Butterfly
Butterfly flitting about beneath my eyes,
you never seem to climb the highest highs.
Your wings seem to gently caress the air
lifting and lowering you wherever you care.
Fluttering here and there above the ground
minding your own business without a sound.
Your composure shows the way that you have fun,
after visiting a flower you rest and bathe in the sun.
You never display signs of urgency or haste
in your search for a nesting place.
Are you seeking somewhere specific to settle
perhaps in a hedgerow or on a stinging nettle?
I’m sure you will find a suitable place soon
to lay your eggs before the rising moon.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Related quotes
Frances 7
Fluttering
Moving lightly swiftly flying darting skimming
Like a yellow butterfly flitting passing flitting
From flower to flower from tree to tree
From cloud to cloud passing quickly
To depart then die this yellow butterfly
I have never heard it sing I have never heard it cry
Flitting fluttering lightly fluttering this lonely happy yellow butterfly!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry is a Butterfly
Poetry is a Butterfly
Fluttering to touch the sky
Creeping steps towards the flower
Pouring love on shaking sight
Jerking on the leaf of shadow
Hurrying to kiss for spectrum flow
Whisking rhythm of wings of love
Tumbling to create the fragrance wave
Twisting gently the cheeks of feeling
Slapping to have the dropp of twinkling
Stunning in the dancing -mood
Spinning suddenly in search of deed
Battling with the hissing sound
Roaming to muse with flower's reed
Glittering soul of whisking face
Frothing hopes in rapid race
Creeping steps on mossing place
Spreading the wings to get embrace
Poetry is a Butterfly
Glittering in the shining sky
poem by Kulkarni Puttu
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Butterfly
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!
Anonymous submission.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Butterfly Dreams and Angel Wings
my hands shiver in the cold
because you are not here for me to hold
and the summer rain starts to fall
while i'm still waiting for your call...
butterfly wings slowly take place
eventhough it's dark
and i can't see your face
as the moon says goodnight
and fireflies start to take flight...
all around me,
i can hear no sound,
no thunder, no lightning, only silence
i step out and stand in the rain
hoping that it will wash away the pain...
and angel wings took hold of me
slowly lifting me up to eternity
taking me to distant places
that are always full of hope and happiness...
then i suddenly opened my eyes
and i started to realize
it was just butterfly dreams
coming from my broken heart...
butterfly dreams and angel wings
are you really true?
or just a fantasy to make me blue?
butterfly dreams and angel wings
are you really there?
could you hold me
and never ever let go?
poem by Carla Grace De Los Santos
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Sonnet: Climb, We Must
Climb we must, each step in life every day;
Climb we must, each rung in life, one by one;
Climb we must, with care slowly all the way;
Climb but steadily, it isn’t merely fun.
Haste could make a waste: fatal could be fall;
Tougher’s the climb when on the steeper side;
Time is short but still we obey His call;
God is our Master in whom we abide.
We ought to rest but when we find the time;
Climb we must, all day and rest during night;
Though success may not come, our duty’s prime;
God is our guide always: Beacon of light.
We ought to reach the place earmarked by God,
Although unshod and though we are from clod.
poem by John Celes
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Butterfly Buffet
Butterfly, butterfly, your colors so bright
Where do you go when God turns out the light?
Do you find some place safe that you can call home?
Or continue to flutter, continue to roam?
Through a buffet of flavors, slurping nectar, so sweet
Savoring a myriad of flowers, as their juices you drink
Until your tunny's content and you've had your fill
Now let your food settle till you next nectar meal
Butterfly, butterfly, your colors so bright
Where do you go when God turns out the light?
Do you continue to fly from flower to flower
Or call it a day then wait out the hours?
Do you find a cozy and compfy place
Where you're sure to show God's beauty and grace?
I know I've seen you many times before
At a picnic, a ball game, at the seashore
Look for the beauty God gave us to share
And we will find butterflies plentiful there.
Butterfly, butterfly, colors so bright
Where do you go when God turns off the lights?
poem by Gail Godin
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Wingless radical migratory birds
You get scorched your wings
if you fly over the sun.
Then what will happen to our wings
if we fly over the moon?
You get chil blain.
Then where do we fly?
And where do we stay if there is no place of our own?
Even though we find a place do they feed us?
What shall we do then?
Make a way to fly over the sun & moon
or search for a new world without sun & moon?
(still the majority cannot see under the bright light) .
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Punctuality
Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.
Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.
And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.
If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest
Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.
