Christmas butterfly
Perhaps it had arrived undercover
between the rich dark green leaves
of the organic cabbage which from
the huge holes in its tough outer leaves
had brought it up so lively – perhaps
reared in some protected warmth, mimicking
the months when ‘ small cabbage whites’
are supposed to live – July to September.
Or had it flown in or been shipped in
from some warmer clime?
Christmas Day – was that the kitchen ceiling light
about to go? No, it was a butterfly,
frantically circling round and round
the low-energy bulb, not hot enough
to make an Icarus of its daring; always
clockwise round the bulb, I thought;
palest green to grey to white; frenzied; delicate..
At night, the light switched off, it rested somewhere;
then at evening, resumed its mad dance,
ceaseless lover, love unconsummated…
paid no attention to its cabbage home
there in the vegetable rack; only the light, the light…
Butterflies do not hear; it did not heed
my cries increasing in despair –
nothing like a butterfly net to hand;
I tried to bring it lower with a gentle spray
so that I could catch it; too wild its Maenad dance,
too high, too frenzied..
Two, three days passed; so much strength,
determination, endurance, in such a tiny thing;
no longer garden’s scourge; now a holy thing,
in which I saw myself; even wished to love;
we became of equal size, in the eyes of God…
as were we not always, from Creation’s birth?
The fourth morning, I caught it in a cut-glass tumbler
against the window pane – the open window
had not tempted it – myself now talking to its unhearing,
as I did my father on his way to death…
it settled in the glass, still moist inside
with orange juice; did you know,
butterflies taste with their feet…
they so quick to land and then take off…
such discrimination in those tiny feet,
that tiny brain, those tiny,
heroic muscles, devoted to its life and love…
It flew across the cold and winter garden
at such speed, I chose to see it joy or gratitude..
and then, was quiet for a time.
*
Tiny thing,
holy thing,
as near to God
as angel's wing.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
nature-Day Ending -Izeli
Jacaranda in full bloom,
points it's branches to the setting sun.
Gentle breeze rains blossoms from on high
to carpet the earth with their purple dye.
Heavy flapping of the cawing gulls
swallows in pairs dance in a race
Bright green light green shadows lengthening
White disk with a shimmering face.
Dark green treetops turning yellow green
Olive lit hillside now to be seen
Tiny butterflies fluttering bye
Dust like dots of the tiny fly
Here I sit and drink in the life
of nature and creatures
as the day is ending
I marvel and wonder at the life I see,
in a perfect rhythm of eternal blending.
poem by Mary Mc Creath
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Christmas Tiny Feet
don't you hear that beat of little tiny feet
tiny feet running across the floor
tiny feet at your door
to hear the pitter patter of those feet on christmas morn
and the twinkle in their eyes
seeing that expression of surprise
as they open up all their gifts that they put on their christmas list
this is one of the few things that make all the heartaches worth while
when you see their beautiful smile.
christmas is a day to rejoice the birth of our king
who has given us all these things.
so as we share this day with our children
let us remember who gave us this day
and thank him in every way.
rejoice in the birth of our new born king
for he is everything.
he has given us the pitter patter of tiny feet
and has made our lives complete.
poem by Louis Rams
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Tiny Angel
golden hair, tiny curls
blue eyes, sparkle
tiny angel laughing
chasing butterflies in the garden
sunshine and shadows
picking flowers, making chains
tiny angel halo
curled up on my lap
sandman coming soon
dreams await you
sleeping angel
sweet smiles, soft kisses
giggles that melt my heart
happy angel
i see your wings
don't fly away
i need you here with me
tiny angel
gone too soon
i miss you
poem by Shadow Princess
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How the Light's let In (An imperfect poem)
Everything lacks perfection
In the smallest particle there’s a flaw
Imperfection is our protection
Imperfection’s an immutable law
There’s a tiny crack in everything
But tis how the light’s let in
There exists no perfect circle
An impossibility, a linear line
Nor persists a faultless square
Nor a truly enlightened mind
Yet.. There’s a tiny crack in everything
And tis how the light’s let in
There’s no such thing as perfection
There’s no such condition as ‘just right’
No such thing as exact recollection
No such thing as ‘perfect sight’
there’s a tiny crack in everything
No matter how wide or thin
It’s the flaw that keeps the dark without
And tis how the light’s let in
poem by David Whalen
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To A Silvereye
I see you almost every day you fly from tree to tree
And I envy you your happiness for you are wholly free
You tiny insect eating bird in olive fawn and gray
And I feel glad so very glad to see you every day.
