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Home & the Butterfly

I built my life with muddy bricks and a tin sheet for the roof,
My history teacher suggests the name; poverty
But it's weather-beaten knows everybody.
Am I heavy to carry on your soft wings?
If you prefer I could have join your pilgrimage
Leaving all my burdens aside
I was carrying since my childhood.
I see the outer world through my little window, nothing; but gloomy.
Only I hear the secret murmur of the souls.
Red ants on the window sill very busy and I heard a butterfly's crying.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Butterfly, Butterfly

Hoping to catch your eye
Circling around you, oh my
Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light
Oh, what a beautiful sight
Flying so gracefully
Into the sky, the butterfly
Trying to catch a butterfly
Fly, fly, fly, butterfly
There he sets upon the mums
I'm having so much fun
Here's another on the sill
Your standing so still
You go to touch him
There he goes, the butterfly
I hear a tapping on the window
It's the butterfly, fly, fly, fly
There he goes into the sky
Flying so high, the butterfly
I'll see you another day
Butterfly, butterfly, away

poem by Sharon Adamson
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A Window Into The World

The crow flaps its dark wings up there,
hungryor death,
and the dark opened its mouth down there,
hungry for poverty.
Both are permanent visitors on 134th street,
the street of my childhood,
where I returned to after fifty years of straying.
Nothing has changed,
apart from the poverty
which became bigger and darker.
The orphanage is still in the same place
where I used to daydream of the outside world
for hours, days and months on an end I used to stand by the window,
shyly stealing smiles from other kids
who cheerfully jumped around their parents,
dreaming that someday I might hold a child by their hand,
and walk far away from the orphanage.
But that world,
the world I used to watch with so much desire
through the little hole of poverty,
became even colder, lonelier and darker than the orphanage to me.
Yes, Lord, I admit to this standing next to the old orphanage's window,
from my dear and sad sight of the world,
that I am coming home poorer and lonelier,
much sadder and poorer
than I was back in my childhood,
because back then I was rich with youth and hope,
and now I am so hopelessly old and lonely.
I am looking at my old orphanage,
and Patrick's reverberant voice crosses my mind,
Patrick who is long since reading his dear little poems
to angels in white heavenly fields.
When I used to stray the dark streets of the world,
the memory of his precious and clear eyes
was my lighthouse,
and now I am left without youth and friends,
hopelessly old and lonely,
in the company of crows, darkness and poverty.
While I am standing at my little sight of the world,
the wind is carrying around the cigarette ember
along the street of my childhood,
leaving behind a fiery trail for my poverty,
and the old orphanage window,
my small sight of the world,
is creaking like the bones of an old homeless man,
as if it arrived at its end too.
I wonder how many views that old window had provided,
and how many gazes and scorn it withstood?
My old window into the world squeaked again,
and now I know that it is time for me to venture into the dark,
to return into the world,
because my old window
is providing a new hope and new view of the world
to a new resident of the orphanage now.

poem by Walter William Safar
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Torn Butterfly

Torn butterfly torn butterfly
Seeing you there it makes me cry
Torn butterfly your wings they tore
From the weight that they bore
Torn butterfly it's plain to see
That you are just the same as me
Torn butterfly the world is tough
Hard as stones and just as rough
Torn butterfly I know your pain
And I don't want to know it again
Torn butterfly come join me now
And we'll regain our wings somehow
Torn butterfly it's sad but true
In death our wings become brand new
Torn butterfly just fade away
And we will fly this very day
Torn butterfly this note I send
And hope that you will cause your end
So we can fly in clear blue skies
Where no one hurts and no one cries
Torn butterfly with my last breath
I ask you to come join me in death

poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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The Third Xanor

coffee cannot help
it keeps me awake
but that is not enough
to conquer this
lousy feeling

tonight the ants
are busy carrying
the gifts
the lizards stare
at me
upside down

the window is open
i let the wind come in
to join me
in this loneliness

i sit staring the darkness
i turn off the light
there is no moon there
are no stars

the second pill of xanor
shall take me
to another true encounter
with you

you that i cannot defeat
nothing conquers you
this love, this surrender
this stupidity!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don't Follow

Ingulfed in flames,
I'm through with your games.
I'm leaving,
To be free.
I'm leaving,
To get away.
I'm leaving,
To find someone else.
Don't follow,
Unless you're hollow.
I'm through,
With you,
So leave me,
And let me be free.

As the leaves fall,
I walk into a hall.
I'm alone,
Finally.
I find a dark spot,
Where it's not hot.
I sit,
And wait.
Someone comes by,
And says hi.
It's a little girl,
Who is me,
When I was little.
I say hi,
And she says,
'Why are you sitting here? '
Then she leaves.
My present self comes,
And says,
'You've made a mistake.'
And leaves.
My future self never comes.

