A Butterflies Query & A Little Girl's Anomaly...
An Ediths Checkerboard spoke to a child,
asked, why do butterflies die so young?
I have no idea, I 'm just a little girl, but
Chrysalis and Wing-dusts do take its toll,
and a plethora of the forementioned two
has propensity to transmorgrify an imago
into a houndstooth, wool eating hole making
mother munching moth of Versace tasting,
albeit, ha-ha, that really never happens, at all,
as I heard a wise cat tell a ''piller'', TALL
that you can never ever really 'catch a' piller',
for their addiction to flight is a dangerous thrill-er
until the 'piller' is caught, cuffed...redeemed-
so I found out one day reading Time Magazine
You see 'pillers' fly high... just like you,
it's what ''pillers'' and butterflies do;
they just land from a different dimension,
due to take-off and half-baked suspension,
and I heard that it's scarry and so temporary
that it obscures the ''pillers'' perception.
My, my said Edith, how precocious you be,
How is it you possess such knowledge of me?
an erudite scope of polymorphistic knowledge;
might I ask if you've attended a bug college?
Your amplitude finds me and shines me,
my family and fellow liepidoptra seeds!
Said the little girl to the Edith butterfly,
with a wide white-tooth mile of smile
mischevous, perhaps but quite wise
that shone through her little girl eyes,
'I 'm not sure, to be sure,
but one twilight, by shore
I saw a Brood of butterflies 'neath the sun,
and I think butterflies could live past year one
if they, and their mates could curtail their Brood-ing
that they appear to exercise with such flair and well-doing,
in the late afternoon by the curious loons
as sun passes torch to the new evening moon,
behind the swampiest of weed that guises the bay
where butterflies choir their Brood-ing ways
'neath the summer sky of celestial light
as they kick-up their wing-dust all through the night.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.

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Butterflies For Breakfast? (Life Poem)
Butterflies before you sit the final exam,
Butterflies before you go for a job interview,
Butterflies before you ask her out on a date,
Butterflies before you kiss her for the first time,
Butterflies before you propose two will be one,
Butterflies before you meet her family,
Butterflies before you see her all in white,
Butterflies before you make that big speech,
Butterflies before you see that your baby is OK,
Butterflies before you get news from the doctor,
Butterflies before you lose your job again,
Butterflies before you face any little crisis,
But -
No butterflies for breakfast.
poem by Ian Beckett

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She gives me butterflies
Her presence over whelms me
unique and pretty like a butterfly
Yet this butterfly
like a baby bird not ready to fly
taking caterpillar steps and crawling
as a pupa to a butterfly as if she
over protects her self as if shes not
ready to try and catch feelings
It's only often I catch
butterflies but she's one
of the prettiest I'm talking
point blank got it oeriod
She gives me butterflies
but when is she gonna be
the butterfly I groom
she says n way shes ready
but that may change that thought
if I keep it steady
But butterfly I'm ready
when you are come fly to me
or just simply say hi to me
For u give me
butterflies and I cant help
but stare sometimes
Never thought I
would the eye of ur butterflies
but life like a box of chocolate u
never know whats inside
might just be the one that gives
u butterflies
Butterfiles
VERSE
Swallow purple terror candy
Don't forget to breathe
Sickened by the wanting
And drowning from the need
This dichromatic vision
Of one who does not care
To sipping cocktail sedatives
Two months to hide somewhere
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
VERSE
The wolf has caught the chicken
And now I feel unsteady
Emotions on the blink again
So kick me when you're ready
Here lies a violet coffin
The death of my control
Along with all my skeletons
They put them in the hole
VERSE
Sickened by the notion
I give myself again
Choking on the bullet, the gun-
thats found a friend
So raise your glass to sorrow
And drink to all the pain
Tie a silver ribbon around
The pieces that remain
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Butterflies
Young butterflies,
Please, let your tender wings grow
Before you try to hit the skies
In an attempt to early fly
When the time is not right!
Scared to Hell you would be
If this dangerous endeavor
You would desperately try
When the time
Doesn't seem to be right!
Take my advice
Young butterflies,
I, the humble gardener
Who in my colorful garden
Have seen many like you
Trying to fly for the first time,
Defying the rules of gravity
When the time is not right!
Young butterflies,
Listen to the echo of the wind
And let Mother Nature
Takes its course!
While happily you welcome
The birth of a new sunrise
That would bring hope
To your tender life!
Young butterflies,
Let your wings grow
Until they are ready to flap
And you would be able to fly
And dance in the skies!
Please, young butterflies,
Listen to my humble advice!
Wishing you luck in your first flight!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle

