The Martyr....
from the blood of his wrist
and his neck
are borne scarlet butterflies
and some purple ones
and like a short moment
their wings last only for a while
as they migrate
to eternity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Butterflies And Mirage...
imagine
how butterflies live the moment
in an hour
a day perhaps
they are all dead
wings clipped gladly
they give in
to the murderous joys
of the boy
or simply by the natural
caprices of the winds
imagine how happiness
is savored in
such short moments
everyday
life and death
interchanging
like two faces
day and night
imagine myself as a gathering
of butterflies
all over my body
my parts all with wings
in dusty transparencies
imagine how i disappear
from you
even if you have not
touched
any part in me
for i am but a moment
an appearance of
a series of disappearances
for i am but
a mirage always gone
when you
come and want to see me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Butterflies are free
I believe in butterflies
Butterflies are free
Gentle wings
So feathery to touch
So many colours
Able to migrate
To other lands
The gentle butterfly
I believe again
Love, Faith, Truth
Believe no matter what,
you have the power to prevail
Strength, Courage, Honour
Believe the world does have a good heart
Everyone is unique,
in song, dance, culture
Believe in positive thoughts
Time,
The forever, and You
Most of all Butterflies are free, and so are we
Don't be mad, depressed, or suicidal
Believe in a smile, a smile can save a life
Remember Butterflies are free, and so are we
Believe in The magic of the butterfly.
poem by Batibchar Mocculta
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The Needs And Wants Of A 3 Year Old
Mommy, do you have my purple wings?
Your purple wings?
Yes Mommy my purple wings,
I need them.
No my dear,
You don’t have purple wings.
Can you make me purple wings, Mommy?
Sure honey, but why do you need them?
I need my purple wings to fly to the sky,
Cause I want to catch me a helicopter.
poem by M. Rose Davis
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Butterflies For Breakfast? (Life Poem)
Butterflies before you sit the final exam,
Butterflies before you go for a job interview,
Butterflies before you ask her out on a date,
Butterflies before you kiss her for the first time,
Butterflies before you propose two will be one,
Butterflies before you meet her family,
Butterflies before you see her all in white,
Butterflies before you make that big speech,
Butterflies before you see that your baby is OK,
Butterflies before you get news from the doctor,
Butterflies before you lose your job again,
Butterflies before you face any little crisis,
But -
No butterflies for breakfast.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Purple Roses and Butterflies
She wears her angelic disguise
and surrounded by purple butterflies.
She walks with a bouquet of roses
and a bundle of hugs and kisses.
Now, slowly she strides along the path;
nervous just like solving her math.
She’s ready to meet her destiny,
to spend her future life with me.
Slowly there the butterflies flutter
and the purple roses smells sweeter.
As her purple gown trails down the aisle,
It seems like a hundred mile.
My heart sings and rejoices,
as she offers her trembling hand
whispers to my ear, her sweet voice
as in front of the altar we stand.
Purple roses…
Purple butterflies…
As we make our final solemn vow,
To love each other; then and now…
poem by Th3 Craft3r
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The Miracle of a Moment
A week?
A day?
An hour?
Time enough
For excellence
A moment?
Too little!
Too swift!
Too short!
Too brief!
Not so
Not right
Not true
A moment?
It’s enough!
Pregnant with possibilities
A moment
Overflowing with opportunities
A Moment
Saturated with significance
A moment
Rich with reality
A moment
Bursting with beauty
A moment
Loaded with life
A moment
Encoded with eternity
A moment
Maximize every moment
poem by Howard Simon
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Dear In The Headlines
Still in moonlight the scarlet sings
silver and black like piano keys
somewhere an angel gets her wings
call her for supper
and other things
still the the moonlight the scarlet sings
candy wrappers voices
pinned to the screens
somewhere an angel gets her wings
caught in the arms of a speakeasy
still in the moonlight the scarlet sings
bathing in the flashbulbs
and the legalese
somewhere an angel gets her wings
breathless and smoking chambers sings
of pages of magazines
stillin moonlight the scarlet sings
somewhere an angel gets her wings
poem by Patricia Schooff
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I think that by October the whole company has to migrate to OpenOffice, and then I think it's by June next year we all migrate to Linux - you don't want to migrate 6,000 people both operating system and office suite in a single jump.