I get up,
And Find you,
Waiting outside.
I run up to you,
And hug you.
I'm crying,
And you're not lying.
I say sorry,
But you say sorry more.
We get into a car,
And we go home.

That night,
My future self doesn't comes,

The next day,
I told you,
'I don't want to live,
I'm worthless,
I have no future,
And I'm sick.'
You say,
'No you aren't.'
You hug me,
But I leave.
You try to follow me,
But I climb the stairs,
And open the second floor window.
I stand in the window sill.
I look down.
I become scared,
And I get down,
And go into your arms.
I start crying,
As you calm me down.

That night,
My future self comes.
She nods,
And leaves.

poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Shadows in My Own Rhyme

here is the cloud shadows ran outside the window, sucking the dewy liquid air, not resist, what is called today? never falling into the sky, the green memories, grazed to the flat lands, once on the edge of the memory, the hunt for is almost over, only be a voice murmur, singing in uncertainty, the wind always blows deliver the weather news, his voice barely audible, crying is just a trickle of water that soaks the window, 'when would you arrive? ' sit in the center of indecision, the wind kept blowing, silent window, shadows recorded on this poem.

1991

poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Butterfly on My Window 'Pain

Butterfly on my window 'pain'
Blow me a kiss, then lets play a game.
Give me wings and ill soar with you,
But wings or not i'm gonna jump!
So butterfly on my window 'pain'
Please give me wings to play this. Game?

poem by Whisper Smith
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Soft Smile

Where are you now soft smile?
You left me all the while
Wandering through a world of hardness and dark
Nowhere for my heart to park

Wherefore art thou soft smile?
Soft smile what light through yonder window breaks?
'Tis the sun and 'soft smile' you are my moon.

I dream endless hours of another moment with you
Every little moment has meaning
Why must I fall for you again n again?
You, who hath no heart but carry a shield
Soft smile you buried your heart but start
Start a new one with me will you?
Soft smile, stay with me a while
Allow me to beguile
Allow me to teach you about tease and denial

I miss you soft smile
I think about you every day
We both know i have spoiled you
We both know how i feel for you
I will go on alone
I will piss and moan

Who is 'soft smile'?
She knows exactly who she is
Because she wanders through her day
Carrying a bag of coins
But more importantly carrying my heart symbolically
Soft Smile I miss you every single day.

Beau Golden

poem by Beau Golden
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From the biography of an unknown woman: XL

Looking out through the window
She saw a sky of melancholy
In shades of ink-blue and black

In the ticking of the clock on the wall
She heard the loud and clear hollowness
Filling the empty room

Some stray memories sweet and bitter
Simply struggled like a flickering candle
Placed on the window sill

In the distant night is heard
Painful whining of dogs
As she struggled to close
The window against the blowing wind

13sep2010
14.14hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Radio With Guts

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Love Lights

The sun rises
sparkle fingers
aop the horizon;
my feelings are alive.

I tingle at the breeze of a single
butterfly wing
that is your touch;

dust in light shafts
come through
the window sill
stir
and float
above us,

I move to taste you;
perfumed still
from the surging night
and you loom above me
reaching
across our illumination;
swirling
to me;
my nipples swelling
remembering
night time lustings;

night time now is dust light beams
dancing in moon streams
gleaming.;

smooth
skin now
igniting again
against
smooth
skin;
I hear you moan,

reclaim my center
with your weight
and I compress
caress your chest;
last nights
love
in an instant
returns with us to bed,

and we imitate
the sun rise
slow soothing
love-making
in the steady ray sun beams
while shadow flowers
in the window box
follow our movements
on the wall;
love strokes-

rhythmic signs
surrendering breath
and astonishment
as body love
takes hold.
Once again
we fall among the lost.

The taste of you
on my tongue
again
the smell of you
rush to my lungs
again
we spiral away;

we're gone;
timeless etched
bathed
in that bursting sun
which announces once again
morning.

Put your hand here I say
and you do
I sign
a soft sign
and you
your deep baritone
moans again;
sudden shuddering

and the window sill
tells me its sunset
8 hours
more we've lingered,

while a new sun
salutes us
on the bed
next day;
lying
finger tip to finger tip
as new shards
of light
proceed and recede
to the window sill
each saying
good night
see you in the morn;

each a long-stemmed
lit rose;
fading
slowly

leaving us

side by side
repleated
and completed.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Listening Back

There are no comrade roses at my window,
No green things in the lane;
Upon the roof no sibilant soft patter-
The lullaby of rain;
Without is silence, and within is silence,
Till silence grows a pain.

