My Butterfly

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My butterfly is a free one it’s true

I’ve no need with nets for catching

Wings delicate with shocks of blue

Better watch for stunts she’s hatching

 

I’ve no need with nets for catching

Flutters about as if without a care

Better watch for stunts she’s hatching

To capture her lighted, still, so rare

 

Flutters about as if without a care

Wings delicate with shocks of blue

To capture her lighted, still, so rare

My butterfly is a free one it’s true

 

This is the Pantoum poetry form.

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Relics

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If power was the ultimate prize

Allowing growth between lies

All the people content in hives

The leaders may begin to realize

 

What gives to those without it

Their needs don’t mean shit

The hungry made to quietly sit

While the powerful dig a pit

 

There’s coal in those old hills

Let’s burn it and write more bills

To protect the relics and shills

Smut-black smoke always kills

 

I don’t see much political poetry on WordPress, likely since it doesn’t draw a crowd. I would be remiss if I didn’t write this kind of poetry sometimes, especially in the current climate. Political poetry speaks truth to power much like poetry of any other kind, and it also seeks to call out the elected who insist on pulling us back into the past so we can repeat the same mistakes.

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Step

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I stood and watched from the fringes

They were so alive and moving so fast

I saw graceful ladies step in confidence

Men were boys with the wisdom of the old

They danced together in twos and threes

I saw soul mates spinning with abandon

Loners happy just to be in such company

My place on the outside became thorny

With a sense that I might learn to dance

Exist in the company of the dancing-alive

Prosper and thrive with the likes of them

So I took the field as if it were my own

Closed my eyes tight to forget I was alone

As soon as my feet led me on to the pitch

Stepped on the feet of a girl, surely half angel

She never cared that I can’t dance like her

Like one more of the number joining in

In time I found my steps with my pace

A glaring difference in stillness and grace

Wondered how I could have stood there

While life sought me, if only, I would join in

 

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To Want the War

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You want war, so take it

Offenders of the saints are everywhere

Enemies of good standing side by side

With war there is nowhere to hide

You’ll certainly find them on the news

Next door, neighbor whore

Side street dirty man sleeps

Easy pickings for your casual hate

Everyone knows bullets aren’t only lead

In this war no one will be found dead

Only in spirit, demeanor and will

Speeches orated by steamrollers and tanks

Seem to be lowered stakes

Judges with no pedigrees

Killing with higher taste

 

Written August, 2015.

Interference

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To stumble upon a scene as this
Serenity waiting for human foot
None a ripple in stillness to see
Pilgrimage’ fruition, nomad eyes

Though to capture peace as this
A lens only the beholder may see
Desire for rising sun is quenched
Man’s noble attempt for memory

Devices define every sight past
Tell where our boots have been
To obscure such a place as this
Sun’s interference is all that lasts

 

Photo taken by Johnny on Mobile Bay.

Warmth

Warmth

As if a poem were meant to be sad
Warmth and light from the sun dim
Seekers of light handily blotted out

We will all see to different degrees
Leagues of sentinels standing over
Making certain darkness stays out

Words as flower petals, tapestries
Light that is peeled from the soul
Reflect the seeds that we’ve sewn

We might have a reason to doubt
Wonder why it rains in spite of sun
Every day greets us with anything

The canvas of our dreams painted
In love given with no expectation
Awaiting the day we shine as one