The Butterfly and the Bee
Methought I heard a butterfly
Say to a labouring bee:
"Thou hast no colours of the sky
On painted wings like me."
"Poor child of vanity! those dyes,
And colours bright and rare,"
With mild reproof, the bee replies,
"Are all beneath my care.
"Content I toil from morn to eve,
And scorning idleness,
To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave
The vanity of dress."
poem by William Lisle Bowles
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Colours Of Love
The colours of love,
The colours of unity,
The colours of peace,
The colours of humility,
the colours of care,
The colours of passion,
The colours of romance,
The colours of the mind,
The colours of your works,
The colours of mankind;
But, let true love come out from your heart!
For, in peace and unity we have to live on this earth together:
Than, the bullets of war that divides us always! ! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vanity Kills
Have you heard the latest? (you love you)
Have you seen who just walked in (vain vain vain vain)
(uh huh, you love you) right over there
Shes so vain vain vain vain
Vain vain vain vain
Im glad youve found someone who loves you
But sad to say that someone is you
And now perhaps youll both be happy
Guess that makes two just you and you
Someone who cares so much about you
But does that someone have to be you
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So glad I found you glancing in the mirror
Gazing deeply at loves patron saint
Admire the frame, survey the scenery
Or are you just inspecting the paint
Temptations strong modestys so weak
High on yourself humble you aint
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills (no way)
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So vain, vain vain vain
You love you (yeah)
Give it, give it us, give it us
So vain, so vain, so vain
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, if the blast dont get you
Then the fallout will
You love you
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Butterflys Life
A butterfly flutters
its wings of delight
in the soft gentel breeze
it flickers to life
its colours like rainbows
flash briefly for a day
in fields full of colours
they spread wings
and fly away
they hover in midflight
it finds its mate for life
and they become one
in the midsummer sun
then together they climb
dazzling, turning
Ecstasy of delight
climaxing on high
impregnating new life
then finding a leaf
to lay down their eggs
flutter drifting
from flower to leaf
exhausted from joining
they slowly flutter down
and glide together
with one final flight
and there they lay
both colours so bright
slowly fade into
Mother Natures
garden of life
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Colours
Colours are just colours
One might suppose
Rage is red…
But then again…
so is a rose
So colours are more
Than they seem, don’t’ you think
For boys it’s usually blue
For little girls always pink
Yep, colours are colours
Perhaps that’s all they should be
Just something to look at
Only something to see
But colours have emotion
At least they do to me
Perhaps I just don’t see hues
In the same way
that you see
Because blue to me
Is more than just a hue
It’s the sky, it’s berries,
Oceans … and sadness too
Green is envy, grass and dinero
Purple is royalty, plums and passion
Yellow is cowardice, butter and tallow
Colours are … whatever you wish to fashion
Perhaps I see colours differently than you
Perhaps exactly the same way… I hope
But my advice to you, whatever you do
Is … don’t get me started on taupe! !
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mignonne
Whate'er thou dost thou'rt dear.
Uncertain troubles sanctify
That magic well-spring of the willing tear,
Thine eye.
Thy jealous fear,
With not the rustle of a rival near;
Thy careless disregard of all
My tenderest care;
Thy dumb despair
When thy keen wit my worship may construe
Into contempt of thy divinity;
They please me too!
But should it once befall
These accidental charms to disappear,
Leaving withal
Thy sometime self the same throughout the year,
So glowing, grave and shy,
Kind, talkative and dear
As now thou sitt'st to ply
The fireside tune
Of that neat engine deft at which thou sew'st
With fingers mild and foot like the new moon,
O, then what cross of any further fate
Could my content abate?
Forget, then, (but I know
Thou canst not so,)
Thy customs of some prædiluvian state.
I am no Bullfinch, fair my Butterfly,
That thou should'st try
Those zigzag courses, in the welkin clear;
Nor cruel Boy that, fledd'st thou straight
Or paused, mayhap
Might catch thee, for thy colours, with his cap.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: VII
ON HER VANITY
What are these things thou lovest? Vanity.
To see men turn their heads when thou dost pass;
To be the signboard and the looking--glass
Where every idler there may glut his eye;
To hear men speak thy name mysteriously,
Wagging their heads. Is it for this, alas,
That thou hast made a placard of a face
On which the tears of love were hardly dry?
What are these things thou lovest? The applause
Of prostitutes at wit which is not thine;
The sympathy of shop--boys who would weep
Their shilling's worth of woe in any cause,
At any tragedy.--Their tears and mine,
What difference? Oh truly tears are cheap!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Psalm 39 part 2
v.4-7
C. M.
The vanity of man as mortal.
