Tag Archives: dribbles

aSocial Butterfly

butterfly6.1

Oh Butterfly,
Trapped in a prison of its own device-
Four walls and a floor made of glass;
comfortably confining, a contradiction.
It stares out at the world through these walls
wishing, pining, hoping for release.
Yet, the release that it desires
comes at time of its own choosing-
It need only spread its wings
and soar towards the heavens;
to the freedom of the skies,
To the saintly touch of another.
But these glass walls magnify the world,
Distorting its view-
Creating monsters that seem bigger and closer
than they really are.
Even though freedom beckons,
Fright holds its wings closed.
Yet, when Fear takes hold
The Lepidoptera need only close its eyes,
feel the breeze from above,
and trust in the power of its lissome wings
to overcome the vast visions
of its self imposed confinement.
So, fair sky Contessa,
Shall you shudder behind glass all your short life,
and watch the fugacious world fade away?
or will you transform your fear into courage
and leave your four walls behind?
trapped no more in a prison of your own device
Oh Butterfly?
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Formation of a Spirit

painting writing

As a painter treasures a blank canvas for its potential, a writer treasures a blank sheet of paper for its inspiration.  A painter must listen to his canvas and make the first stroke; from which all other strokes will culminate.  So must a writer fill the first page, the nature and connotation denotes the shape and form of subsequent pages.

Color upon the brush: meet your lover, canvas.  Two worlds collide, moving both to a higher understanding. As soon as they meet, the blank and dumb canvas is neither blind nor mute.  He now speaks with the vitality of his new eyes.  Behold: a new creation, though he is only one brush stroke he will grow.  Every new brush stroke perfectly placed; there are no mistakes.  Hence, such “mistakes” give the world its flavor, and if aborted, the world looses another color.  Thus, the world is not colorless; an empty canvas beckons the painter to paint new shades.

Mighty pen: meet your lover, inspiration.  A harsh taskmistress, she is. She demands letters grouped in sensible words, then dressed into full bodies. Minutes bleed into hours and days of this love.  Until, behold, the first page has been born. These hours of labor reward its mother with a bundle of hope.  “What is this new squirming creature? How am I to nurture it, feed it, help it grow?”  The mother inevitably asks. Grow it shall. More pages of life will be added, each new word as important as the old.  All comprise this new creation and give life where none once lived.  One can only live word by word, page by page.

This truth brings the end back to the beginning.  Just as the painter writes with colors for the human eyes, a writer paints with words for the human soul.  Yet, even when an end or completion dawns, it brings new inspiration, new potential for the beholder.

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.

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.

The Family Picture Curse

family picture

Cherished are the moments when

We gathered in front of the photographer’s screen

Poised in mirth and aplomb,

Forever captured for endurance sake.

But heed this warning:

Long after the camera flashed,

And the film was developed,

After the “right” picture was chosen,

Picked up from the studio, and hung prominently on the wall,

The eternal clock was set into motion

Counting down the days and years when each and every person

Captured in this resplendent canvas

Will no longer have breath to praise it

Or eyes to behold the memories it encased.

Each beating heart, so full of life in this picture

Beats to this clock, but ever time moves on.

Eventually, hearts stop; lives fall short,

Returning to the dust from which it began.

Yet, just as the original authors intended

This picture, displayed on the living room wall,

Captured every family member’s likeness

To remind all that come before and after

Of that person’s form and feature.

Thus, one’s moments of happiness

Is also one’s living curse.

In the end, after the final stroke of the predetermined hour,

Those who smiled for the camera

Now Only smile from behind the canvas’s frame.

My America, The Eagle Distressed

My, America, the Eagle Distressed

36291_719_american-eagle-flag-wings-cross-stitch-pattern-look

To even contemplate that we, as a nation, are akin to an Eagle— one with the Freedom of the skies; to have the time, the Liberty, to speak about this noble bird in any manner with total impunity, without fear of mortal retribution or imprisonment, is absolutely the epitome of said Liberty, our Constitution eternal.

Yet, these very Freedoms that we have been given, and the idle time for such contemplation, has placed our nation in distress. Our nation, the majestic Eagle, appears to be tearing itself apart.

The left wing bites at the right wing,
right wing pulls off feathers from the left wing,
Until not enough remain and our Eagle nation flounders

Meanwhile, vultures gather hungrily,
waiting, watching the sky for discarded wingbits–
hoping that they’ll get more than pieces.

Where the vultures lurk, we do not wish to go.
We do not wish to be ripped apart and subjugated to Theocratic rule,
intestines bared and bones scattered.

I wish that we all would look past our own feathers,
if only for a minute,
and relish the heights that we have gained.

I pray, I meditate on the words set forth in our grand contract: “[no person shall] be deprived of life, liberty or property without due process.” So, think again if you desire to pluck the vane from the feather on the other wing, even if it seems to not belong with your own. “ALL persons born or naturalized in the United states… are citizens of the United States.”

Shall we climb higher or go to the vultures domain?
Shall our words lift the other wing, even with respectful dissent?
Or Shall we continue to pluck out that which offends until there are only vanes of the same colour?
Can we afford to ignore that we indeed, The Left Wing and Right wing,
are essential if our great nation is to stay in Flight?

I, Butterfly

I, Butterfly

What has been written

that has not already been written?

What has been said

that has not already been said?

Is there no new place,

no new frontier

that man and his imagination

have not explored?

Can’t a single sparklight up a darkened room?

Can’t a lonely whisper

give voice to those once silent?

Is there not one action

that cannot change the universe?

Is there not one ripple

that cannot be felt across space and time?

 

 

***This is something originally written at least 10 years ago.  It only existed as the words on the left column. I cut many words and added a little balance; I gave it wings so to speak.