No boss to order you around to tell you what to do
Wish you were me dear tiny bird and wish that I were you
For you have freedom in your wings the freedom of the sky
And I envy you your happiness dear tiny silvereye.
On garden tree and green hedgerow close to the homes of men
I see you almost every day you and your tiny kin
From garden tree to garden tree and to and fro you wing
And midst the leaves the sunlit leaves you preen and chirp and sing.
I see you almost every day from tree to tree you fly
And I envy you your happiness the freedom of the sky
And I've a wish a secret wish when my turn come to die
That I will come to life again a tiny silvereye.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Slug City
There once was a family of slugs
That lived in a cabbage patch town
They went out every nite to eat
Found a cabbage and began to munch down
All through the night they could reduce
A cabbage to a stalk in the ground
All night they would munch and munch
But you would never here them, not nary a sound
But Mrs H was becoming fed up
Her patch the proudest around
With malace, blood red, she schemed
She vowed to eliminate those clowns
She purchased the best poison they had
She tried every trick she read
But the slugs just kept on coming
Every nite long after it was bed
Then a local wino he said
Out of the garden he could take
These inconsiderate gluttonous
Stylommatophora pulmonates
So he began by opening a beer
Placing some into a sphere
Putting them by each cabbage head
he said, 'This will make these slugs disappear.'
But by morning the cabbage was gone
Worse yet so was the beer
And if you looked even more closely
Tiny signs saying, 'Next time make it import you here.'
poem by Midnights Voice
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Big Fat Love
It started out when she was small
She was premature
She wasnt nothing at all
Two pounds six ounces
A little pumpkin seed
But she got more love
Than you ever gonna need
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
She dont eat enough
To keep her alive
When she bends over
Shes a quarter to five
Skinny little thing
But she aint afraid
To dance the watusi
On a razorblade
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
Tiny little hands
Tiny little nose
Tiny little footsteps
Wherever she goes
Little bit dont leave
No bathtub ring
You pull the plug
Shes down the drain
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
Bigger than me
Bigger than you
Bigger than the hippo
Down at the zoo
Thin is in
Stout is out
Big fat love
Is what Im talking about
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
She got big fat love
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Valentine's Day
Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.
I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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La Luna
I remember when I met you
All the stars were hanging in mid-air
In these moments - nothing mattered
But the way you caught me in your stare
We were walking - we were talking
We were laughing about the state of our lives
How our fates brought us together
As the moon was rising in your eyes
On and on the night was falling
Deep down inside us
On and on a light was shining right through
Ah la luna la luna
The night that we fell under the spell of the moon
Ah la luna la luna
The light that will being me back to you
The light of la luna
In the hotels, in the cafes
All the world was made with romance
In the harbor moonlit water
All the ships were swaying in a dance
Then you held me and you kissed me
And I knew I had to be with you
You didnt ask me you just took me
To the tiny bed in your tiny room
On and on the band was playing
A song of surrender
On and on the sun would soon break thru
Now I walk along the streets of marseilles
The winter sky is cold and gray
And I dont know why I left you that day
And I dont know where you are
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Yellow Butterfly.
Gently flapping it's thin wings,
A butterfly lands upon my fingers,
And upon a soft breeze it leaves,
Yet it's delicate presence lingers.
Sunny yellow rimmed it's wings.
With dark daffodil yellow rings,
Pure coal black traced it's veins,
It's image - in my mind - remains.