Teach me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame;
I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.
A span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust
In all his flower and prime.
See the vain race of mortals move
Like shadows o'er the plain;
They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.
Some walk in honor's gaudy show,
Some dig for golden ore;
They toil for heirs, they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.
What should I wish or wait for, then,
From creatures earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond desires recall;
I give my mortal interest up,
And make my God my all.
poem by Isaac Watts
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To Be Loved
Colours flicker across my mind
like a rainbow after the rain.
Bright and glowing colours
that leave with them no pain.
They are all the colours
I can see within my world,
but the thing that has no colour
is the dearest to my heart.
It is called love,
love for all mankind
and all the creatures
that live there within.
Whether they be large or small,
ferocious or gentle.
They are there to be loved
by one and all.
13 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Vanity Fair
In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,
As we talk of the opera after the weather,
As we chat of fashion and fad and style,
We know we are playing a part together.
You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows;
She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows;
We know that under the silks and laces,
And back of beautiful, beaming faces,
Lie secret trouble and grim despair,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, on dress parade,
Our colors look bright and our swords are gleaming;
But many a uniform's worn and frayed,
And most of the weapons, despite their seeming.
Are dull and blunted and badly battered,
And close inspection will show how tattered
And stained are the banners that float above us.
Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us;
And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place,
As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry,
We know the goal is not worth the race-
We know the prize is not worth the worry;
That all our gain means loss for another;
That in fighting for self we wound each other;
That the crown of success weighs hard and presse
The brow of the victor with thorns-not caresses;
That honors are empty and worthless to wear,
In Vanity Fair.
But in Vanity Fair, as we pass along,
We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing;
'Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng,
We see a solitaire sometimes glowing.
We find grand souls under robes of fashion,
'Neath light demeanors hide strength and passion;
And fair fine honor and Godlike resistance.
In halls of pleasure may have existence;
And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer,
In Vanity Fair.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Black Silver
Silver is the mirror,
Where colours cannot run
From one into another
For silver it has none
Silver is a blackness
Which defies pure light to come
And when it does reflects it
Its image still as one
So that when you look upon it
Your face it will become
Not in silver, but the colours,
With which your face does run
Then with your world behind you
By light reflected one
Not in blackness, but in colours
You are colours of the sun
All mirrors do remind us
That colour is the light
And that they do not see us
In the darkness of the night
For colours are but energy
From the spectrum as it falls
On everything around us
Except, from silver balls
The colours of the rainbow
The colours in the sky
The colours of our galaxy
Are in a baby’s eye
Colours all around us
Enable us to see
That the world in which we live, is part of us,
Lifes chemistry
poem by Egal Bohen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fancy Colors
Robert Lamm, 1970)
Going where the orange sun has never died
And your swirling marble eyes shine
Laughing
Burning through the light
Bittersweet the drops of life
Memories only fading
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever did see
When we're down at the sea
We see things so very bright at the sea
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever can do
The morning covered with dew
We do things so very fine at the dew
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever do hear
The world wether we're hear or there
We hear things so very fine when we're there
Andr Velloso - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
[email protected]
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have pride and vanity
Service and sacrifice can be the base
For your pride and not your caste or creed.
Have pride that you have helped someone rise
And not that you have conquered someone.
Pride is that one feels about oneself high.
Show vanity for your simplicity;
Show not vanity for your affluence.
Show vanity for your affinity;
Show not vanity for your elegance.
Vanity is that one shows oneself high.
11.07.208
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Colours of Autumn
Coppery red leaves,
Falling from trees,
That soon will be bare.
The colours of Autumn.
Piles of reddish brown,
Lying scattered on the ground.
And a chill in the air.
The colours of Autumn.
The sky is grey,
Shorter days,
And darker nights.
The colours of Autumn.
Evenings bathed in gold,
Thunderclouds so bold,
And weaker sun, not as bright.
The colours of Autumn.
poem by Amy Darnbrook
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Vanity
you can hear the baby bones
crack beneath her wheels
tears of avalon
streak silent down her shield
high crimes and misdemeanors
unfortunate attacks
will leave you standing nameless
while she's turning back
vanity stands naked at my door
vanity cries
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina II / Friends and Enemies of Modern Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking bare feet in the Park! ! ! !
Walking bare feet on grass
At a early morning hour
Spring… its March.