Moral:
Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Going Back
i always find myself
going back
to where i am, on early
mornings, i promise
myself a brand new
beginning, a place where
i shall find myself
exciting, on a new venture
away from here, but i am
always at a loss
the irony of going far away
and not arriving
at what i perceived is my own place, and so
here i am again
watching same shame in the mirror
gazing at my own eyes
shocked that i have never changed,
regrets nesting in my head
lustful eggs hatching
in same shape of sinfulness
i wait until i am
to ash begotten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to a Yellow Butterfly
The Yellow Butterfly
The butterfly rested on the ground
Near the spot of water it had found
A place where a refreshing bit
Of moisture would surely be
Necessary for this flight of fantasy
A flight over many miles
Of deserts, mountains, and steamy tracks
To be passed beneath it on its way
For a date with others in Nature's sway.
With a flutter of the wings
A pumping action begins
That moves the refreshing dip
To recharge the butterfly for the trip.
Then once again the process begins
With a drum roll of spreading wings
The coiled proboscis carefully put in place
And six legs touching earth in a final embrace,
Waiting for a gentle breeze
To lift him above the trees
And off to places yet unknown
The yellow butterfly goes alone.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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Butterfly, Butterfly
Butterfly, butterfly
Your colors so bright
Where do you go
When God turns out the light?
Do you find someplace safe
That you can call home?
Or continue to flutter;
Continue to roam?
Through a buffet of flavors
Slurping nectar so sweet
Savoring a myriad of flowers
As their juices you drink.
Until your tummy's content
And you've had your fill
Now let your food settle
Until your next nectar meal.
Butterfly, butterfly,
Your colors so bright
Where do you go
When God turns out the light?
Do you continue to fly
From flower to flower
Or call it a day
Then wait out the hours?
Do you find a cozy
And comfy place
Where you're sure to show
God's beauty and grace?
Butterfly, butterfly
With colors so bright
Where do you go
When God turns out the light?
I've seen you
Many times before
At a picnic, a ballgame,
At the seashore.
Look for the beauty
God gave us to share
And we will find butterflies
Plentiful there.
Butterfly, butterfly,
Colors so bright
Where do you go
When God turns out the light?
poem by Gail Godin
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The Butterfly
If I could be a butterfly
and flit from place to place
I'd travel to the past
and come to rest upon your face.
The beauty and the warmth of you
would make my wings content
to linger there and know
that's the place where I was sent.
And as I left I'd take with me
the sweetness that I felt
and put it on the flowers
where I landed and then knelt
to pray a song of love for you
and all the butterflies
that they could find a place to land
like me, where love resides.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Shortest Moment That The Butterfly Tries To Speak
how many flutters of its wings is its lifetime?
not a hundred, this butterfly with blue shaking lines on its wings
some dots of black on the lower tip
some flaps of dust as you hold it.
we love to see it freely hovering from one flower to another
blending with its colors, it is not trying to hide anything
beautiful, it is showing itself, beautiful butterfly,
how gentle, soft to our hearts as we watch it
there is no sound of its wings and its graceful feeding on the nectars
then it rests on a leaf. we leave it there.
the wind last night was strong.
we see the leaf where it stayed on the pebbled ground.
there are no wings. there is no trace where the blue butterfly is.
how many flutters did that butterfly make?
such a brief moment, yet so beautiful
that is the message of the life of its lost wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sam and the Butterfly
One day I saw a sweet butterfly
Just as pretty as can be
My coal black tomcat, Sam
Was walking next to me
A beautiful summer day
I smiled and hummed a song
Enjoying this flitting butterfly
As Sam and I walked along
And suddenly, you’ll not believe
Without a single sound
Sam swiped his paw into the air
Knocking this butterfly to the ground!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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You”re Still You
The same hair curling on your head
At 49, you look younger,
There are no wrinkles on your forehead
The cheeks still smooth and tight
Your eyes still glow
Like fireflies reflected in the mirror
The moon against the sky
The way you talk defies the years of your absence
The way you look at me
Your way your gaze flies like a butterfly
Hovering back to me like tender hands
Of a woman
Caressing my face
Like golden yellow wing
Fluttering on the petals of a flower
Indeed, you are still you
Loving me
In gentle restraint and
I am deeply saddened
By my own kind of same
Usual indifference
Of the clouds drifting
Without even the thought
Of stopping by the
Peaks of trees
As you open yourself to the sun like
A tight bud opening its petals
Finally exposing its true gentle colors
A flower blooming
To the kindness of sunshine
And the freshness of the air
That this world can offer
I spread my wings like a yellow butterfly
Fluttering away to another garden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Going Home
Her soul departed from this earth
But she lived life for all its worth
There was not a person that she could not touch
With her kind and gentle ways.
