Tag Archives: draft

Mariposa

Mariposa

 butterflydreams

I saw the butterfly
on the cold, grey cement.
At first I mistook it for a leaf,
spring green and spotted with decay.
But upon second glace,
I spied two slender feelers
And one beady black eye,
pleading for help.
I had to touch-
a velvety surprise.
Not like a leaf at all-
rubbery, rough or jagged,
But more like a babe’s bum-
powdered fresh and smooth:
fragile.

I peeled the butterfly
from the cold, grey cement.
Its guts, splattered by many hard soles,
had plastered it to the sidewalk.
I wondered how a creature of such beauty
had fallen under foot and heal,
Trod upon, and walked over
regardless of saintly stature:
abused.
Holding it in one hand
I kept if from harm- if only for a while.
With my other hand
I lit the butterfly ablaze-
consumed, consumed—one last
detriment.

I released the butterfly’s ashes
to the cold, grey cement.
No longer plastered to this earth
by guts and wings,
But free to fly
upon the winds of a
dream.

Advertisements

Ode to My Precious

A Sonnet of love and sorrow:

Gollum

Oh my precious, my dear birthday present

In this moment I hold thee above,

After a long and arduous ascent,

I have returned to thee that I love.

You shine brighter than yonder yellow face;

Blind am I to this life, this world I hate:

Of fisssh, toothless, tasteless, leaving no trace.

“Gullum, Gullum.”  I have become of late.

Yet, I, Smeagol, promise never to leave.

Hard fought, I stand upon these rocky grounds.

Never again to part, never to grieve.

Death I have forsaken in your gold bounds.

Now, as you descend in the fire with me;

My precious, eternity will I have with thee.

Sonnet #113

How can the stone compare to the rose?

Does the stone possess the rose’s seemly beauty?

Does the stone draw the bee and produce it’s honey?

Does the stone bloom and drink the living rain?Image

Can the hard rock feel winter’s gripping pain?

Oh beauteous maiden clad in thorny dress,

You stand in solemn seasonal youthfulness.

Did you ever stand in ages past?

Can you, like steadfast stone, through storms and seasons last?

Nea, beauty ends; upon the rock, love begins.