Butterfly

How did the butterfly get its name?
Did it land on a stick of butter? 
Or maybe on the butter churn?
Did the first one have wings of yellow?
Or did it slide down a window easily?
Did it flutter around with pollen on its feet?

How did the butterfly get its name?
Did it steal the milk and butter? 

Photo cc0 from Pixabay.

Abyss

Most days I swim in the shallows of daily life,

“What’s for dinner;

Honey, help me please;

Oh, that looks good;

Where is this thing?”

Occasionally, Great White dives into the abyss

and pulls a glowing creature 

from the depths of my darkness

that illuminates a way for others,

be it a story, a poem, or a painting.

A Lazy Day

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And now as this northern wind blows cold

I desire to read poets and writers of old-

those scribes we can no longer blithely hire

as I sit sipping tea under a blanket by the fire.

Oh give me a pithy Shakespearean play

to digest as I dreamily drain the day away

or a hearty Dickens feast to eat

or an Austen romance, both naive and sweet…

for as the autumn and winter set in again

I feel the need to be with long buried friends.

Passion

 

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The passions of youth:

emotional upheavals and highs,

turmoil in incompleteness,

throwing everything to the wind.

The passions of old age:

calming of the spirit,

noticing joy in simplicity,

finding clarity through beauty.

The passions of middle age:

sometimes passions of youth,

sometimes passions of old age,

sometimes, if lucky, figuring it out.