true feelings








true feelings

(formerly, 'true are the feelings justified only by ourselves')




black butterfly wings

flapping—twigs snapping—shadows

darkening gray mists

weather's been altered somehow

—melodies of our feelings

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A Few Fireflies, Those Dragonflies, & A Hundred Butterflies








A Few Fireflies, Those Dragonflies, & A Hundred Butterflies



Forever beat up

Insouciant, without manners

Habitual feigning—


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Rainbow or Butterfly

they are both poetic you know

you can rhyme butterfly or rainbow

why don't you just give it a try

do you prefer rainbow or butterfly

neither one is more or less

both cause equal happiness

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Realistic Poetry posed this question on twitter....Which do you believe is more poetic rainbow or butterfly? and they had a poll...I answered it with this poem...

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Dreams Of A Statue Boy

On a trip, to a museum I was.
There a statue, made of grey stone I saw.
Statue of a little boy.
In his hands holding a jar.
Filled with fireflies, was that jar.
And at it, he was looking.
I looked into his eyes, which were telling me something.
In his eyes were some dream.
They told me that, he wants to walk.
The boy made of grey stone.
He lives in museum, standing alone.
And loneliness, makes him cry.
And no one hear his any moan.
He wants to go out, and enjoy the open air.
And birds sitting on trees he wants to stare.
And look at roses, and in winter, girly red noses.
And a friend, to them, everything to share.
And catch fireflies himself.
And put them in the jar.
And he wishes that he had a home with a shelf.
To put that jar on.
And sleep when he's tired of standing.
But he wishes what is against the nature.
Because he is just a stone made creature. 

A Butterfly Came to See Me!

A butterfly came to see me!

Through the window passing the small tree,

How dazzling it was! A design so rare!

How full of life as if it were dancing in the air!


I wished I could fly,

Like the butterfly!

I wished I were a butterfly!

Reaching the sky so high!


The butterfly didn’t seem to leave me,

Yet it had to depart perhaps with a heart, heavy!

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church and state, cursebreaker, ornate frame, palm sculptor, caterpillar greed

Poem Strings

-saiom shriver-

user img


If God is omnipresent
if God is everywhere
if the sun pours light into
each point of the air
then to attempt to separate
God from the state is
vainly to try for a
spiritual lobotomy.
After castles and forts
have fallen, after tanks
have rusted away,
God's many kinds
of shrines remain.
Footnote: this is not an
endorsement for any theocratic
state... whether one in which
Sharia, or Mormon
in historical Utah, or present
day Israel, or the established
Church of England...dominates, but
the right of everyone to speak
his own prayer.


Pic source:


user img


He who guided the
sea to carve the caves
who causes fruit trees
to drop for-all alms
has sculpted unique lines
in each person's palms.

footnote: A man complained to
Sathya Sai Baba that his lifeline
was short. Baba patted the man's
hand. He looked at it and saw
that his lifeline had been

Pic Source: http://cloud.pleasetakemeto.com/photos/ims-new-zealand/t/tunnel-beach-walkway/gallery_678/tunnel-beach-walkway-56010.jpg

user img


God enables the
greed for leaves
as fuel for cocoon
from which
the entombed bug
will a resurrected
body receive.




user img


Make life better;
don't make it worse.
By forgiving,
release every being
from each curse.



Forgiving does not require that one

interact with a negative person,

but to send him or her light.


God of all
break all curses now and forever.

Sri Yukteswar: 'the explosive
vibratory power of speech'

Lisa K: Do not tempt fate
by speaking such words


Pic source: http://www.fromanxietytolove.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Forgiveness-is-my-function1.png

user img


A too ornate

gilded frame

detracts from the

painting flame


Pic source:



A butterfly fluttered by
as we lay
in the long grass
well she talked,
I listened
to her words,
took them
into my mind,
turned them around
as if they
were rare gems,
all air and breath,
peppermint tasting.


I looked
at the rise and fall
of her breasts
beneath the blouse;
her hand shading
her eyes
from bright sunlight;
her hair tucked
behind her ears;
lips moving,
the pink gloss touching
lip to lip as she spoke.


The butterfly
disappeared from sight;
red and black
and white wings,
fluttering, riding
between her words,
carrying off,
maybe, a breath feel,
a wing touched,
sight captured.


I could have ran
a finger along
her thigh,
barely touching,
skimming maybe,
but my fingers behaved,
held back;
the rise and fall
of her mounds,
the eyes shaded,
her words
became butterflies,
fluttered about me,
carrying softness,
tender as bubbles,
syllables upon syllables
reaching for the sky,
then like far away stars
they began to die.

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Put your finger
along there
Jane said


and she opened
her hands
to form
a kind of cup


and there
was the butterfly
yellowish with white
it opened and closed


its wings
feel the smoothness
she said
I focused


on her palms
the skin
thinking how lucky
the butterfly was


to land there
I gently touched
its wings
with my finger


gently so as not
to make it
fly off
she was intense


gazing at my finger
the wings opening
and closing  
my finger


was a mere
breath away
from touching
her skin


the warmth
of her palms
I leaned in closer
could smell


apples or fresh air
and her dark eyes
turned on me
and I looked back


at the butterfly
and stroked its
wings again
it flapped


and flew off
and I watched it
go passed
her dark hair


her eyes following it
in the air
and I followed
her hair


the dark and straight
the opened necked blouse
the green skirt
isn't it beautiful?


she said
yes very much so
I said
gazing at


the line of her neck
the area
where her hair
and collar


didn't meet
the jawline
and she
was looking up


at the sky
where the butterfly
flittered amongst
nearby flowers


at the foot
of the Downs
so gentle their wings
she said


she imitated
a butterfly
with her hands
the thumbs


hooked together
flapping her hands
out and in
and looked at them


then at me
should I stroke
the wings?
I said


she smiled
her hands slowly
so I did


stroking slowly
and gently
the outer line
of palm


with my finger
and she gazed at me
then at my finger
her small tongue


at the corner
of her mouth
beyond her
the butterfly


flittered off
the white and yellow
as it went away


my finger
moving up and down
then slowly


like the butterfly
a little bit away.

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The Butterflies

Nature / Folder 1

i used to like

to step on the

very end of

a catepillar

and watch

all the mushy

stuff shoot

out of its



i know.

it's gross.



i feel sort of


about it.



© 2013



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Unattended children will do the most gross things.

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