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Loss, Strain & Butterflies
he got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door i could hear her breathing
I said "good morning mr. sun, now i would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)"
Well i can't sleep sometimes but i've been told
It's a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
I'm looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
I'm looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you can't win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by by Matchbox 20

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loss, Strain Butterflies
He got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door I could hear her breathing
I said good morning mr. sun, now I would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)
Well I cant sleep sometimes but Ive been told
Its a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
Im looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
Im looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you cant win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by by Matchbox 20

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterflies
i get butterflies,
when i look into your eyes,
it something i can't explain,
but something i like,
it like i'm high,
because of you,
you became my drug,
i feel good when you're around,
i get butterflies,
when you talk,
your voice is sexy,
i lose sight on reality,
becoming hypotize with your smile,
i miss you for a while,
but, when we together,
everything is better,
than a dream,
it more than it seems,
these butterflies are not going away,
but, in a way it okay.
Copyright © 2009
1-1-09
poem by Mona Martinez

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Butterflies are free
I believe in butterflies
Butterflies are free
Gentle wings
So feathery to touch
So many colours
Able to migrate
To other lands
The gentle butterfly
I believe again
Love, Faith, Truth
Believe no matter what,
you have the power to prevail
Strength, Courage, Honour
Believe the world does have a good heart
Everyone is unique,
in song, dance, culture
Believe in positive thoughts
Time,
The forever, and You
Most of all Butterflies are free, and so are we
Don't be mad, depressed, or suicidal
Believe in a smile, a smile can save a life
Remember Butterflies are free, and so are we
Believe in The magic of the butterfly.
poem by Batibchar Mocculta

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Butterflies
I would spin for you a blanket
Out of gold and silver threads
I would let my gentle bosom
Be a pillow for your head
Id caress your perfect body
On a rosy bed at night
Play you love songs on a golden harp
And sing you butterflies
In a diamond-studded chalice
On an emerald-plated tray
I would bring to you sweet nectar
And gifts of bright array
I would paint for you a castle
In a blue and yellow sky
Paint you happy ever after
And paint you butterflies
Chorus:
Butterflies, my heart flutters with the notion
I get high on the wings of sweet emotion
Darling i, I just think of you and I get butterflies
I get close to you and I get butterflies
If only I were magic
I would make the wishes true
I would wave a magic wand
And be in paradise with you
But Im just a girl that loves you
I will love you all my life
But I do have a magic feeling
And it gives me butterflies
Chorus:
Butterflies, my heart flutters with the notion
I get high on the wings of sweet emotion
Darling i, I just think of you and I get butterflies
We should fly away together, you and i
Off to paradise forever, I get high
I get close to you and I get butterflies
I think of you and I get butterflies
Fade:
I will spin for you a blanket out of gold and silver threads
If only I were magic, I would make the wishes true
I would wave a magic wand and be in paradise with you
song performed by by Dolly Parton

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lost Embassy
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees--
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
'White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh--in the sun--with me!'
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown--
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire--
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay--
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
'Bright wings, light wings, white wings,' he cried
'You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free--
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes--
But no live butterflies come my way!'
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
poem by Edith Nesbit

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Naming of Things.
That's a Small Skipper
Jane said
And that's a Clouded yellow
as two butterflies
flittered overhead
as you both lay
in the tall grass
on the side
of the Downs
and you followed
her finger
as it indicated
the butterflies' flight
and then they were gone
and she gazed at you
and said
What?
How do you know
the names of things?
I'm a country girl
not a townie like you
she replied
her lips moulding
the words like a potter
moulds clay
and you caught a whiff
of her perfume
carried on the calm breeze
over your heads
and you looked
at her there
in the grass
her head turned back
to the sky
her eyes reflecting
the summer blue
and her left leg
bent upwards
so that her knee
stood naked
beneath the sun
and her right hand
lay next to yours
the white blouse
open at the neck
and she said
I often used to lay here
alone listening
to the overhead birds
and the winds' moan
watching tractors
in the fields below
and mother wondering
where I was
And now?
you asked
Does she wonder
where you are now?
she turned her head
and gazed at you
No not now
she knows I'm with you
and that I'm showing you
the store of nature
and the panoramic view
And she trusts you?
you asked
sensing her hand
touch yours
the flesh warm
and soft
She trusts you
Jane said
and another butterfly
fluttered by
like a ballerina overhead.
poem by Terry Collett

