BUTTERFLY POETRY

I was in an Emily Dickinson phase when I wrote all of these... can you tell?  as per the first date, the rest stem about that timetable.


3.28.05


If I were a mustard seed
I'd dance along the wind
and give you everything I have
for you to be my friend


If I were a hippo-mus
I'd stalk between the graves
of men and elves and fairy tales
and stories that have no names.


If I were a guitar string
I'd strum among the runes
the daphodiles and candy shells
would welcome me in the tune.


But I am just a common girl
struggling to make her due
I try my best yet fail this test
to keep happiness with you.


"Harriette"

She looks into the mirror
the age of ages past
into the deep December
that's let her body last


She gazes to the forefront
the things she never knew
the questions never answered
and perceptions she foreshew.


She's lost into the timepiece
of a models, modeled world
the distance of the memory
felt closer with each twirl.


She feels the heat of memory
dancing in the quest
of worlds and times forgotten
before eternal rest.


"The argument"

You didn't even bother
to look inside the door
to parties, laughs and dances
to glitter on the floor.


you didn't even notice
 the banner on my head
it sparkles in the sunlight
and flashes things unsaid.


You didn't even locate
the mystery of the mind
that opens for the giver
and closes for unkind.


You couldn't even temper
the curse words that you use
to see the greater beauty
of all that you abuse.


"The Mutual Admiration Society"

The mutual admiration society has begun:


I listened to the whisper
that long has been my friend
it brought me east to Eden
and turned about since then


I gaze now at the western sun
it shines right now for me.
my whisper led me to the deep dry grass
of mutual society.


I have so many friendships
I've made so many friends
that often time I cannot count
where the time has been.


We play hot games in morning light
and eat our joy at noon
the evening brings another round
and another fatted tune.


I have begun to notice
in fact, I know i see,
the broad strokes of neglection
for admirations closest glee.


Much said I to my whisper,
much said I of my life,
"I'll go here and conquer!
I'll go win my strife!"


But beggars can't be choosers
and choosing do I like
so begging left it's sorry head
late one winter's night.


So now my declarations
of singing past and fue
has gone to drift tomorrow
in favor of time with you.