What Astonishes Me
beyond words
this astonishes me:
despite the drought
when all the grasses turn brown
when the road gets too dusty
with just a bike moving
passing through
a path where feet are tired
there is this wild resistant
flower blooming amidst
the ruins of the season
a white butterfly hovers on
no one notices it
except myself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Perfect Landing
A gaily painted butterfly hovers over
A dainty flower, as a miniature helicopter
Patiently waiting for a landing signal,
The flower welcomes the timely arrival
And guides it to its destination,
As there is no traffic congestion
It makes a perfect landing with precision,
Without any accident or collision,
The butterfly deposits its cargo
Noiselessly moving to and fro,
Flower offers nectar to the visitor
Later it takes off with a flutter.
Spellbound I watch this in silence
And my senses revel in the image.
Have I ever seen, I wonder
Two butterflies on the same flower?
A mystery novel may grip the mind of a reader
Can it surpass the thrill of reading the book of nature?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Irresistible
Seasons come, seasons go
But each season leaves a distinction
For which it is remembered
So once a season came
With a green environment
Rosy plants all around
And I enjoyed the period
Went to the orchard
And picked a flower
That I stayed with long after the season had vanished
But this same flower I had picked
Went with the season
I did not know I could not stay with it
Without its season
Despite all that
There is a wonderful flower I have seen
Which does not vary with seasons
But stays amidst all circumstances and seasons
It has a goon\d name
That every time I mention it
I find myself hungry
Dear sister
Pick the flower too
The all season flower of salvation!
poem by Brian Bwesigye
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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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Not Significant
on a jackfruit
tree hangs
a brown
jackruit
wilted by
the past drought
no one notices
it
except myself
who writes
a note about
its
insignificance
below is
is a dead
black snake
no one notices
it except
myself
don't you notice
aren't you
surprised
why i keep
noticing
these insignificant
things?
beyond this view
is the murky
sea
possibly it rained
so hard
in the mountains
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mid-Summer Bloom
a glance of every wind shower blessing;
sprouted flowered life in a humid dense
atmosphere, wild live in the womb for a
life time glow of immortality suite
life abundance, shutter and couple with
ignorance; leads to lie down card to
surrender to the few, chain each bone and
flesh return with pain in the grave relief
oh! what life revolve, but nothing change
for a chance has to regain and believe
forever, nothing lost, but the need to walk
on the path and show the courage to stop
show the blooming flower, the mid-summer
rain ready to come, and learn the season in
the sun, the moon has turn its direction, that
the day is beginning to calm
rise little beautiful flower, every thing goes
fine and the Butterfly find your sweet honey;
laughing as they come refresh as they suck,
joyfully accept and cheer as you give
smile dear dried land the new seed wait the
rain to come, the new dawn comes in the
sun …….
poem by Antonio Liao
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Journey
Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me—I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Following Care along the dusty road,
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
And now I fain would lie in this long grass
And close my eyes.
Yet onward!
Cat birds call
Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees
Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;
And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
Only my heart, only my heart responds.
Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day,—sharp underfoot
And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs—
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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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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A Bike Is Just A Bike
A bike is just a bike
It can take you for a riding hike
A bike is just a bike
With a motorcycle it is a look alike
A bike is just a bike
When you ride it you feel childlike
But there is something I dislike
It is hard to impress and make a good strike
Two wheels and one seat available for hitchhike
Your charming words will have a declined spike
Therefore it is best to leave the bike for the dikes
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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A White Butterfly And The Written Words
i am afraid
i really have
to keep
on writing
what shall happen to me without
the written
existence of this poem?
i am afraid
about the consequences of my
arrogant
submission that i can live without
all these
quivering of
scribblings
what if you have nothing to read?
i am afraid about you
for this is this flower and you are the loneliest
butterfly
in white against the light
you shall disappear
and this flower falls to the ground
it rots. And you are
gone.
tomorrow morning
words repeat themselves over and over again
another white butterfly
comes
and will always hover
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Marionettes Of Distant Masters
A pianist dreams that he's hired by a wrecking company to
ruin a piano with his fingers . . .
