Childhood Memories Four: Dances With Gravity
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Father chase white butterflies
which eat our growing cabbage leaves
with a tennis racket with foot work
leaps bounds serves volleys never seen
upon famed centre court at Wimbledon
butterflies fly float move in fluttering
unpredictable motion dances with gravity
overcome baiting my father into youthful
dances on past childhood hot summer days
this game I too played mastered but why
so rarely in retrospect such fun so seldom
played among a host of unpattented games
to up the stakes for mass extinction Derris
dust sprinkled on cabbage leaves discolours
leaves white butterflies land leave unabated
but knocks out the sucking and chewing
insects for a six at caterpillar dinner time
when rain has not washed powder sprinkled
off cabbage leaves alas it is a no-win game
set upon set waiting for new service white
butterflies as they fly in from neighbouring
gardens the game goes on until we tire or
new balls spread danger word signaling with
broken garden bodies in game we can't win!
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And When Some Of The Butterflies Come And Flutter
and when some of the butterflies come fluttering
over my sweet scented jasmines in my garden
i look for the sunlight from the colossal sun
and the enlightenment from the great Pan
and ask what is there left for me to do
the right solution so i may not be also blue
shall i hide my nectar inside my sepal
or shall i open more the colors of my petal
or shall i choose but be one brittle metal?
a caterpillar, younger sister of the butterflies
intervenes upon a feast on one of my leaves says:
hey you, don't be a crab? open up, spread your petals,
go grab the fluttering wings, these are the lonely ones!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Christmas butterfly
Perhaps it had arrived undercover
between the rich dark green leaves
of the organic cabbage which from
the huge holes in its tough outer leaves
had brought it up so lively – perhaps
reared in some protected warmth, mimicking
the months when ‘ small cabbage whites’
are supposed to live – July to September.
Or had it flown in or been shipped in
from some warmer clime?
Christmas Day – was that the kitchen ceiling light
about to go? No, it was a butterfly,
frantically circling round and round
the low-energy bulb, not hot enough
to make an Icarus of its daring; always
clockwise round the bulb, I thought;
palest green to grey to white; frenzied; delicate..
At night, the light switched off, it rested somewhere;
then at evening, resumed its mad dance,
ceaseless lover, love unconsummated…
paid no attention to its cabbage home
there in the vegetable rack; only the light, the light…
Butterflies do not hear; it did not heed
my cries increasing in despair –
nothing like a butterfly net to hand;
I tried to bring it lower with a gentle spray
so that I could catch it; too wild its Maenad dance,
too high, too frenzied..
Two, three days passed; so much strength,
determination, endurance, in such a tiny thing;
no longer garden’s scourge; now a holy thing,
in which I saw myself; even wished to love;
we became of equal size, in the eyes of God…
as were we not always, from Creation’s birth?
The fourth morning, I caught it in a cut-glass tumbler
against the window pane – the open window
had not tempted it – myself now talking to its unhearing,
as I did my father on his way to death…
it settled in the glass, still moist inside
with orange juice; did you know,
butterflies taste with their feet…
they so quick to land and then take off…
such discrimination in those tiny feet,
that tiny brain, those tiny,
heroic muscles, devoted to its life and love…
It flew across the cold and winter garden
at such speed, I chose to see it joy or gratitude..
and then, was quiet for a time.
*
Tiny thing,
holy thing,
as near to God
as angel's wing.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Loss, Strain Butterflies
He got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door I could hear her breathing
I said good morning mr. sun, now I would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)
Well I cant sleep sometimes but Ive been told
Its a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
Im looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
Im looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you cant win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Loss, Strain & Butterflies
he got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door i could hear her breathing
I said "good morning mr. sun, now i would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)"
Well i can't sleep sometimes but i've been told
It's a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
I'm looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
I'm looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you can't win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lame Game
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same...
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game
Being played...
Is so lame!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same.
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame,
And the game being played
By the players who play...
Is so tired and lame anyway!
And lame it will stay everyday!
'Cause they 'got no' shame
To play such tired games
Knowing it's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game stays the same
'Cause no one wants to change
From a game that is lame..
And each day that lame game,
Stays the same!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Child Speaks...
being lost in childhood
is nothing
but meditation
often in serene atmosphere
i tune my nostrils
to absorb
the lost fragrance of childhood
and the ears
to hear
the lost voices of childhood
and memories...
where i lived with nameless grass
nameless plants...
and their nameless Flowers...
nameless colours...
i played with ants
and nameless insects...
nameless butterflies...
i lived in shrubs
as if in a wild forest
without name
without words
a child speaks...
poem by Denny M.X.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tree of Life
Dandy youthful summer step in.................
flowers delighted.
birds, butterflies,
bees and hornets fly for delicacy.
seasons change as usual
never try to stop them.