Everyone wished that she had stayed.
Have you ever noticed how a butterfly
catches your eye- and its beauty while it flies?
How this butterfly spreads its wings
And it touches each and every thing.
How its gracefulness fills the air
And takes away your thoughts and cares.
Like the butterfly who had spread its wings
She has done such beautiful things.
She is a free spirit who can now roam this earth
To help others from their birth.
She will be that gentle breeze kissing your face
At different times and in a different place.
She will be like the fragrance from the flowers
Growing from the ground
Touching without making a sound.
She has left the material things
Of this earth behind- to live in another
Place and another time.
Wave your hand in a gesture of hello
You will miss her-that much she knows.
poem by Louis Rams
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Tears upon the moon
I search the night time sky
and find you
peeping through the clouds
that bind you
shades of midnight blue
surround you
I see tears upon the moon
I search your battered orb
and hear you
while mankind struggles
to be near you
disrupting moon dust thick
beneath you
I see tears upon the moon
I search your waxing and
your waning
manned journeys to the crater
gaining
only time will need
explaining
I see tears upon the moon
I search your face for signs
of pleasure
finding none and heed its
measure
resisting giving up its
treasure
I see tears upon the moon
poem by Evelyn Macdonald
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June
I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
"Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
A cell within the frozen mould,
A coffin borne through sleet,
And icy clods above it rolled,
While fierce the tempests beat--
Away!--I will not think of these--
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
Earth green beneath the feet,
And be the damp mould gently pressed
Into my narrow place of rest.
There through the long, long summer hours,
The golden light should lie,
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers
Stand in their beauty by.
The oriole should build and tell
His love-tale close beside my cell;
The idle butterfly
Should rest him there, and there be heard
The housewife bee and humming-bird.
And what if cheerful shouts at noon
Come, from the village sent,
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon
With fairy laughter blent?
And what if, in the evening light,
Betrothed lovers walk in sight
Of my low monument?
I would the lovely scene around
Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
I know that I no more should see
The season's glorious show,
Nor would its brightness shine for me,
Nor its wild music flow;
But if, around my place of sleep,
The friends I love should come to weep,
They might not haste to go.
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom
Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
These to their softened hearts should bear
The thought of what has been,
And speak of one who cannot share
The gladness of the scene;
Whose part, in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills,
Is that his grave is green;
And deeply would their hearts rejoice
To hear again his living voice.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Wounded Butterfly
This poem is inspired by the painting ‘The Wounded Butterfly’ by Edward Atkinson Hornel which I saw in the Williamson Art Gallery in Birkenhead. It shows three little girls sitting in the sand dunes and in the palm of the eldest is the wounded butterfly that the girls are sadly looking at. I wrote it from the point of view of the butterfly.
The Wounded Butterfly
The waves whisper against the shifting sands,
And gentle breezes breathe the softest sounds,
Your sorrow falls into your open hand
As I, forever now, am on the ground.
Without a care I lived my thoughtless life,
Alighting on one precious flower then gone,
Not knowing of the human world of strife,
Not knowing that my freedom would be done.
You children of the world of sound and light
Who live for more than just one paltry day,
I hope you’ll never suffer my sad plight,
Let no one hold your yearning wings at bay;
Soar high, high up into the waiting sun
Be free to laugh and love and swiftly run.
Oct 2005
poem by Lesley Diane Sutherland
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The Place
I’ve been searching a place,
The place for my face
Where it seeks solace…
I love the way,
You graze my face
With the stubble of your chin
On unshaven days...
The contours of my lips
Tracing your throat
Those steady warm breaths
Caressing my face…
Yet I keep going down
To seek another place
And find more respite
In your loving embrace
So while you lie down
I nest on your chest
Sucking in peace…
I take some rest
Yet the lover in me
Remains unsatiated…
So I go further down
On a voyage of discovery
To find the ideal place –
A place for my face.
Lo and Behold!
I find it at last…
No – it was not to be
Your chin, your throat,
Nor your chest…
Yet, I find a home
For my face…
A nice, new haven
Soft and mushy,
Warm and slushy…
Searching and seeking,
I quench my thirst
Sipping you gently,
I satiate myself
And lying down there,
With the feel of your skin,
The touch of your bristles,
The smell of your sweat…
I snuggle off to sleep,
Comforted and cosy
In your heavenly place…
Indeed – It is a lovable place
To be deemed fit as:
The Place for my Face.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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