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butterfly memories – a reason 2 rhyme

January 28, 2013

From gentle puff chaotically darting
to flower a visit never planned
randomly deliberate steps falter
to finish where it must be so

Meadow grass reflecting endless bounty
sun paints rippled waves to dance and bend
propelling higher, ever farther
breezes any distance might transcend.

Is each stop a new perception
for one who’s life is counted by the day
did you linger with the buttercups
at bitter wild onion turn away.

Train whistles sing of destinations
clickity clack they sing to me
the journey just a blurring image
no single flower, unique tree

Autumn winds blow cold and harder
bountiful meadow dark and grey
do you still taste summers passion
has the wind chased all trace away.

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13 Comments
  1. You immersed me in nature and I can’t think of anyplace I would rather be. Nicely done.

    • thanks — that’s a discription of the park “Springbrook Park” near Chicago where I ride my bicycle

  2. I;ve read this several times, Bill, and each time I’ve come away with a new insight. This is a provocative piece. Well done.

    • thanks VB, I am always trying to make my poetry operate at two levels, the descriptive, and the human – that’s hard for me, and I’m glad you saw it.

  3. I enjoyed your butterfly memories and the tone that is both carefree and reflective. I like the rhetorical question at the end!

    • thanks Gabriella – I am glad you commented and stopped to read. Maybe we are butterflies flitting from poem to poem ?

  4. This is wonderfully expressed. Love your point of view 😉

  5. i like the question of do they still taste summers passion….i love the textures…the sound of the train, its always a soothing sound to me….reminds me of home…though i hope to only have to go where the whim takes me….

  6. Beautiful words… the autumn stanza at the end describes well how it is right now…

  7. I love the last two lines – so beautiful! Clever weaving of the fears into this, as well. Great job! Thanks for sharing it with us.

    • thanks — I couldn’t write about my true fear, being the only man in a yoga class of women and passing gas.

  8. This is beautiful. It feels both happy and sad. Poetry, to me, is often hard to understand as its so cryptic and personal to the owner of the words. Howver, this reminds me of the saying “don’t cry because its over, smile because it happened”.

    • yes, that is a fine interpretation – I agree because every word in a poem can be nuanced, they can have many meanings, but making them our own ties us to something bigger.

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