Mist tickled,
Wind giggled,
Tiny grass flowers
Looked up at dawn
Child like innocence,
Bright colours, no fragrance
Yet a manifestation
Of His aspiration.
In awe, watched
have charisma...
Birds flitting merrily
My eyes chased
Butterflies, painted
In colours so gay.
I came home smiling.
‘Hey, did you meet somebody’
Asked my kin.
Oh, yes I was in
Exalted company…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Oh Vanity
Oh vanity oh vanity
You only like to read
About beauty
Little about pain
Or hateful disdain
Am I so vain
Am I so shallow
To refuse a
Dark place to go
I'll lend a hand
To those in need
I'll give my love
While looking up
Is this not positivity
Not vanity
poem by Harriet James
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The Night Will Soon Be Lost
THE NIGHT WILL SOON BE LOST
The night will soon be lost
Another night of so many already gone
Who knows how many left?
I have seen far more nights
Than I will ever see again
Mostly it’s done
I have some nights left
But not so many
That I should waste it wholly
On frivolity
I’ll try now
To write a poem down
So this night
Will not have been wholly in vain
But who knows
Vanity of vanity of vanity
Perhaps for all nights and all poems- vanity
I am writing this poem down nonetheless
It flows as if it knows it has real life within it
I don’t know now how long this night will last
Or how many nights I have left
I have written a poem
Will G-d save it as if it were not vanity to vanity?
I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Bee and the Butterfly
UPON a garden's perfum'd bed
With various gaudy colours spread,
Beneath the shelter of a ROSE
A BUTTERFLY had sought repose;
Faint, with the sultry beams of day,
Supine the beauteous insect lay.
A BEE, impatient to devour
The nectar sweets of ev'ry flow'r,
Returning to her golden store,
A weight of fragrant treasure bore;
With envious eye, she mark'd the shade,
Where the poor BUTTERFLY was laid,
And resting on the bending spray,
Thus murmur'd forth her drony lay:
"Thou empty thing, whose merit lies
In the vain boast of orient dies;
Whose glittering form the slightest breath
Robs of its gloss, and fades to death;
Who idly rov'st the summer day,
Flutt'ring a transient life away,
Unmindful of the chilling hour,
The nipping frost, the drenching show'r;
Who heedless of "to-morrow's fare,"
Mak'st present bliss thy only care;
Is it for THEE, the damask ROSE
With such transcendent lustre glows?
Is it for such a giddy thing
Nature unveils the blushing spring?
Hence, from thy lurking place, and know,
'Tis not for THEE her beauties glow."
The BUTTERFLY, with decent pride,
In gentle accents, thus reply'd:
"'Tis true, I flutter life away
In pastime, innocent and gay;
The SUN that decks the blushing spring
Gives lustre to my painted wing;
'Tis NATURE bids each colour vie,
With rainbow tints of varying die;
I boast no skill, no subtle pow'r
To steal the balm from ev'ry flow'r;
The ROSE, that only shelter'd ME,
Has pour'd a load of sweets on THEE;
Of merit we have both our share,
Heav'n gave thee ART, and made me FAIR;
And tho' thy cunning can despise
The humble worth of harmless flies;
Remember, envious, busy thing,
Thy honey'd form conceals a sting;
Enjoy thy garden, while I rove
The sunny hill, the woodbine grove,
And far remov'd from care and THEE,
Embrace my humble destiny;
While in some lone sequester'd bow'r,
I'll live content beyond thy pow'r;
For where ILL-NATURE holds her reign
TASTE, WORTH, and BEAUTY, plead in vain;
E'en GENIUS must to PRIDE submit
When ENVY wings the shaft of WIT.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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You are a butterfly
You are a butterfly
flashing over leaves,
landing on flower cups,
caught in the bright light,
spreading open your colours,
gliding up into the blue
and you always fly on
without really stopping
anywhere.
Only for a moment
you were with me,
caught in a second
with swishing wings
that rested without motion
and I beheld you,
while you entranced me
until the deeper truth came
and you opened your wings again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Introducing A New Day
I awoke to the sound
Of the birds singing in the morn
As I unzipped my tent
The sight was one to behold
The sun was just rising
Over the waves
Its flecks of rays
Introducing a new day
The hues of colours
Were subtle with shades
Of colours that were painted
From the creators pallet of paints
So just for a moment
The majestic beauty I saw
Was one that caught my breath?
In dismay
Contentedly I watched
The stirrings of life
As a brand new day
Imprinted its beauty
Of my memories of the day
poem by Kaila George
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