In the distance
beyond the low banks
of the slow-moving river
the burgeoning green hills of Belize
rise to lap
against the sky’s curving shore.
Under the verdant bell of the tall tree,
the plump, leaf-green chrysalis
suspends from a slender twig,
pulsating gently.
Slowly, as the paper-thin sides split
antenna and legs emerge,
delicate as a young girl’s eyelashes.
Crumpled silken wings
spread themselves to dry
in the filtered sunlight,
gleaming blue on darker blue,
open gently in the shadowed morning air,
essence trembling, yearning
toward the promise of bright flowers
that await the curled tongue’s thrust
with honeyed throats.
BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
I love, love, love, this little poem. Absolutely wonderful. 

The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.
Mark Twain
Mark Twain
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
This is my favorite image:
Most recently, the butterflies I’ve seen
have all been delicate and beautiful
and dead, completely still except perhaps
when just the gentlest eddy of the air
might spare a wing a fleeting joie de vivre—
and even then the movement’s plainly flat.
The butterflies are dead; and litterbugs,
in sadly literal expressions, hug
so closely to their grounds-of-nothing that
I worry for the flowers that they leave
unpollinated and ignored and rare
in untapped wealth of honeyed throats that lapse
away unnoticed, all their promise culled
like butterflies that dead of late have been.
and so it's got me playing with the carnage that's been displayed on several recent walks with my dogs....yearning
toward the promise of bright flowers
that await the curled tongue’s thrust
with honeyed throats.
Most recently, the butterflies I’ve seen
have all been delicate and beautiful
and dead, completely still except perhaps
when just the gentlest eddy of the air
might spare a wing a fleeting joie de vivre—
and even then the movement’s plainly flat.
The butterflies are dead; and litterbugs,
in sadly literal expressions, hug
so closely to their grounds-of-nothing that
I worry for the flowers that they leave
unpollinated and ignored and rare
in untapped wealth of honeyed throats that lapse
away unnoticed, all their promise culled
like butterflies that dead of late have been.
"Every genuinely religious person is a heretic, and therefore a revolutionary" -- GBShaw
- Sue Littleton
- Posts: 272
- Joined: July 29th, 2010, 8:11 pm
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
TWO marveous responses -- thank you both, gandsharp and joel.
Joel, to me there is nothing more flattering than one of my poems inspiring another poet. Your poem is beautiful, although the reasons therefor are sad, sad, sad. However, it may be the time of the year. It's Fall where you are, right? Here we are approaching Spring. Butterflies give up the ghost in the autumn, their little lives finished. ♥♥♥
Joel, to me there is nothing more flattering than one of my poems inspiring another poet. Your poem is beautiful, although the reasons therefor are sad, sad, sad. However, it may be the time of the year. It's Fall where you are, right? Here we are approaching Spring. Butterflies give up the ghost in the autumn, their little lives finished. ♥♥♥
- .Lucy.
- Posts: 285
- Joined: May 27th, 2009, 11:40 am
- Location: Stuck between a conundrum and a metaphor
- Contact:
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
Beautiful!
The road to happiness: Perseverance, Endurance and a whole lot of Hope.
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
yes yes quite nice. lush honeyed throats... indeed.
godless & songless, western man dances with the stuffed gorilla through all the blind alleys of a dead-end world.
-maxwell bodenheim
-maxwell bodenheim
- Sue Littleton
- Posts: 272
- Joined: July 29th, 2010, 8:11 pm
Re: BIRTH OF A BLUE MORPHEUS
Thank you, Lucy and Mindbum. ♥♥♥
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