Blue Butterfly.
Lis Bartvig
Little blue butterfly elegant and pure
Gliding silently in the fleeting breeze
You seek the scent of the white lily
Not knowing if her relish will cure
All of a sudden the bright sky turns black
The breeze is not a breeze anymore
Big drops of rain thwarts your direction
Presuming soon you will be back
You hide under the leaves of the red red rose
Remembering that sweet scent of the white lily
Who you wanted so much to taste and kiss
Will you detect her again, no one knows.
09|02|98
Wednesday Jones
nice.
obpoem (my first) follows:
_Vanessa_ painted brown, black, orange
makes this jones forget the future can't be remembered
she spins and flutters while I trace
a dotted line behind her as in comic strips
up back behind
loop within loop
and outside again
and yet her path resembling not so much zero as one
makes this jones remember
the future can't be forgotten
hanging here in the air beside her
I have been less an artist painting a masterpiece
than a cloistered monk painfully transcribing
every tine, arc, angle
from the forgotten antediluvian funny pages
paper cracked and fluttering
in brown, black, orange
---jones
Dancing Bear
Lis_B...@online.pol.dk says...
>
>Blue Butterfly.
>
>Little blue butterfly elegant and pure
>Gliding silently in the fleeting breeze
>You seek the scent of the white lily
>Not knowing if her relish will cure
The language here doesn't flow well.
Cure what??? I read this poem through
and I don't see what needs curing in an
elegant and pure butterfly. Since the
butterfly is about to get bummed out about
missing the lily, I'd really like to know
why.
>All of a sudden the bright sky turns black
>The breeze is not a breeze anymore
>Big drops of rain thwarts your direction
>Presuming soon you will be back
Oh, you should stay away from things like
"All of a sudden". The language still
isn't working. Gotta be something better
than "big".
>You hide under the leaves of the red red rose
>Remembering that sweet scent of the white lily
>Who you wanted so much to taste and kiss
>Will you detect her again, no one knows.
Once in a century or three, someone gets away
with "red red rose". This ain't it. If
you were paying homage to the author of this
line, maybe it would fly, but I don't see the
homage in it.
This poem doesn't work. The ending is dull.
The language doesn't flow. In a rhyming metered
verse, flow is everything. If you're jarring the
reader to make the meter and the rhyme, you're
missing the point of writing a poem. The rhyme
is uninteresting, anyway. You use a lot of hard
E's, which is nice. You could develop that, but
your subject matter is boring. You need to do
something better with a butterfly than make it
bum out over a white lily.
OB Bolducian poem:
LBB
Little blue butterflies
in perfect formation
on the radiator grill
-Bear
Dancing Bear's Lair
http://www.wenet.net/~bear