quote by Miguel de Icaza
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Can You Keep On Moving
(agnes cunningham)
(c) - (f) - (g)
(c) how can you keep on moving un (f) less you migrate (c) too
They tell ya to keep on moving but (g) migrate, you must not do
The (c) only reason for moving and the (f) reason why i (c) roam
To move to a new lo (g) cation and find myself a (c) home
I can't go back to the homestead, the shack no longer stands
They said i was uneeded, had no claim to the land
They said, "come on, get moving, it's the only thing for you"
But how can you keep moving unless you migrate too
Now if you pitch your little tent along the broad highway
The board of sanitation says, "sorry, you can't stay"
Come on, come on, get moving it's their everlasting cry
Can't stay, can't go back, can't migrate, so where the hell am i
How can you keep on moving unless you migrate too
They tell ya to keep on moving but migrate, you must not do
The only reason for moving and the reason why i roam
To move to a new location and find myself a home
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lies....
your lies are as obvious as your
open wounds
which i do not mind since you
are still
wriggling in pain
your defenses are as red as the
scarlet of blood
dropping from your wrist
and even if i have to give
a portion of my rib
to save you
without you being candid about sorrow
i shall give it
no one has told you that the world loves you
but now
i shall do.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bleeding Purple Stains
purple stains.
it never leave sight.
always staring, mocking, eating away.
purple blood stays.
in mind but out of sight.
it never stares but you can feel it.
never mocks but copies.
never eats anything but it still feeds off of energy.
so...i ask a question.
would you rather have purple stains or purple blood.
poem by Danie Burd
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Purple Pain-A Parody
Inspired by Barny the purple dinosaur
Parody of Prince's song Purple Rain
Purple pain
You were always meant I know
To cause me sorrow
You were always meant I know
To make me wanna bleed my own blood and gouge out my eyes
You were always meant I know
To cause me pain
Now all I ever want
Since I saw you on my tv screen is for you
You damm purple pain to drown
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you drowning in the purple rain
Oh you damm purple pain
I never wanted my kids to love you
I only thought of you as some kind of fiend
Barney, I could never stand you for another minute
So my television now I must turn off
Even through I know it would make my babies cry
It's such a shame that your lifetime has't come to a end
Oh, oh yes it is
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only wanted to see you drown
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Oh yes it's true
Purple pain
In the purple rain
Honey, you must know
You must know
The channel I'm a changin'
It's time we all tune in to something new
That means not you
You say you could be a rating's leader
But your agent just can't seem to speak his mind
At the right time
I think you had better fire him
And let me drown you
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
If you know who I'm singing about up here
C'mon raise your remote
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you
See you drown
Oh yeah, drown
You purple pain
In the purple rain
2007 Ramona Thompson
poem by Ramona Thompson
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Butterfiles
VERSE
Swallow purple terror candy
Don't forget to breathe
Sickened by the wanting
And drowning from the need
This dichromatic vision
Of one who does not care
To sipping cocktail sedatives
Two months to hide somewhere
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
VERSE
The wolf has caught the chicken
And now I feel unsteady
Emotions on the blink again
So kick me when you're ready
Here lies a violet coffin
The death of my control
Along with all my skeletons
They put them in the hole
VERSE
Sickened by the notion
I give myself again
Choking on the bullet, the gun-
thats found a friend
So raise your glass to sorrow
And drink to all the pain
Tie a silver ribbon around
The pieces that remain
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lost Embassy
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees--
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
'White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh--in the sun--with me!'
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown--
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire--
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay--
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
'Bright wings, light wings, white wings,' he cried
'You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free--
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes--
But no live butterflies come my way!'
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Now And Eternity
i have to content myself
with temporary reliefs thinking that it gives me
an extension of time
a pinch of this salt
a crumb of pearl
a grain of sugar
to walk with life and not stop
as it goes on alone with its journey even without me,
i shut the window of eternity
and please myself with what is so temporary in my room
on my pillow that rests my head
in sweeter sleep
there are fewer tears shed rather than the anxieties that go
with living beyond what i still clasp within my hands
my fingers still fidgety
over what is next
i know what is there beyond me but you cannot blame me
for settling for less
because it is too far yet and here i am
still bouncing with the pinkness of my age,
the reddish cheek that i still have
on my face
the wild thoughts that like horses in the pastures of my mind
in short if eternity is true
and the sacrifice is too much
i guess i have to take it later
and for the meantime settle with the
whiteness of this chicken egg
at the center of the scarlet
table
waiting for my hungry mouth
to eat
there is a time for everything
do not blame me for grabbing what is now
this relevance
and touchable
hardness
this is the moment that may take me there
who knows?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Young Butterflies
Young butterflies,
Please, let your tender wings grow
Before you try to hit the skies
In an attempt to early fly
When the time is not right!
