We Delight in the Beauty of the Butterfly

but rarely admit
what it has gone through -
the long nights
spent wrapped up
in some rusted bag of past,
days before when
walked on stomach,
mornings fresh fat
on the rug,
wriggling under
some menaced robin head.
We delight in its bijou,
its glass head of colour,
how the little bob to
the flower
gives us safety.
On your shoulder,
it is a good rest,
sweet and sleepy velvet,
and oh, what a love
for loving you, for making it here
to a poem
we want no more of before please,
no learning what to make of glue -
lullabies of limbs
already used, incense
cracked through
fur coats,
sweated out
in snifters
of trees drunk
flat by moonlight.
We don’t write
how it marbled its head,
hanging  from a drip branch
or its unplucked heart
as it goes through the ages
like a shed of roughed
skinned souls
in a coconut asylum
no -
we only delight 
in the beauty
of the butterfly,
and admit no changes.


◄ To a Dying Star

Mitternacht ►


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Marianne Louise Daniels

Tue 4th Nov 2014 10:34

Thank you for the time and comments.

Natalie - we should love our ugly parts, give them not excuses but kindness, grace and forgiveness for then they can be what becomes of our beautiful. Hee Hee! I have my counsellor head on today! Read a good quote before... "Good judgment comes from experience; experience comes from bad judgment." Not strictly what I was talking about in this poem but related to the whole idea of becoming - sometimes we should give ourselves more credit for the things we have been through and the mistakes we have learnt.

Steve - Thank you for the little Kate Bush nod, I will always welcome that! She is brilliant!


<Deleted User> (13033)

Fri 24th Oct 2014 12:23

i love the rhyme and rhythm

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