Butterflies

 

So many times, it seems, poems simply come to me of their own accord. I think of them as gifts. They are definitely gifts to me ... and I'm glad when I can share them with others.

When this one came to me, it was speaking of those poems ... and notes ... random jottings ... scribblings ... items on their way to becoming poems ... all of which I will leave behind ... as someday I must.

I don't dwell on that a lot, but the thought intrigues me ... particularly the idea of these little poems ... or the notes written on scraps of paper ... thoughts which never quite made it into poetry ... being able to flit around, like butterflies released ...

I like that mental picture.

And now, the poem:

 

BUTTERFLIES

 

Someday they'll find

these little things

I tried to write,

things that might have

become poems, had I been

able to find the words

I needed for the beauty,

the sorrow, the pain,

the joy of what they

really were. Had I just

found the words.

 

I hope they will turn

them loose, let them

fly like the butterflies

I always supposed them

to be, free to find

a flower, another, and

ever another, across

the sunlit valleys

of thoughtful minds.

© 1998

(originally published in PKA's Advocate)

 

 

 

***

Today's word: sunlit

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thanks, Kelly. I'm glad you liked that butterfly image in the poem ... and I hope your sunlit day brought you some great, warm memories to pull out and savor when the snow starts falling. Oh, and I couldn't help noticing ... the counter has crept past the 40,000-mark.

I think you've got something there, Kelly ... I can see it now, a large neon sign on the front lawn of Brimm Manor ... "Chosen Words has served               readers." On second thought, maybe I should finish my celebratory dancing on the table ... then give it some more thought. Meanwhile ...