Scared to Hell you would be
If this dangerous endeavor
You would desperately try
When the time
Doesn't seem to be right!
Take my advice
Young butterflies,
I, the humble gardener
Who in my colorful garden
Have seen many like you
Trying to fly for the first time,
Defying the rules of gravity
When the time is not right!
Young butterflies,
Listen to the echo of the wind
And let Mother Nature
Takes its course!
While happily you welcome
The birth of a new sunrise
That would bring hope
To your tender life!
Young butterflies,
Let your wings grow
Until they are ready to flap
And you would be able to fly
And dance in the skies!
Please, young butterflies,
Listen to my humble advice!
Wishing you luck in your first flight!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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The pigeon here is a beautiful bird, of a delicate bronze colour, tinged with pink about the neck, and the wings marked with green and purple.
quote by William John Wills
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scarlet Ribbons
I peeked in to say good-night,
When I heard my child in prayer.
And for me some scarlet ribbons,
Scarlet ribbons for my hair.
All the stores were closed and shuttered,
All the streets were dark and bare.
In our town no scarlet ribbons,
Not one ribbon for her hair.
Thru the night my heart was aching,
Just before the dawn was breaking.
I peeked in and on her bed,
In gay profusion lying there,
Lovely ribbons, scarlet ribbons,
Scarlet ribbons for her hair.
If I live to be a hundred,
I will never know from where.
Came those lovely scarlet ribbons,
Scarlet ribbons for her hair.
Scarlet ribbons- theres magic in the air,
Scarlet, scarlet ribbons for her hair.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tragopan
There is fire in your neck, Tragopan!
fire in the goose-steps
dealt with deliberation
one leg after another, you scare me,
your hard mouth
uttering those guttural noises
left, right, left, right, left, right,
like an army in rampage, you scare me.
I fear you, O Tragopan
I haven’t come for your hen - believe me,
she is behind pecking the Gojji berry,
fear me not, I am not for amour!
my eyes feed on the purple clouds
borne by the silver gray
in the depths of jade,
whose playful slaps are gentle on my feet,
feed on the gold of oranges
from the bathing sun at the west-side
embankment
seeking absolution for the hot noon,
my ripples are circles too,
O Tragopan, they don’t
travel shaped after my claws,
so fear me not.
she waits for you, Tragopan,
your consort, don’t make her wait for long,
the Gojji do not last for ever,
it is known to turn things black
I will keep you safe from tiger,
Tragopan, red tiger with rings in the tail,
they say red tiger drag women
in red and say grace for the supper,
So, let me douse the fire in your neck,
O Tragopan!
Let me douse the fire in the neck
with your blood!
Saranyan BV (c) October 2011
poem by Saranyan Bee
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A Tall Man
The mouth of this man is a gaunt strong mouth.
The head of this man is a gaunt strong head.
The jaws of this man are bone of the Rocky Mountains, the Appalachians.
The eyes of this man are chlorine of two sobbing oceans,
Foam, salt, green, wind, the changing unknown.
The neck of this man is pith of buffalo prairie, old longing and new beckoning of corn belt or cotton belt,
Either a proud Sequoia trunk of the wilderness
Or huddling lumber of a sawmill waiting to be a roof.
Brother mystery to man and mob mystery,
Brother cryptic to lifted cryptic hands,
He is night and abyss, he is white sky of sun, he is the head of the people.
The heart of him the red drops of the people,
The wish of him the steady gray-eagle crag-hunting flights of the people.
Humble dust of a wheel-worn road,
Slashed sod under the iron-shining plow,
These of service in him, these and many cities, many borders, many wrangles between Alaska and the Isthmus, between the Isthmus and the Horn, and east and west of Omaha, and east and west of Paris, Berlin, Petrograd.
The blood in his right wrist and the blood in his left wrist run with the right wrist wisdom of the many and the left wrist wisdom of the many.
It is the many he knows, the gaunt strong hunger of the many.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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