Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Afternoon octaves from a Raspberry arbor ,
streaming with Honeybee delight , fledgeling
Cardinals hopping from branch to branch ,
Rubies pause then pose , streak away in zig-zag
flight
Bluejays crack acorns on cobblestone drives ,
Red wasp , Swallowtails and Cuckoo bees dance
in warm light , Cinnamon coated fawns dance
the forever fields of soybeans , Sugar Magnolias
stand tall in Purple clover dreams
Copyright May 6 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


Spring, how gracious is your name,
full of light and life and colour.
Songbirds in their woodland nests
emerge and sing, feeding their
chicks or teaching them to fly
The coat of white has become a
soft, healthy green.
At the sound of her sweet laugh,
swallowtails, each a shade of
a rainbow, flutter around her and
into the distant glades.
Her olive skin drinks in the gentle
sunlight, her pink silks ***** around
her small ******* and hips, her
bare feet crushing the grass.
She twirls, her arms outstretched.
With the jingle of her bracelets,
a warm breeze passes.
A flick of her brown curls,
flowers burst into the bloom
from the earth, filling the air
with their sweetness.
A snap of her slender fingers,
the clouds split in two and
with her gaze from her emerald
eyes, there is no discord;
harmony in the air.
Harmony everywhere...
'Hear me, Sisters,' she chimes,
'Hear it all, hear the cheer of Spring!'


Enjoy the song of Spring!
One more season to go now! ^-^
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


Dance through the realm of
space and time, gliding
through the stars and
jumping over moon, sun and more

The hem of sunlit dress flutters as
the skies comes alive
with clouds of swallowtails;
sweet shimmering shards of diamonds

Let us spiral around
and laugh in symphony
Reach out our hands
Come, meet me at the outskirts
of Andromeda

My lips await you


Letting the mind wander! ^-^
Lyn ***
A mighty river sings her song
Fast flowing waters swell her form
Her mesmerizing sound envelopes the night
As trees upon her banks,
Dressed in full regalia,
Dance in the pale moonlight...awaiting
The Dawn of a New Day

Eastern Phoebe, first to awaken heralds the new day
Her short bursts stir those in the forest
Robin commences his morning song
Resonating melodic perfection
Peeking above the horizon, the Sun
Orange hue bathing Mother Earth
Warms Terra Firma

Her coat of green
Covered in morning dew
Glistens beneath the radiant Sun
  Mother Bear makes her way along the river's bank
Carefully teaching her cubs their daily lessons
She is key to their survival
She is their world

Monarchs and Swallowtails, warmed by the sun
Flutter by, tasting the sweet floral nectar
Brown eyed Daisies...await
The flight of the bumble bee
Hummingbirds dart and dance from flower to flower
Delicately tasting the sweet nectar
As they so precisely hover

The morning breeze stirs the trees awake
The sound...tranquil as crashing waves upon the shore
Muffle the stealthy steps of Lobo
And lift Eagle to wondrous heights
As a baby fawn lies motionless, scentless, while mother doe stands watch
Welcome 2 the Dawn...of a New Day...
...of a New Hope

(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
The third in a line of "season" poems that have had a seed planted within me.  It is summer and the warmer days, bountiful sun and starry skies, with the summer triangle, signal a wonderful time of year.  We have the opportunity to see all of spring's new creations blossom and grow...we have the sheer joy of feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces...brightening each day.  And summer is even better when sharing it with Lobo :-) I hope U all are having a splendid summer...all I know, is that regardless of the season, I am blessed, and in the words of Prince...Beautiful, Loved and Blessed 4 that matter.  Live 4 Love y'all!
Sehar Bajwa Nov 2018
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
hearts of gold, never to rust.

swallowtails aloft, flutterings better dead,
dampened by years of love left unsaid.

box of promises, vials of lies,
waves crashing within ocean eyes.

bloodied wrists, a scarlet letter
sealed envelope, unposted endeavour

eternal fairytale, lover and her muse,
destined to love yet scared to lose.

wilted bouquets, abandoned gardens,
memories burn while resolves harden.

etched in stars, writ in stone,
identity crisis, fate unknown.

Life's canvas, shades of grey,
dreams crumpled, hope led astray

stairways to Eris, rising only to fall
Lone poetess loving her Wonderwall
no idea what inspired this one.
Sia Jane Dec 2013
Through a vision in my dream, I see her there standing
a smile, unpainted, authentic and real, hopeful
opening the door, I feel a smile emerge, and the butterflies
oh they kick within me, like a life is growing there
a baby in sight, with no bump or pulse, just a gathering
of fluttering wings, that should I rip my chest open
out they would fly, a mélange of colours and shapes
purple swallowtails, adonis blues, lacewings, painted ladies
and finally, my favourite, the Menelaus Blue Morpho
escorted by the Duke of Burgundy, my springtime hero
each flutter, each movement, a collection from the continents
my self, my soul, my body has travelled, wanderlust
keepsakes of beauty and bliss, bordering on extinction safe within me
in a heartbeat they cover my whole self, they move around my body
my legs tremble, barely able to hold, this grown woman upright
a gulp, a gasp, a stare in wonder,
speechless, tongue tied, dazed, dumb, silent
my head empties, no thought passes, the parietal lobe vanishes
adrenaline is racing through my body faster than the light hitting my eyes
moments later I find vocal sound waves breezing past my ears
they are in slow motion, her voice mumbled, incoherent
she touches me and I jump in fright,
my eyes adjust, my heartbeat slows down, my legs steady
"Rachel!"
"Rachel!"