On the day of the piano wrecking concert, as he's
dressing, he notices a butterfly annoying a flower in his window
box. He wonders if the police should be called. Then he thinks
maybe the butterfly is just a marionette being manipulated by
its master from the window above.
Suddenly everything is beautiful. He begins to cry.
Then another butterfly begins to annoy the first butterfly.
He again wonders if he shouldn't call the police.
But, perhaps they are marionette-butterflies? He thinks
they are, belonging to rival masters seeing whose butterfly can
annoy the other's the most.
And this is happening in his window box. The Cosmic
Plan: Distant Masters manipulating minor Masters who, in turn,
are manipulating tiny butterfly-Masters who, in turn, are
manipulating him . . . A universe webbed with strings!
Suddenly it is all so beautiful; the light is strange . . .
Something about the light! He begins to cry . . .
poem by Russell Edson
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The bike must go - a song
Got to keep the engine running - My soul's on fire
Like to see my baby - my one desire
Can't help this feeling it's hard to explain
It hurts my heart it gives me pain
She says
The bike must go
No no no no no
The bike must go
Riding through the city streets, with my leathers on
Looking cool in black as the day is long
I can't quite understand it but my baby's wrong
Plugged into her Ipod and listening to her song
She says
The bike must go
No no no no no
The bike must go.
She's driving me crazy with her stance
And I'm sure she's taking me for a dance
When she says I hate it - it's like doing time
Then she looks at me and says
The bike must go
Oh no no no no
The bike must go.
There's no way around it, can't persuade her n-o more,
it'll be a pity but what can I do?
Sooner or later she's got to see
The bike's for cruising with her and me
And she says:
The bike must go
Oh no no no no
The bike must go
How can she be so cruel when I love her so
I tried ever thing to please her that I know
Got to keep my baby on the wild side
And she looks into my eyes and says
The bike must go
Oh no no no no
The bike must go
I love my baby like a dog chewing a bone
I called her this morning on the telephone,
There's no way around it
I tried my best
There's nothing more to say except
The bike must go
The bike must go
Oh no no no no
The bike must go.
*I turned this poem into a song which you can listen to on Youtube or google. Just type 'the bike must go' Enjoy.
poem by JeanJacques Evendon
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She is a singing butterfly
A voice as graceful as an angel
A soul as gentle as a mother’s touch
A posture as elegant as a Goddess of Greek
A heart as beautiful as a blooming flower
A butterfly who sings as the butterfly touches the people’s hearts…
With songs that inspiring and soothing
She is a singing butterfly…
The Turn Of The Road
WHERE confident, calm I strode,
I walk with hesitant feet;
For at yonder turn of the road
What shall I meet?
The youth of the day has gone,
And my shadow goes before;
I know that the road runs on —
I know no more.
I have travelled a goodly way,
As one at a glance may see,
Since the East and the break o' day
Called out to me.
Though the highway be hard to miss
With its signs and stones and such,
The worst of the road is this —
It turns too much.
For a part of its length it flows
(Too brief is that stretch, alas!)
'Twixt hedges of palm and rose,
O'er fern and grass.
The butterfly fancies flit
On their lit wings, gossamer-frail;
And a host of roysterers sit
At cakes and ale.
With the flight of their glory hour,
The Fancies flutter and die;
And the nectared heart of the flower
Grows sere and dry.
Though the cakes and ale are done,
And the roysterer's moment gone,
Yet under the slanting sun
The road winds on.
Good-bye to the flower and fern,
And the hedges at each grass-side! —
Maybe at the next road-turn
New pleasures hide.
New pleasures? 'Tis turned, and lo!
Hot miles and a driving dust
'Twixt trees that are grey as woe,
Gnarled limbs out-thrust!
Yet Hope is a bright allure,
A light in the hearts of men —
At the end of a league, for sure,
'Twill turn again.
Though the highway be hard to miss
With its signs and stones and such,
The best of the road is this —
It turns so much!
Towards the turn of the roadway you
I walk with hesitant feet;
When I come to the turn, anon —
What shall I meet?
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Xylophone
Synapses, flick flack, brain waves, where was I? There i went
Rewinded it, but it sounds all too different.
I better record this, but it's too late. Where was I?
A thousand smiles in my motor functions. It's moving, like a butterfly.
Im moving, like a butterfly, my mind is moving, like a butterfly.
And that's all there is to it.
Mariposa
On her slim back of the neck a tattoo is about to flee
And that's my favorite blue butterfly.
A strange woman never seen her before,
She crossed the road and walked towards the park.
That was few years ago and I never met her again.
But in my lonely heart the strange blue butterfly flies in an off season.
I crossed the road and walked towards the park.
* When the feet are planted in the dirt mind is ready to bloom.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A butterfly finds its way back
A butterfly finds its way back
It was a drift from the path
It took place sometime back
Because our heroine sensed a lack
In the taste of nectar in the flower of the park
To the same park this flock of butterflies
Used to come and enjoy the sweet and nice
Nectar in the red and blue poppies
And fly back with this sweetened hobby
It was more an excuse than a reason
For this drift, but a thought’s treason
To deviate and critically question
All that were followed in mindless unison
Our young colourful one with whistle
In her wings, over a time turned hostile
To this tradition and thought it futile
To be in the flock and went away for a while
Others in the group became worried
Wondering where she would have been carried
Was she in the insect flower got buried
Or was by ants after an injury curried
One fine morning suddenly the butterfly was sighted
And she joined the flock as if nothing got slighted
And told others she followed the path less lighted
For a flower who became with her less delighted
She expressed to join the flower of flock’s choice
And be ever with it without making any further noise
The flock has no words to say but to rejoice
The retrieval of the butterfly with her vouching voice
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Lost Among The Flowers In The Garden
a white butterfly
hovers among the white flowers
in bloom
in the garden
it stops for rest
and gets still
it is lost in there
and you cannot see it anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hearts Made Of Feet!
and so we struggle,
turning in the womb,
choked by the cord.
conceived in darkness,
becoming light!
we are hearts made of feet,
feet that walk the path.
feet that slip and fall,
feet that take the wrong turn.
feet that keep on walking,
sore, tired, hurting.
feet of desire, and purpose,
feet of soulful intent!
all the great philosophies
come to this...
feet that only stop walking
to bandage other feet;
then walk together,
leaving one set of prints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Driving Me Wild
(stuart emerson)
Producer for bonnie: stuart emerson
A long night
Cutting through the desert heat
The sun was rising
The day was rising the day was standing on its feet
I saw a long shadow snakin down
The dusty road side
To where you were standing
Waiting for the big ride
A vision in black no holding back
I pulled in along side
Drove till night falling light
The time has come to pay the price
Youre driving me wild
Driving me wild
You turn me upside down
Turn me around
You make feel so good
Youre driving me wild
Everyone loves a mystery
Everyone loves to dream
A real cliffhanger
A real good thriller
But how about love for real
Theres a God in the sky
Coz we made it all night
The warm river flowing inside
But the river ran dry
As day went by
He couldnt wait to say goodbye
Youre driving me wild
Driving me wild
You turn me upside down
Turn me around
You make me feel so good
Youre driving me wild
Everyone loves a mystery
Youre driving me wild
Driving me wild
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And blooming
Blooming blooming
You are blooming.
You are white tulip
You are tube rose
You are passiflora
You are mutabilis
You are marigold
And what not
What not you are.
Your world
Wonderful world
I am
With You
You are blooming
Blooming blooming
And blooming.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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