Autumn comes in a faint shadowy trace
and ripen fruits vanished.
flowers no more, birds and butterflies too.
faded leaves falling one by one.
the skeleton tree stands alone
and facing the bitter reality.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not Able To Recall Each Word Anymore...
yes, we burn all the leaves
we do not really like to see the ashes on the ground
so we summon the rain
to spread the foul smell of the dead
thin
and unrecognizable and we ask the grass
to spread
as quickly as possible
to cover the tracks
and then that summer what we see
we like to see
green grass, blue sky, fresh air
flying birds, fluttering green butterflies
we love those conversations
though we do not recall each word anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flutter byes for M ladyChitra
The autumn leaves fall from the trees.
Twirling and dancing in the breeze.
Like ghosts of summer butterflies
although they don’t deceive my eyes.
My poets mind says otherwise.
Transmogrifies them easily,
assisted by their autumn guise.
Into bright coloured butterflies.
Like butterflies they dance and play
but they will fall eventually.
Down to the ground and rot away
And form a mulch to feed each tree.
On which trees live as they should do.
Though for a little while they flew.
16-Oct-08
http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Game Over
Counters laid, last card played, final dice thrown,
Match over, time up, final whistle blown
Game packed up, set aside, for another day
Two players, now apart, gone separate ways.
She was too committed; he hardly cared
Often she played solo, few games were shared.
In the end time ran out, so did the fun
Lost cards, broken pieces, too soon it was done.
He made all the rules up; she played it straight
He lied and cheated, it was stale-mate
Lost opportunities, failed strategies
Game plan was forgotten, nothing would please
The game is now over, nobody won
Why does she sit and cry, wanting to play on?
poem by Jackie Metcalfe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wimbledon Fortnight
Wimbledon fortnight is here once again,
Whether the sun shines, or whether there's rain,
Out come the nets, the white court lines are drawn,
Another great tennis championship has been born.
The stewards walk on and start taking their places,
Ready to watch players going through their paces,
Seeing that balls are not hit out of court,
These top tennis matches are vigorously fought.
The top seeds have come to show what they can do,
Their fans, with excitement will camp out and queue
To purchase a ticket, which is not easy to get,
To sit through the hours while they win the first set.
It's very nail biting and nerve racking too,
To watch all the moves and be unable to do
Anything to help the poor players, who try,
Especially when the shots are too low or too high.
The thuds of the rackets are rhythmic and strong,
Some serves are too short and some are too long,
The roar of the crowd, when their hero has scored,
And even more so, when their win is assured.
The umpire is diligently watching the game,
He's not here to wallow in fortune and fame,
But he's making sure that there's always fair play,
And that everyone's happy at the end of the day.
The ball boys and girls, who collect all the balls,
When a service is done, listen out for the calls,
From the linesmen, who shout if the shot is not true,
And whisk up the balls. We admire them, we do!
It's love, deuce, advantage, game, set and match,
They battle together, their opponent to dispatch,
The supporters heads sweep, to left and to right,
As they view the tense struggle, the scoring is tight.
But eventually, it's the day of the great final event,
His Royal Highness arrives, it's the tall Duke of Kent,
The atmosphere's electric, the players are here,
The welcome they get is one huge mighty cheer.
The game is well played and the audience are thrilled,
But one's got to win, there's a place to be filled,
The last shot is cast, and the winner jumps high
Over the net, with a loud joyous cry.
The Duke now comes forward, the cup to present,
A very great thrill at the auspicious event,
The winner holds it high up, above his proud head,
He's so lucky, for he only just won by a thread.
But Wimbledon fortnight, has been around now for years,
It's a thrill for the watchers, bringing elation and tears,
With champagne to drink, and those strawberries and cream,
It's the place that's the shrine of a tennis player's dream.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Childhood Memories One: Great Spirit Of Childhood Adventures
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Tobby Grandma’s dog
leap with incredible canine joy
baited by tumbling flowing water
of garden hose patterned fountains
my Father makes beside the path above
grass to entice Tobbies aerial antics
somersaults all viewing smile must
delight in, like magic, Tobby appears
across paddock with elfin liquid speed
always seeming to know when Father
waters the vegetable garden with sixth
dog sense following nose on summer
days yesteryear breezes leaps small boys
also into a myriad of adventures running
in fleeting moccasin grasses like an Indian
running playing chase in tall tree branches
with imaginative spirit that knew Great Spirit
despite an ocean of time and cultural difference
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting Game
On a golden autumn day returning
Where each moment never is the same
Sometimes pure joy it comes with patience
When Im waiting on, waiting game
When Im waiting on, waiting game
There must be reason for all this inaction
Does it mean that everything must change
Sometimes Im looking for perfection
When Im waiting on, waiting game
When Im waiting on, waiting game
I am the observer who is observing
I am the brother of this snake
I am the serpent filled with venom
A God of love and a God of hate
There is a presence deep within you
Sometimes they call it higher flame
And the leaves come tumbling down, remember
Ill be waiting on, waiting game
Ill be waiting on, waiting game
I am the observer who is observing
I am the brother of this snake
I am the serpent filled with venom
A God of love and a God of hate
There is a presence deep within you
Some people call it higher power in flame
When the leaves come tumbling down, remember
Ill be waiting on, waiting game
Ill be waiting on, waiting game.....