I wake up alone.

© Sia Jane

---

"In through the window a moonbeam comes,—
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks,
"Is he sleeping— Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"


Eugene Field
If butterflies were piano keys, when played they would create a sound so faint and beautiful that it would resonate within your eardrums for a thousand years.
The music fabricated from the monarchs would take you back, way back to the years where your grandmothers windchime that hung from her old rickety porch pinged and chinged playfully in the wind.
The music from the Swallowtails would sound like the rustic countryside plains, filled with rustling waves of weeds that you call flowers because they are just to pretty to be called weeds.
The music played from this piano is not just beautiful however.
These tunes come with a cost.
For each key pressed on the mosaic of keys that symmetrically flow down the keyboard takes the life of the butterfly used to bring forth the sound and the memory.
Not only do you hear the song, the memory, you hear the crunch of nature’s thorax.
The crushed and crumbling thoraxes play a song too.
Not beautiful, but melancholy.
Like the whisper of a flower that will never bloom for the morning sun again.
A faint light that leads unto eternal darkness and into a world where no butterflies soar through the sky.
All because you played the piano who’s keys were made of butterfly wings.
Тадеус Aug 2014
After all the showers and rain,
The herbs and flowers all seem renewed.
The bubbling stream is fuller now,
And Swallowtails flutter by.
Old greying barn in the distance,
Still useful and Swallows twitter in sky.
Cerulean sky, with Cumulus clouds,
Making shadows on the meadow.
I walk away only to return at evening,
And then sit on steps watching fireflies.
Seeing lamps flickering I pause,
Sweet and sad, they communicate silently.
One comes nearer I watch in silence,
Flitting overhead, and I am put in mind of faith in God.


*Тадеус
© Тадеус 8-20-2014 9:20 pm
Все права защищены.
A B Perales Dec 2015
Beneath the shade of
an untrimmed
Juniper tree children
swing from
Hemp  ropes while
singing innocent
rhymes about killing.

The girls use nets
made from a
Reed switch
and catch gentle
Swallowtails
with no intentions
of ever letting them go.
Shaddox Jan 2018
In this pleasant, drunken haze,
My senses have sharpened,
I can smell the sandalwood,
And the falling cherry blossoms.

I can hear the water falling,
Under the passage of time,
Too majestic to care or feel,
About the rot in my mind.

I can see the birds are here,
Sparrows, cranes and swallowtails,
They are here, like me as well,
To enjoy this beautiful spectacle.

My wine is almost over,
So I begin to meditate,
Over which path I will walk,
One leads to self-destruction,
The other leads in the dark.
David boyer Feb 2020
With the death of season swallowtails wings flutter
Rhythmic Wheat oceans of Thunder and lightning
Fireflies dance amongst moonlit tassels
Burning to impress the wild light of Colbert heavens
Evening tide lovers, dreamers of electric moon nights.
One dusk after another Crickets serenade to vibrating hearts
Denying Somnus Cries Embracing  Whispers of Eros
With the death of season swallowtails wings flutter
A breathless sky
Smell of smoke in the gentle evening
Ten thousand lovers desire
Wings of butterfly  

Swallowtails burgundy-green

Leaves on tender stems
Christia  obcordata
DElizabeth Mar 3
cherry-vanilla soda instead of strawberry vanilla

i drew a heart next to my belly button in navy ink

he never asked me how my day was.

i heard the geese fly by at midnight, peculiar but lovely

the air smelled of october

october: hay, orchard, football games that ended a week or two ago, bittersweetness, and fine droplets suspended in the atmosphere

desserts taunt and temp me but i stay away for now.

easter is not on april fool's day this year

but it's still His best trick yet.

my fingertips dry and raw from flipping through so many pages

she licks my hands until they're clean

"death, he is not mean."

i rearranged my vanity, displayed my new perfume

bought myself flowers to lighten up my sanity

i couldn't see the moon tonight, is that why there's been no gravity?

no gravity for the thoughts

i wish i could say they come & go as they please but they never really go.

i'm thinking about those little white pills again.

sleeping dust: lavender, chamomile, tonka, benzoin...soft like dandelion, smooth like milk slipping down silk

the childhood bird coos and suddenly, i feel better

spring is still cold but warm.

i want to be the sun, i want to be the breeze...

i want the monarchs & swallowtails, the lawn mowers & never-ending birdsongs...

today we laughed as hard as we could, "mission impossible style"

a love letter lost, laying on the ground

anonymous but sacred.

i wish it would feel like it did all the time.

i don't know what happened.

the ambulance screams.

i lay blinking in the moon-less dark.

my thighs warm against my stomach.

but for the first time, i know the only one who can free me, is me.

— The End —