She....
she is a tiny yellow
butterfly
that hovers over
my ring finger
too fragile
i keep my fingers
open
throughout the night
long.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dancing on butterfly wings
Dancing dancing,
swaying my hips.
You wish you could see
the butterfly tattoo
and kiss my lips.
I'll dance all night long,
and sing with the crowd
but when this night is done
i would don my shroud.
You see I'm that person
that can fly all day and night
never caught, cause even fragile i will fight.
I can have yellow black or even green
cause i only dance on butterfly wings.
You can reach out for me
with your in-snaring net
I will just dance away.
Cause you can surely bet,
I dance dance dance,
on butterfly wings.
Beauty sprouts from my back,
colors swirl down to my feet.
I dance and dance
all night long.
And I'll disappear in the winter
I'll come dance another night.
poem by Ashley burnam
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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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Little Yellow Butterfly
Oh, liitle yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
and let your shadow
fill the empty wall
as I watch closely
till I fall asleep.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
and change the color of my life
with your tiny yellow wings.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
I have prepared flowers for you
so you can stay with me
without being lonely.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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My love is a butterfly
My love's like a butterfly caged in my heart
And dashing in the darkness, searching for way out.
My love's like a butterfly with a burnt tired wings,
With a short memory, with no deadly sins.
My love's just a butterfly, it can't find the key,
But still hovers silently and wants to get free.
My love's like a butterfly with one given chance
To get out of my chest and become a romance.
But you have to help her to break out from inside,
My love is a butterfly, it can't give a fight.
Why my love is the butterfly seeking for peace?
It's unsafe fleeting life is intended for miss...
Now you know my love's butterfly, fragile, not free
You can kill it unwittingly, with just one memory.
poem by Katerina Yanchuk
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God's Fingers
the orange
when ripe
turns yellow
the yellow colour
is god's finger
pointing to its sweetness
the morn
comes with brightness
the brightness
is god's finger
pointing to the warmth
of the sun
so long i have equated
god with what he is not
that he speaks
with symbols
to find that
god's fingers
index fingers
are here, there and
everywhere
at the sea too
i hear him serenading
a song
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The ring and finger
the finger seems a little relieved
the pudgy finger can now breathe at ease
it was bound by an unending ring
decayed was the skin beneath.
years have left a paler skin
where the ring held its unending agony
while the fingers have grown
dark, ugly and chubby.
it had seen better days
when they fit more comfortably
when moments were not measured by the watch
or its worth in worthless pennies
so the eternal question is raised
the ring or the finger to blame
why did the finger grow so fat
why has the ring tried not to change?
poem by Kiran Prasad
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Commitment
on your left hand
you have five fingers
one of which is the ring finger
where, of course, you have your ring
now cut the other four
see your hand bleeds
leave the ring finger alone
to manage the work of your hands
that is commitment
cutting off the rest from the one you have chosen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Plain Gold Ring
Earl s. burroughs
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
It was where everyone could see
He belonged to someone, but not me
On his hand was a plain gold band
Plain gold ring has a story to tell
It was one that I knew too well
In my heart it will never be spring
Long as he wears a plain gold ring
Oh, oh
When nighttime comes a callin on me
I know why I will never be free
I cant stop these teardrops of mine
Im gonna love him till the end of time
Plain gold ring has but one thing to say
Ill remember till my dying day
In my heart it will never be spring
Long as he wears a plain gold ring
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Killer Of Poetry
whoever defines
what poetry is and
how must it be written
kills it.
poetry is alive
it is in the fragile wings of a butterfly
it flutters and hovers to the flower that it likes
whoever it favors
shall bloom in full
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Unseen Butterfly
Folding the last edge of the paper
he pointed the folds
into the palm of his hand,
closing it in a clockwork swirl
he forms a fist.
Turning to the children,
He spoke…
‘What do you see? ’
‘A hand…
…a fist’, said the other.
Without acknowledgement
He asked, ‘Do you see the butterfly? ’
As if to turn,
and search the skies
The children shook their heads.
Slowly, gently
Unfolding his fingers like petals
He tenderly placed his finger
On the square of paper…
‘Do You see the Butterfly? ’
wide eyes and indignant laugh
revealed the children’s Puzzlement.
‘It’s a piece of paper’
became their mantra
Raising his eyebrows,
quiet finger to lips
he recaptures their attention.
