across the window-panes.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of ,
And at the mensual turn of time
Produced enervate Origen.
A painter of the Umbrian school
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned
But through the water pale and thin
Still shine the unoffending feet
And there above the painter set
The Father and the Paraclete.
. . . . .
The sable presbyters approach
The avenue of penitence;
The young are red and pustular
Clutching piaculative pence.
Under the penitential gates
Sustained by staring Seraphim
Where the souls of the devout
Burn invisible and dim.
Along the garden-wall the bees
With hairy bellies pass between
The staminate and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.
Sweeney shifts from ham to ham
Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools
Are controversial, polymath.
3.7k
Whenever I find
Myself thinking about you,
I get butterflies.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
When you ask people
about their biggest fears
they’ll say things like
the darkness, failure, loneliness
but a lot of them will say change.
The idea that change is something
to be feared has always bewildered me.
Perhaps because I’m one of the few ones
who isn’t really scared of it.
I accept change with open arms,
even if it’s something that I know is going to hurt.
I think this is why when I went back
to the place
where I lived for most of my life,
the fact that everything was still the same
scared me far more than leaving everything
I’d never known in favour of a new city.
Static. Same. Never changing.
Seeing the same buildings,
same people, with the same expressions
made me uncomfortable.
We run away from change because we’re afraid
it might destroy what we have.
But from the deepest of pain
comes the purest of joys.
This is about more than just me and you.
Change is universal. Change is the only constant.
Without change, there wouldn’t be caterpillars
turning into magnificent butterflies.
Without change, there wouldn’t be summer
turning into autumn giving out to winter.
Without change, there wouldn’t be the constant circle
of endings turning into beginnings.
No destruction and creation.
Shiva and Kali would weep in the heavens.
Without change, there would be no beauty.
There would be no life.
Change IS good.
It is the background noise of the universe.
We can’t ignore it.
One day, a hundred million, billion, trillion years from now;
when the earth is long gone and the last of the stars burn out.
Long after the the black holes turn to dust
and the dust turns to atoms
and the atoms turn to… nothing.
When the universe is just a sea of photons,
witnessed by nothing and no one.
When there will be no way
to set apart the past from the future
We will listen in from the other side.
Listen. *Silence.
*
Maybe that is when will miss change the most.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
We plucked eyebrows
from the clover.
Caterpillars
contracting as
we pinched each one
between our plump
baby fingers,
expanding as
we lined them on
each other’s arms—
wooly train cars.
They would ripple
blindly, segment
by segment, scoot
across the floor
of the rusty
coffee can we’d
prepared for them
so carefully—
braided hairs of
grasses, flowers,
twigs, stones and all—
a crude and cruel
imitation
of their clover,
but certainly
better, somehow.
We were sure.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
What I managed to regrow,
You stomped on.
You waltzed into my garden
Like you had grown the whole place yourself,
Your nose in the air.
You looked at my carrots and scoffed,
My cucumbers you mocked
And you thought my garden gnomes were ******
And I let you,
Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening
You said the caterpillars would help my leaves
And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies
But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash,
and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes.
You said you'd help me tend to my garden
But you rarely make it over
And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face
And tell me to get on my knees.
You watch while I ****
And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door.
And I wonder as I wipe my brow,
What I ever thought I needed you for?
And why you ever came over in the first place,
Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition
And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize,
That you've never kept anything alive in your life,
And you don't even have a yard.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC