Poetry competition CLOSED 2nd February 2015 8:53am
WINNER
Quill-in-Heart (Tony Pena)
Quill-in-Heart (Tony Pena)
Moths and Butterflies
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
see below for details...
one new write each
one week
in 50-75 words
something inspired by the comp title
any style
one week
in 50-75 words
something inspired by the comp title
any style
The Grey Butterfly
So brilliant and vibrant
my velveteen colored
wings a thing of true beauty
that men longed to touch
at a tender young age
flying out of my body
where groping hands couldn't reach
I taught my self to levitate
out of my skin into the night sky
a luscious butterfly scarred
beyond repair roughed up
her wings torn and worn from wear
now a grey moth
finally left alone
soaring high free at last
So brilliant and vibrant
my velveteen colored
wings a thing of true beauty
that men longed to touch
at a tender young age
flying out of my body
where groping hands couldn't reach
I taught my self to levitate
out of my skin into the night sky
a luscious butterfly scarred
beyond repair roughed up
her wings torn and worn from wear
now a grey moth
finally left alone
soaring high free at last
Anonymous
thanks so much for starting us off, crim
:)
<3
:)
<3
Not so much about moths and butterflies, but about the world they inhabit:
Black Widow
In threads of silk She hangs in wait,
Her hapless victims court their fate;
Around them, summer's flowers bloom,
Nature's glory, victims' doom.
They touch the web with carefree tread,
Alert, She feels the trembling thread;
The scuttling lunge, the terrible eyes,
The victim quivers, stiffens, dies.
With gossamer ropes She binds the kill,
She sucks the juices, takes her fill,
And leaves the tiny, blackened husk
Hanging in the gathering dusk.
Sated, deadly, proud, alone,
She hangs once more within her throne.
Unmoved by feelings, loves or hates,
The patient Widow sits and waits
Black Widow
In threads of silk She hangs in wait,
Her hapless victims court their fate;
Around them, summer's flowers bloom,
Nature's glory, victims' doom.
They touch the web with carefree tread,
Alert, She feels the trembling thread;
The scuttling lunge, the terrible eyes,
The victim quivers, stiffens, dies.
With gossamer ropes She binds the kill,
She sucks the juices, takes her fill,
And leaves the tiny, blackened husk
Hanging in the gathering dusk.
Sated, deadly, proud, alone,
She hangs once more within her throne.
Unmoved by feelings, loves or hates,
The patient Widow sits and waits
.:Moth and Butterfly:.
another
life moment
pastoral colored gray
flutters alongside
a vibrant kaleidoscope
in kind; both
bathing in the air
pre-death; like autumn
seizing upon the atmosphere
2-get there; both
afforded the intricate simplicity of
post-crawl movement
past are the wonders of arrival
the triumphs of survival; where
the bland and bright
both agreeing; seeing
is believing
Anonymous
Journey of the night moth
Transparent transformation
From the damp moist
Cocooned in the womb
Of the sacred swamp
There,bathing in
The dimming light
Of the flickering flame
From the silver web was spun
My new carcass
Dark falls from me
From blackened wings
Colors are formed
From the light
Is born
The butterfly
Of life
Transparent transformation
From the damp moist
Cocooned in the womb
Of the sacred swamp
There,bathing in
The dimming light
Of the flickering flame
From the silver web was spun
My new carcass
Dark falls from me
From blackened wings
Colors are formed
From the light
Is born
The butterfly
Of life
The Butterfly vs the moth
The butterfly so free
The butterfly so bright
swift fly through the sky
But something lurks in the night
The moths they come out
driven by the light
their brains on autopilot
lost in the dark,
fright
the contradiction it seems
far and in between
the butterfly verses the moth
the fighting
it is kept clean
The butterfly so free
The butterfly so bright
swift fly through the sky
But something lurks in the night
The moths they come out
driven by the light
their brains on autopilot
lost in the dark,
fright
the contradiction it seems
far and in between
the butterfly verses the moth
the fighting
it is kept clean
nets
seduced by the fire of men
who find amusement in my self destruction
my hue is bark and bitter chocolate
and I love the lullabies of crickets and bullfrogs
I'm the dirty secret locked in a drawer
while she's draped in silk
her capricious flight
reminds you of your dreams
when you open your drawer
i remind you
the emperor has no clothes
http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/07/02/nyregion/VYG_1-533.jpg
seduced by the fire of men
who find amusement in my self destruction
my hue is bark and bitter chocolate
and I love the lullabies of crickets and bullfrogs
I'm the dirty secret locked in a drawer
while she's draped in silk
her capricious flight
reminds you of your dreams
when you open your drawer
i remind you
the emperor has no clothes
http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/07/02/nyregion/VYG_1-533.jpg
bandhinis gone for a toss
his plumulose eyelashes
aren't short of defining agilities
stubbles
around stocky-caterpillar moustache
pierce
as adrenalinic-arrows
his hazel irises
are wingy moon-spots
triggering crises
erratically kneads soft chest-doughs
her fluttering
rainbow-bandhini dupatta
are losing grounds
her catchy numbers:
thoracic cabaret shakes
proboscis-arousal stunts
surrender
to his apocalytical
-moonrays-
ashen
her saffrony-indigo bands
black velvetty furs choke
her croaking throat
-delivers-
mothy strings
in juniperous greys
vascular cocoon
splits open
to dusky twilights
unto
dark descendance
[i]p.s:
bandhini/ bandhani/ bandhani/bandana: (hindi/ sanskrit) a type of tie-dye practised in India
dupatta: (hindi) indian form of tippet
his plumulose eyelashes
aren't short of defining agilities
stubbles
around stocky-caterpillar moustache
pierce
as adrenalinic-arrows
his hazel irises
are wingy moon-spots
triggering crises
erratically kneads soft chest-doughs
her fluttering
rainbow-bandhini dupatta
are losing grounds
her catchy numbers:
thoracic cabaret shakes
proboscis-arousal stunts
surrender
to his apocalytical
-moonrays-
ashen
her saffrony-indigo bands
black velvetty furs choke
her croaking throat
-delivers-
mothy strings
in juniperous greys
vascular cocoon
splits open
to dusky twilights
unto
dark descendance
[i]p.s:
bandhini/ bandhani/ bandhani/bandana: (hindi/ sanskrit) a type of tie-dye practised in India
dupatta: (hindi) indian form of tippet
So, maybe, this is not eligible. I wrote it last week --on the 22nd. Still, that is "almost" new.
When I call you my butterfly.
It is not only about your beauty,
As remarkable as it is,
Whether clothed for a day's work,
A night on the town,
Or stepping from the shower,
Dressed only in droplets of water.
It is about your wings,
Of freedom.
Able to carry you,
Where you wish to go,
On your life’s journey.
To land you delicately,
Where you wish stay,
If only for moment.
It is about the sweetness,
Of your kisses,
Your thoughts,
Your actions,
Your very soul.
It is also about,
The most wondrous,
Change you’ve,
Undergone,
In becoming,
The most important,
Person in my life.
When I call you my butterfly.
It is not only about your beauty,
As remarkable as it is,
Whether clothed for a day's work,
A night on the town,
Or stepping from the shower,
Dressed only in droplets of water.
It is about your wings,
Of freedom.
Able to carry you,
Where you wish to go,
On your life’s journey.
To land you delicately,
Where you wish stay,
If only for moment.
It is about the sweetness,
Of your kisses,
Your thoughts,
Your actions,
Your very soul.
It is also about,
The most wondrous,
Change you’ve,
Undergone,
In becoming,
The most important,
Person in my life.
White Butterfly
I can feel you here with me.
Your not just in my memory.
But when I see one pass me by.
I feel overwhelmed and start to cry.
You always told me when you died.
That you would follow me as a white butterfly.
It comforts and aches my heart.
When I spy a white butterfly fluttering behind me.
Am I aloud to post this in my poems I literally just wrote this and really like it.
I can feel you here with me.
Your not just in my memory.
But when I see one pass me by.
I feel overwhelmed and start to cry.
You always told me when you died.
That you would follow me as a white butterfly.
It comforts and aches my heart.
When I spy a white butterfly fluttering behind me.
Am I aloud to post this in my poems I literally just wrote this and really like it.
Moths And Butterflies,,,
Painted Wings,,,Upon Grandeur Skies,,,
Effortlessly Floating,,,On Gentle Breezes,,,
They Glide,,,
The Reflection Of The Sun,,,Off The Wings It Kissed,,,
Their Shadow,,,Upon The Night Sky's Full Moon,,,Eclipsed,,,
And Just For One Moment,,,They Can Bee Seen,,,
But That Moment Is Gone,,,A Forgotten Memory,,,
And Only The Memory,,,Is All That Remains,,,
Of The Days Gone Bye,,,
The Days Of Moths And Butterflies,,,
Painted Wings,,,Upon Grandeur Skies,,,
Effortlessly Floating,,,On Gentle Breezes,,,
They Glide,,,
The Reflection Of The Sun,,,Off The Wings It Kissed,,,
Their Shadow,,,Upon The Night Sky's Full Moon,,,Eclipsed,,,
And Just For One Moment,,,They Can Bee Seen,,,
But That Moment Is Gone,,,A Forgotten Memory,,,
And Only The Memory,,,Is All That Remains,,,
Of The Days Gone Bye,,,
The Days Of Moths And Butterflies,,,