‘Look, do you see the Butterfly? ’
the slip of paper pinched
between finger and thumb
‘Do You see the Butterfly? ’
Restless, the children
Shuffled from foot to foot
Peering around and about
As if looking through
the finger and thumb
‘It’s just a piece of paper! ’
mocking adult indifference
the children say again
‘it’s a piece of paper…’
Then let us see, he unfolds
The first edge opened
doubles the dimension
of what is visible
With his thumbs he expands
the dimension a step further
‘Do you see the butterfly? ’
with taut Patience
the children snap
‘it’s hidden…it’s hidden….
How can we see
What is hidden…’
Until it is unfolded?
Do You see the Butterfly?
poem by Adrian Wait
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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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Those Butterfly Wings
Great monarch butterfly
Weightless colorful wings
Plucked off with a devilish smile
By tiny little fingers
'Please stick 'em back on for me Daddy'
'Of course my child I will
Go fetch me some glue and a hammer
And I'll fix those butterfly wings'!
poem by Conor O'Neill
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The Yellow Ribbon On The Old Oak Tree
who can forget the yellow ribbon
on that old oak tree? tell me.
tomorrow, i shall wear my yellow cap
my yellow shirt, my yellow brief,
my yellow pants.
my jaundiced eye, my golden yellow ring.
tomorrow, in my country, the sky is yellow.
all steps lead to the yellow brick road.
all fruits are ripe and mellow and yellow.
Tomorrow, the country is yellow.
Yellow for integrity, Yellow for change.
Yellow for justice. Yellow for truth.
One day more, and the sun shall rise
Yellow as ever.Yellow forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Divine Flight
Oh! The blue butterfly enjoys soaring high
Her fragile wings have become strong
And she even yearns for touching the sky!
Her flight looks steady and bright
Supported by a sweet yellow daffodil
Beholding her in his pure heart.
The blue butterfly will be flying around
Even reaching a new distant venue
Under God's blessings, serene and proud.
poem by Maria C. Costa
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The Human Hand
The Human Hand has five fingers,
But none of similar size!
Yet, God put them all together,
To make a Hand so nice!
The Thumb is short and stout as well,
And moves most in all ways;
God gave it utmost importance,
‘I’m the best, ’ it says!
The Index- finger points the way,
And says, ‘I am the best;
As God had made it straight and strong,
’Tis better than the rest.
The Middle-finger grows longest,
And feels the greatest one;
Its actions though of lesser range,
’Tis not useful alone.
The Ring-finger is always proud,
It carries costly rings!
And sometimes, it has more than one!
‘I am richest, ’ it sings.
The Little-finger though smallest,
Cried ’twas sadly ignored!
Foremost in prayer, it remains,
And hence it felt unnerved.
Why fingers should fight ’mongst themselves?
Together, they stand best;
Each one is meant for a function;
Alone they form not Hand!
poem by John Celes
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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.
The Wedding Ring Dance
I dance in circles holding
the moth of the marriage,
thin, sticky, fluttering
its skirts, its webs.
The moth oozing a tear,
or is it a drop of urine?
The moth, grinning like a pear,
or is it teeth
clamping the iron maiden shut?
The moth,
who is my mother,
who is my father,
who was my lover,
floats airily out of my hands
and I dance slower,
pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring,
pulling off the elopement wedding ring,
and holding them, clicking them
in thumb and forefinger,
the indent of twenty-five years,
like a tiny rip of a tiny earthquake.
Underneath the soil lies the violence,
the shift, the crack of continents,
the anger,
and above only a cut,
a half-inch space to stick a pencil in.
The finger is scared
but it keeps its long numb place.
And I keep dancing,
a sort of waltz,
clicking the two rings,
all of a life at its last cough,
as I swim through the air of the kitchen,
and the same radio plays its songs
and I make a small path through them
with my bare finger and my funny feet,
doing the undoing dance,
on April 14th, 1973,
letting my history rip itself off me
and stepping into
something unknown
and transparent,
but all ten fingers stretched outward,
flesh extended as metal
waiting for a magnet.
poem by Anne Sexton
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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
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Beautiful Broken Butterfly
Butterfly, you flew away
And at first I didn't know
How each hard day was
Straining on you so
Little butterfly, so fragile
With a wingspan of compassion
You flew with swift emotion
While I was grounded by my ration
Small butterfly, I know that
You can do it, when you flew
Because I have seen that
Longing freedom deep down inside of you
My lonely butterfly, my dear
Can I call you my own?
Or were you meant only to
Be free to forever roam
Butterfly, will you come back
To this home I've made in my heart
If you should come, I feel that
Together, we can make our brand new start.
poem by Airda Jones
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