Within is silence, and without is silence,
The snow is on the sill,
In snow the window wreath’d instead of roses,
And snow is very still....
I wonder is it singing in the grasses,
The rain, on Russian Hill?

poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
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My Little Pill

Whats a single woman with no real man 2 do?
Tryin 2 raise your kid when he couldnt give a damn about u
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill
A pixie does my laundry and the universe my will
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shatterproof

I see those newly weds
Their eyes wide and believing
They bill and coo at the mention of chez nous
Appearances can be deceiving
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
We papered over all the cracks
And painted a cats lick and a promise
The landlord was a man of few words
And most of them were ominous
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
It was nothing really to write home about
Then one day it all appears too much
Here comes my little hammer and its shatterproof touch
He said, be practical,
These are most unreasonable demands.
Forget about the broken spectacles
And the damage to your hand.
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
And the doctors say Im almost shatterproof

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Help me...

I am tired of knocking the windows and the doors,
Using my mighty limbs and legs and feeling the sadness,
At my heart, pushing the window as hard as I can,
People never hear my calling as they dip in their own,
Problems of puzzles that they have and I do not want to give up,
As I want to go out, then a hand pulled the knob to open up,
The closed window for me to fly out,
I am a butterfly, whose home is not a house.
I am lost in a house and trying to escape,
Just like this butterfly, we knock the same windows,
When we are clouded with worries and sorrows,
Not knowing that we need a hand to free us,
Banging again and again on the same window,
Blindly wishing for the window to be permeable,
Not knowing the needed help is available,
when the emotion is lost and the love is expired,
opportunities are erased and scarcity is established,
We do behave like this butterfly,
thinking the wrong as the right way.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Window

I was staring out the window
The whole time he was talking to me
It was a filthy pane of glass
I couldn't get a clear view
As he went on and on
It wasn't the outside world I could see
Just the filthy pane that I was looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I was never focused on just one thing
My eyes got fixed when my mind got soft
It may looked like I'm concentrated on a very clear view
But I'm as good as asleep
I bet you didn't know
It takes a lot of it away if you do
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
Because the fact in fact
Whatevers in front of me is covering my view
So I can't see what I'm seeing in fact
I only see what I'm looking through
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
So again I've done the right thing
I was never worried about that
The answer's always been in clear view
But even when the window's clean
I still can't see for the fact
That when it's clean it's so clear
I cant tell what I'm looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
I had to break the window
It was in my way
Better that I break a window
Then forget what I had to say
Or miss what I should see
Or breaking him or her or me

song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Oddball In The Window

The boy sat at the window
Looking out at the other boys
Laughing and playing their games
Enjoying their childhood days

The boy hopes that they will cherish
Those blissful moments of youth
That have been stolen from him
Moments gone forever from his childhood days

He’s not crippled in body or mind
He’s not allowed outside to play
Those boys point and stare at the boy
They call the oddball in the window

His parents have imprisoned him
To wrap him up in cotton love
He is just to much a gift from god
He is their only precious child

The parents say it’s for his own good
He’s such a delicate child
He just sits at the window
Jealous of the children running free

He will never laugh with other children
He will never join in their games
He never smiles in photographs
He’s not enjoying his childhood days

He’s grown up now; still sitting at the window
His parents can’t get him to venture outside
Everyone passing takes time to point and stare
At the man they call
The oddball in the window

poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Unopened Letter To The World

If i died tomorrow
would this song live on forever?
and here is my
unopened letter to a world
that never shall reply
if i died tomorrow
would this song live on forever?
and here is my
unopened letter to a world
that never shall reply
never shall reply
from this second story window
i can hear the church bells calling out my name
this table is set for one
even angels would be homesick
in this forsaken town
on random notes of parchment
i'm scrawling my existence
dressed in white
this candle radiates throughout the night
and it's never burning out
never burning out
from this second story window
i can hear the children down on main street
they're singing their songs tonight
in the shadows i will listen to their every movement
Mr. Higginson am i not good enough for the world?
am i destined only to die
the same way that i lived,
its seclusion?
but high up on this mountain
i can almost see your lonely window sill
they'll carry you off tonight
there's a ghost in your old bedroom
and a candle burning bright
if i die tomorrow
will this song live on forever?

song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A snowflake passed this way

Fragile is the mind
That cannot see a friend
Fragile too is the snowflake
Seeking sanctuary on my window sill
Both are anonymous to the world

The dreamers will see many snow flakes
Whose beauty we can only imitate
Within this gift, there is a place
That reminds us of the summer days to come
A garden for the soul
Where Friends are bees
That pollinates the spirit with love

For you too are part of a fragile world
Seeking life’s journey
A visitor within a snowflake
Beautiful and Unique
Born to melt away
In the heat of time

For it is an honour to know a life that others did not
To be chosen by this snowflake on my window sill
A memory for my garden to keep
And perhaps that is enough for anyone’s existence

poem by Steven Cooke
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