A Sad Day
a garden of stone
a butterfly long gone
a dry leaf
afloat on the pond
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Enumerations...
not those flowers,
never those summers,
not those rivers, not the sea,
never the ocean
neither the continents nor
the islands
neither the clouds nor the
skies neither the space
nor the galaxies
the grain of sand, a leaf,
adrift,
a pond, and the old frog,
never the storms or the
winds,
neither the alligators nor
the hammers
it is the stone, a butterfly,
a speck of
dust....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Could Have Told You
THAT YELLOW
SOLO LEAF floating on a very clear pond,
was it last summer?
will it really matter when someone is finally gone?
will the wind remember?
will the deep water of the pond be always true to its clarity and peace?
that yellow leaf that sank on the very clear pond on one peaceful day
will someone still remember?
i think, i will,
if i, too, shall live
longer than
you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Minoru Lakes Gardens
in the rock garden
an elegantly pruned duck
hovers butterfly proud
on tortoise shell pond,
applies standard strokes,
glides forth.
royal crest
symmetrical waves
released
still point
supernova
flattens pleiades
bends orion's belt
washing clean balding green
graffiti on billions year stone
poem by Doug Bentley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O Beautiful Butterfly
Beautiful, beautiful
Purple, violet, red
Spotted and varied
Butterfly, butterfly
Little Rishu does say
Come and play
Butterfly, butterfly
Like you
I want to fly
Very, very high
And view
Beautiful flowers
And playing kids
Who oft skids
While running
Playing in the garden
O beautiful butterfly
Come and take me high
High above in the sky
O my sweet butterfly, butterfly
Shashikant Nishant Sharma 'साहिल'
==========©SNS==14 November 2010==Patna==========
{This poem was written on the children day on seeing my little nephew playing in the garden.}
poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Butterfly...
Butterfly...my all..my own, Butterfly
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Mimicry
For how long can this butterfly
Mimic a strong green leaf?
It depends on the memory of the
Caterpillar
on the other leaf wriggling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Wing and Wind...
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Butterfly, Butterfly
butterfly, butterfly
fly in the sky
butterfly, butterfly
flies so high
butterfly, butterfly
lands on my thigh
butterfly, butterfly
motionlessly lies
butterfly, butterfly
gracefully dies
poem by Adryan Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Need For Affirmation
how i tried to be just myself in the corner
like a stone
but it is not at all possible
i am not just a stone
i am a worm
how i wish just to wriggle
and live in that
small leaf
but it is not at all possible
i am a butterfly
how i wish just to flutter
from one flower to
another
but it is not at all possible
i am a bird
how i wish to be just a bird,
a cloud, the sun, the moon
or the thousand stars
and then i become
a man
and it is enough
you just called my name
and it is perfectly a good beginning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Butterfly Split
Says Mr Butterfly
To Mrs Butterfly:
'I want a divorce;
let's split'
And says Mrs Butterfly:
'OK. You flit your way
and I flutter my way
You take
the North Bank in the garden
and I’ll have the South-East'
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her song of freedom
Under each stone a trapped butterfly can be found
And if you free the butterfly
You shall here the sound of
Some thing so graceful never herd around
She sings of beauty and of the free air
Yet though trapped under there
She still sings of how once a day
She was able to fly her own way
So under this stone of life and tears
Only one butterfly forgotten this year
So whom shall be the lucky one to see
This once trapped butterfly
Once again freely sing
Her song of freedom
Her song of me
poem by Susan Covington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emerson
I saw the bee!
But when i came around to your garden, it turned into a butterfly;
Yes, in the land of your muse where you have a beautiful garden.
For, true love brought me closer to you.
This is about the wonderful garden of your love! !
And of all the things planted in this garden;
But, your magical works tranformed this bee that i saw into a butterfly,
However, i will always like to visit this garden of love.
I am Emerson and, this bee that i saw attracted me to your beautiful garden;
And like the muse of true love in the land of beautiful flowers,
But, this magical touch will always be in my mind.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Birth Of The Yellow Butterfly
on the gumamela leaf
the small cocoon hangs
there for days and
you wait for the
usual surprise in this
garden
it wriggles out and
pulls itself from
a tight house
it holds itself at the
tip of the leaf and
gets a fan from
the wind and then
stretches itself
and spreads its
wings and finally
flies away
how beautiful
to see
the birth of another
yellow butterfly
regally erect and
flutters from flower
to flower like she
were a princess
in her green castle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stone and I
By the edge of the mini-pond
where I sit when the weather’s fit for it,
there’s this stone.
I’d like to call it a rock
because that sounds more dignified
and metaphorical and carries
more tradition, but
it’s a stone
and on it grows a lichen;
not the vivid, flat, yellow and vermilion and red and black
lichen that grows on stone walls
by the seaside; this one
has those colours at its edge
but has a furry crop of tiny green fronds
cropping from its mossy green
which are quite vigorous in their tiny way.
I liked it so much that I tried
to get the other stones around the pond
to match, by douching them alternately
with urine and yoghourt in the approved manner
after dark for obvious reasons
but they didn't respond;
I guess stonecrop beautiful word
knows its own field so to speak
and won't be rushed, at least
it makes me treasure this one more
If I had the money which I haven’t
and the patience which I don’t
I’d have a perfect, model
Zen garden complete with sand
which I’d rake with a wooden rake
every morning into swirly lines
with graceful sweeping Tai Chi movements
until I got bored
but I just have this stone
with faintly Japanese pretensions
mine not its
however I’d like to think a Zen master
would quite approve of my modest intention
and say, less is more, more or less…
and now I think of it, the stone
has its own Zen garden; though whether
you could call this an eco-system,
whether the stone and the lichen
have a relationship, is open
to question, as is
whether the stone so agreeably placed
by the pool well OK pond
has a relationship with the pond
anyway, on a sunny day
the stone and I sit there together
if together is quite the right word
I feel we’re together whatever it feels
if it feels at all that is
and I guess it's even possible
in an evolutionary view of things,
lichen on stone, first life on earth
and all that, that the lichen
and I are really related, with
a common ancestor
which would account for a lot
and we sit there quietly in quite
a Japanese sort of Zen-ness
of being one with nature
and I become don’t laugh more stony
and still; as for the stone
I really can’t say but
It feels good
and in this state of relaxed contemplation
which I guess is the point of those
Japanese gardens
it occurs to me that the stone
and perhaps the water too
have qualities that I lack –
they know just how to be,
to be still, to be themselves
so there may be a point to what
we sometimes call with the trace
of a sneer,
communing with nature
since as Saint Augustine said
the whole cosmos is our
holy book; so why not
open it
*
[with a namaste to Augustine and Eckhart Tolle]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Apparition of a Butterfly
Upon a fuzzy vista – vision blurred –
I tried to focus; nothing ever solid
Came to view, but undeterred, I blinked
An eye to try again. Through the mist
A coloured hue; polychromatic flames
Had flickered at a whim; a rhythm bore
A thrumming too: a naturalistic hymn.
Behold! Were I to find a synonym to
Reproduce or recreate
The apparition of a butterfly,
Evolving through the waning vapour,
Drawing on a sigh from this romantic.
Glory be! The raging sun above
Had fired his furnace, flaming off
The hangers on. Now I saw the flare:
His time has come. He spread a tortoiseshell –
A scene of Mother Nature at her best.
I lay in peace in knowing I was blessed.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Rise From The Ashes To Become A Star
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
355
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!