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Insomniac Butterflies...
i can't sleep
upon this
Durban Deep,
my eyes are
butterflies
flying out the
window
from the house
of my heart
i am blind
outside the flowers
are captivating
two insomniac
butterflies
winking, the petals
signify
ultimately the breaking
of four wings
i am blinded by the
absence of
my portions
be the flower of my trust
seduce my butterflies
take them
in the sweetness of
your nectar
their proboscis
upon your bosom
in drunken ecstasy
it is only through this
that i will see
the light of morning again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Beware of the Butterflies
Beware of the butterflies
for they may sting
They may appear beautiful
but have poison-tipped wings
Beware of the butterfly
sitting quietly on the deck
it may appear at peace
but hasn't found it's target yet
Beware of the butterflies
so tantalyzing and free
They seem to mean no harm
but their frivolity harms me
Beware of the butterfly
because beauty can be misleading
it can ensnare the senses
till all my senses vanish completely
Beware of the butterfly
before it's too late to hear my cry
for I was once a child
now I long to fly away to the sky
just like a beautiful butterfly
poem by Caroline Guedes

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Butterflies
There will be butterflies,
There will be summer skies
And flowers upthrust,
When all that Caesar bids,
And all the pyramids
Are dust.
There will be gaudy wings
Over the bones of things,
And never grief:
Who says that summer skies,
Who says that butterflies,
Are brief?
poem by Haniel Long

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Flutter byes for M ladyChitra
The autumn leaves fall from the trees.
Twirling and dancing in the breeze.
Like ghosts of summer butterflies
although they don’t deceive my eyes.
My poets mind says otherwise.
Transmogrifies them easily,
assisted by their autumn guise.
Into bright coloured butterflies.
Like butterflies they dance and play
but they will fall eventually.
Down to the ground and rot away
And form a mulch to feed each tree.
On which trees live as they should do.
Though for a little while they flew.
16-Oct-08
http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Childhood Memories Four: Dances With Gravity
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Father chase white butterflies
which eat our growing cabbage leaves
with a tennis racket with foot work
leaps bounds serves volleys never seen
upon famed centre court at Wimbledon
butterflies fly float move in fluttering
unpredictable motion dances with gravity
overcome baiting my father into youthful
dances on past childhood hot summer days
this game I too played mastered but why
so rarely in retrospect such fun so seldom
played among a host of unpattented games
to up the stakes for mass extinction Derris
dust sprinkled on cabbage leaves discolours
leaves white butterflies land leave unabated
but knocks out the sucking and chewing
insects for a six at caterpillar dinner time
when rain has not washed powder sprinkled
off cabbage leaves alas it is a no-win game
set upon set waiting for new service white
butterflies as they fly in from neighbouring
gardens the game goes on until we tire or
new balls spread danger word signaling with
broken garden bodies in game we can't win!
poem by Terence George Craddock

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A Butterflies Beauty
Butterfly with beautiful wings,
Glides through the summer
breeze,
As the sun shines upon the wings,
Fluttering oh so silently,
Colors of the rainbow begin to
show brightly,
Like the beautiful colors of
the flowers,
Butterflies blend in so perfect,
Making nature look pretty,
Unique patterns on every wing
has its beautiful story,
Just like nature has its own
story,
Where beauty never ends,
Butterflies will always blend in
with almost anything,
Blending in with flowers, grass,
even trees tall and small,
Including a rest on a fawns little
nose,
It is only to say hi and thank you,
for letting me rest my wings,
Now I must be on my way to enjoy
the summer breeze,
Soon it will be winter and I will
have to leave,
No worries I will return when the grass
is green and trees grow their leaves,
When rivers flow with the sunshine warmth,
Animals tall and small roam again from
slumber,
Flowers blossom beautifully,
that is how you know I will return
again,
Fluttering upon the spring and summer
breeze,
All my family will also return to fill
nature with colorful beauty.
poem by Derek James