Such a soft and delicate brush,
Of a butterflies wings, so plush,
The softest touch of it's tiny legs,
Lifted my spirits - well, the dregs.
That butterfly, that passed me by,
The messenger between land and sky,
Has stayed lodged in my mind,
I'll never meet another of it's kind,
A single butterfly, while I was alone,
Came to me and my world was thrown,
But I'll never forget that yellow butterfly,
That left me when I let out a soft sigh,
A soft sigh that came from me,
Swept my butterfly, set it free,
This is my butterfly that I'll remember,
My butterfly from last September.
poem by Rayne Goddard
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New Light New Colour
An old man
welcomes
his four day old
grandson
white stillness pure gold purple wonder gold strength pink joy
pink infinity navy blue now strong indigo blue light blue fountain
the green first reason endless yellow compassionate orange
royal red
single red free orange free yellow
green depth as clear as crystal all attractive light blue
strong indigo blue strong navy blue pink wishes gold compassion
compassionate purple gold of golds of creativity
who is quiet
and naturally very small and delicate
red inspirer orange giver yellow help dazzling green
light blue of the delicate with indigo blue eyes navy blue good
with pink kind eyes golden hair
golden complexion purple complexion
gold warmth of white space
white of whites
gold truth purple mentor funny gold pink friend of children
navy blue of nature indigo blue knowledge light blue song of nature
green creation yellow in senses orange guide red way
white and gold love
of all purple knowledge gold presence pink in thunder and storms
navy blue pleasure indigo blue beauty light blue lines
all attractive green of yellow stirring music of orange red refuge
clear red orange orange yellow yellow with green giving hands
of green light blue truth indigo blue essence navy blue sparkle
pink with gold purple guide gold here here white
His feet are curled
His fingers as small as tiny magic wands
His eyes large
Some skin is peeling off his small face
Everything is perfectly formed
white
is the sun with penetrating vision purple and golden constant winner
gold reach of all pink infinite navy blue indigo blue knowledge
light blue care
deep green in greens dedicated to yellow
orange truth
red peace
This perfect body was in his mother only a week ago
thinks the old man
He places his hand on the boys stomach
red glory orange beauty yellow
of green and light blue evenings handsome indigo blue
intelligent navy blue pink of pinks of gold golds purple purple
gold friend openness formless
white and gold
prevailing purple efficient purple purple origin purple form
gold and permanent pink navy blue belief indigo blue blue
dense green yellow orange red friend red
The boy almost gasps at this touch
He yawns
His eyes remain anxiously focused on the window
eager to understand the Australian light
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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There Once Was A Tiny Girl
there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world
there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night
there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day
there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play
there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe
there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more
there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate
by: crystal sonier
age: 15
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
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Switch on the light, please
I always rise from a fall
From the floor I lift my bottom
Up this table
And from this table I stand
And reach this ceiling
It is dark and you simply sit there
Like a blind creature
Learning to live & even love
♥
This darkness
You keep telling me about your
Broken dreams
The walls enclosing you
The wails of the past
Screaming at you
Up here I hold this
Fluorescent bulb
And put it on the socket
On the ceiling and now
It is finally done & ready
To have light however
It is still you
Who must stand
Move to that dark corner
And then switch on
This tiny thing
☼
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Run Home, Run Home Butterfly
run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly
there’s rain and hail
and the wind blows wild;
what are you doing
flitting idly by?
run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly
duck for cover
excuse the expression;
hide under a tree
or go sleep under the leaves;
have you no sense
of impeding danger?