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Earthbound Gypsy
(norma tanega / white)
Trees that grow without ground
Young leaves that fall in spring
Ground hogs tell me play games
My games would reel the world
Ring around the pine tree
Smile a game around the sunsweep
Cry a game across the moonbeam
Across the earthbound gypsy
Flowers build a green wall
Blue flowers bloom in sand
People tell me play games
My games would reel the world
Ring around the seaweed
Ring your name around the sunsweep
Cry your name across the moonbeam
Tell the earthbound gypsy
Play your gypsy game in my world
Give your magic word to the people
Who live in the underground world without sun
In the world without moonbeams
The village down deep without
Purple leaves that seem red
Grape vines that smile in fall
Zebras tell me play games
My games would spill the world
Ring around the bean tree
Jump a game around the sunsweep, moonbeam
Magic earthbound gypsy
Jump the fence
Play your gypsy game in my world
Give your magic word to the people
Who live in the underground world without sun
In the world without moonbeams
The village down deep without
Purple leaves that seem red
Grape vines that smile in fall
Zebras tell me play games
My games would spill the world
Ring around the bean tree
Jump a game around the sunsweep, moonbeam
Magic earthbound gypsy
Jump the fence
Hah!
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Memories [Amintiri]
In people's mind, however blurred,
Remain the times when they were glad...
So in my soul are always stirred
The memories of what I had;
Here I can see a house so white...
Sweet girls, round dances, butterflies,
Leaves on the trees, flowers and light,
A pure white dove that quickly flies!
I see myself on other shores
A wanderer on foreign plains,
And by blue lakes my heart adores,
With hard black rocks and old remains!
And here I see a lad absorbed,
With a nice woman on his arm...
Their hearts are beating in accord
Discovering the Heaven's charm!
The woods envelop in their shade
A beautiful and precious love
While sun is setting in the glade
Watched by the golden sky above!
O, God, but tell me why, I pray,
When you shed happiness down here
So soon you take it all away
And leave us just a souvenir?
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Salad Days
Once upon a summertime In days now sadly past
We ran we played, a world of time, oh... that it should last
Without a care of busy times, so seldom seen again
We lived a world through child.s eyes... every day a game.
The summer sun our constant friend, forever it would seem,
The rainy days a faded part, of this our childhood dream
The throes of summers growing pains, now left so far behind
The smell of grass so freshly cut, stays etched upon our mind
The fields of grain that caught the wind and whispered such a tune
Of childish thoughts and innocence... they disappeared so soon.
Our friends that walked beside us, so perfect, like the games
Those memories forever ours, tho' time can lose their names
How we laughed and how we cried and yet we never knew
That these would be our salad days, so perfect yet so few...
poem by Dave James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mind Was Full Of Ideas This Morning
my mind is full of ideas this morning
while i am walking alone
on the grassy path of this mountainside
i am so tired. I take my rest sitting on a log
rotting under a tree.
i gaze on the ricefields just below this hill.
some white herons as usual fly low
some sparrows regroup themselves and
scatter in an instant like a confetti of dry leaves.
the sun comes out in glory
proclaiming though its reign on this corner
the gumamela flowers on the side of the hills bow down
and bloom again
i am amazed on the beginning of this beautiful day.
The butterflies flutter on the bushes of white petals
of these wild flowers. I see a nest with three small white eggs.
the sound of waters cascading on the creek.
some leaves are carried away. A fish jumps trying to catch
a low flying dragonfly. Some dew begins to lose their
glow on the bamboo leaves.The law of evaporation gets in.
Lost. I am so empty.The window of my heart is open.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Super Mario Brothers Live As Video Gamer's Memory Paradise in Me
Think back to your personal childhood
experiences with video game paradise
Think Nintendo Consoles and the most famous
Video Game Mascot of all
Talking Super Mario Bros.
The Game I played day and night every day
when I play Super Mario on my Wii
Memories of my childhood
came back to me
my childhood is forever young
but I am not
but that paradise lives on as a video game memory in my heart
thanks Super Mario Brothers! Thank you Nintendo!
Super Mario Bros- Live As A Video Game 's Memory Paradise In Me!
poem by Ashleigh Leona Mellon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!