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Butterfly Poems
1 wing pages of the butterfly
at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '
'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly
'Read and write!
Read and write
about me,
and all flitting butterflies
Read
and write, you silly! '
it commands
And so I read
and I copy
and these are the words
the words from those
pages
the butterfly
holds up to me
2 song of the butterfly
'butterfly
butterfly
w hy do you fly? '
I’ve got wings
I’ve got aerodynamics
so I flit about
and I fly:
for I just got to be
'O I wish
I really wish
I too could fly
flit and fly
fly and flit
just like you
I wish I could fly'
O you can
O you can
flit about and fly
you mortal on the ground
you can fly
if you use your mind
if you try
if you try
3 the boy and the butterfly
'O butterfly
where do you go
so busy, so fast
moving about in a hurry? '
O I move up and down
and across and sideways
I have to go and go and go
little boy
just like you jump and run
just like you roll and play
just as active as you are
just being in the joy of me
4 the girl and the butterflies
'O butterflies
of all colors
butterflies of purple, green
and maroon and gold
O I love your colors!
I love each glow! '
And we so love
the colors of your dresses too
little girl;
we love the colors in each dress
you wear every time
you come to see us in the fields
and O we do
we so love the glow in your cheeks
5 butterfly time
you live a week
at most a year
dear butterfly...
a week
a year;
and so we too,
though we may count in a hundred,
are subject to quick passing…
6 butterfly: a lesson in history
O butterfly
tell me true
how did you get
your name?
Is it true as some say?
from your poo?
I’ll tell you how
we got the name 'butterfly'...
well, in the days of old
when no one knew
what to call us
for we were all nameless then
there was a poet
who instead of making money
just like you
deliberated on questions
of what shall I call this thingy that
flies about?
and as he sat at his table
wondering of names
his indignant wife would throw things at him
to get him to work and earn some bread
instead of depending on her father’s estate;
and she would let things fly at him
things like a spoon, knife, wood,
clothes – and one day she threw the butter at him
and it was then that the penniless poet had inspiration
and he shouted: 'Butterfly! '
and that’s how we were christened
because the witless poet saw some
similarity between butter and fly
and so we have ever to fly about
with this heavy weight of the butter
on our delicate wings
7 the butterfly hunter
O hunter
butterfly collector
let us be
We got a life
we love to fly
and we got family
O don’t catch us
don’t bottle us
don’t gas us
let us be
we love to fly
and we love to bring joy
to poets in gardens;
we love to bring laughter
to children in the fields
O please, Collector
do not bring death to us
O hunter
butterfly collector
let us be
We got a life
we love to fly
and we got family
(above poem based on painting: Der Schmetterlingsjäger (The butterfly hunter) by Carl Spitzweg (1840) , a depiction from the era of butterfly collection)
8 names of the butterfly
the butterfly has a
thousand names
as many as there are languages
and in each even more names:
papillon, paruparo, borboleta, mariposa,
schmetterling, farfalla, fluture, drugelis, sommerfug,
pattampoochi, farasha, prajapathi,
thithili, chocho, hu-tieh
and so on, names a thousand and more
but the silliest name
illogical, unimaginative, and most clichéd
in all the world
is in Plain Jane English:
butterfly…
9 a picnic, some butter, and a fly
I sat down for a picnic
and wondered
what I could spread on my bread
and soon an idea came by;
and so with my left hand
I shooed away the fly
and with my right
spread evenly the butter
10 nature of the butterfly
people say the butterfly is beautiful
but if its jerky flight and nervous twitches
were made into music
it’d sound more a cacophony than a symphony
11 a queensland butterfly
butterfly is in an inapt name
for those in the state of Queensland
for the they’d melt in the very heat in summer
and so, really, since the butterfly’s wings open up like a book
I’d rather call it pagefly
or an e-readerfly
or flutterby or bye-bye or even by-the-by
12 the erotic butterfly
just three butterflies
cover my love
better than silk or sari
13 butterfly and wisteria
Ah, butterfly
you are in your own:
you flutter gently
and you see the wisteria;
and you are in natural rhythm
and you will eat, now that the time
and place are right
14 be you makers of beauty
'maybe a few words, '
I ask of the butterfly
that is resting on radiant leaves
and the butterfly says:
'Be you makers of beauty…'
poem by Raj Arumugam

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Cult Of The Sun
sun is –
the last
Fuhrer
beasts are –
only the members of
the Party
only the flight and
freedom of
birds!
let
all angels
die
there is
no tinge of
“good”
there is
no tinge of
“evil”
there is
no tinge of
“human”
nothing but!
the battle of!
butterflies!
return back What
Is above
God
Dao is
happy for
nobody
shit of
the bees is above
Buddha
wounds of
the lamb are above
Christ
it’s time to!
revive as!
a worm!
it is the worm that is
the revived
flower
black butterfly is
for the sake of
white butterfly
white butterfly is
for the sake of
black butterfly
let!
all! die!
angels!
here It is
The Last
Mystery:
the sound of wings
of Started
Butterflies
must
kill
the god
must
kill
the world
poem by AZsacra ZARATHUSTRA

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Butterfly's Dance
As the wind changes direction
so does my life
never depend on one thing to
last forever
you must make life how you want
it
you must dance with the butterflies
live in the bliss as you dance along
the twists and turn of live never forget
to dance with the butterflies
we dance how we want to no one
tell us how to we make our lives
how we want it to be
we don't have to be told to dance
with the butterflies
poem by Aiyanna Ortiz

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