Oh run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly
the wind blows hard
and you’re being blown around;
what happens if
a tiny hail stone
swings a hole in a wing
or worse -
oh fragile butterfly -
I don’t want to be here to see
a hail stone the size of a child’s fist
land smack on your gentle head
so run home
run home
you silly
playful butterfly;
run run run
fly fly fly
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Butterfly and Bee
Once bee buzzed by the lilting butterfly
tiny wings afire with his speed
aiming for his garden target
rifling along in his usual haste
Butterfly was darting up down and sideways
as if suspended on a string
and pulled about by a drunken puppeteer
Bee had thought of speaking a warning
to local pedestrians those operating
in a different time frame than he
He had tried to say watch out move over I’m coming
but he got no farther than waa
waa and by that time he had come and gone
and all that someone like butterfly
would hear was waa nnnnnn, and so
Bee wondered about his early warning system
perhaps he’d buzz louder – one of these times
there’d be some collision – traveling ninety
leaves per moon dropp is a very very fast pace
And butterfly always slow to take notice
would hear the waa nnnn’s from time to time
tilt a wing and turn to see who’s zipping by
to see Mr. Tiny-Yellow-And-Black-Dot vanishing
into the faraway but he really didn’t care
Something else was on his mind. There
was something else he’d been thinking about and
he’d merely forgotten what it was. And so
he turned and floated, turned and hovered
capturing the glance of the sunshine
upon his wings reflecting it
into my eye
poem by Tom Courtney
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The Little Land
When at home alone I sit
And am very tired of it,
I have just to shut my eyes
To go sailing through the skies--
To go sailing far away
To the pleasant Land of Play;
To the fairy land afar
Where the Little People are;
Where the clover-tops are trees,
And the rain-pools are the seas,
And the leaves, like little ships,
Sail about on tiny trips;
And above the Daisy tree
Through the grasses,
High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
Hums and passes.
In that forest to and fro
I can wander, I can go;
See the spider and the fly,
And the ants go marching by,
Carrying parcels with their feet
Down the green and grassy street.
I can in the sorrel sit
Where the ladybird alit.
I can climb the jointed grass
And on high
See the greater swallows pass
In the sky,
And the round sun rolling by
Heeding no such things as I.
Through that forest I can pass
Till, as in a looking-glass,
Humming fly and daisy tree
And my tiny self I see,
Painted very clear and neat
On the rain-pool at my feet.
Should a leaflet come to land
Drifting near to where I stand,
Straight I'll board that tiny boat
Round the rain-pool sea to float.
Little thoughtful creatures sit
On the grassy coasts of it;
Little things with lovely eyes
See me sailing with surprise.
Some are clad in armour green--
(These have sure to battle been!)--
Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
Black and crimson, gold and blue;
Some have wings and swift are gone;--
But they all look kindly on.
When my eyes I once again
Open, and see all things plain:
High bare walls, great bare floor;
Great big knobs on drawer and door;
Great big people perched on chairs,
Stitching tucks and mending tears,
Each a hill that I could climb,
And talking nonsense all the time--
O dear me,
That I could be
A sailor on a the rain-pool sea,
A climber in the clover tree,
And just come back a sleepy-head,
Late at night to go to bed.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Butterfly (Funny Story)
Memories
today i calmly sat in a park bench,
a butterfly came dangling resting on my elbow,
it's magnificent beauty reminded me about my childhood.
I remembered that day,
carrying a big basin and creeping down the blades of grass,
with my big basin i wud try to trap the butterflies in our yard.
Everytime i tried the butterflies would fly zigzagly and escape,
mama saw it all,
she came to the yard too,
holding my tiny shoulders as i rested in the big basin,
she said 'to catch a butterfly, just relax and extend your elbow, don't say a world or tremble, the butterfly will come to you'.
Then she left.
And true, a beautiful butterfly rested in my small palm.
Mmmh vote if you think its awesme out of 10.
poem by Prince Froggy Mwalimu
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A little Flower
A flower grew out of the ground
A tiny flower from the dirt
A tiny living soul from underground
A baby crawling from the dirt
A little innocence of wild color
A tiny spark of hope
A tiny pleasure free of charge
A flower that i called my own
A little baby ran towards it
A tiny flower crushed beneath the feet
A little human innocence
A little bliss destroyed by ignorance
A little flower dead on the ground
A little baby jumping up and down
And only me from my own window, witnessed the death of my own flower beneath the feet of blissful child without idea of his first crime...
poem by Dmitriy Kokarev
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