It was suggested to me by a Blogfan that I gathered up all the Butterfly Poems and put them into one blog. As we are in lockdown at the time of writing and I'm determined to never be bored, I complied.

Brother Thrush

I said to an Owl
as it was in flight
hasten toward evening
to turn the day back to night

I then heard a Cuckoo
how beautiful did it sing
I said go forth to winter
and turn it into spring

I said to a Butterfly
an energetic hummer
go forth to the spring
and turn it into summer

and then to the Thrush
I did go on to say
go forth to the night
and turn it into day

I called out Brother Thrush
I want to hear you today
but the Blackbird cried
... Brother Thrush passed away.

'Small  White'  photo bombed by a Honey Bee

His Imperial Majesty's Request

"With the summer sun pledging eternity
I was hoping you might come near to me.
Your Majesty, what brought you down to the ground
when your home is high up and canopy bound?"
"I swooped down to make sure that my Wife was okay
and spellbind the innocent with my white coiffe"
"I stalked your movements for the greatest prize,
Japanese silk under cobalt blue skies.
But Your Majesty, a question if I may...
where perchance is Your dear Wife today?"
"She's laying her eggs down in the Goat Willow
far away from where any ramblers go...
I too have a request in polite deference
never reveal my Wife's secret presence.
If you comply with my humble request
my iridescent purple will be at your behest!"

this is actually a 'comma'

Lepidoptera

sun adds luster to the Butterfly's wings
verdant pasture, unexpected glory
hides in petals as Ambrosia sings
tapestry of a colourful story
dance duple time a fluttering bouree
a fragrance in the florescence of time
emerge on a shimmering summer's day
straight through the barriers of spring you climb
Butterflies dancing in life's pantomime
you can't touch her wings with your fingers
beneath the shelter of fresh wild thyme
the sweet resonance of summer lingers
as a Caterpillar shuffles quietly on by
who'd ever believe it will be a Butterfly!

A Speckled Wood

The mystery of the Painted Lady

Tell me please, how did you know where to fly
when you've never ever been here before
orange music drizzled from high in the sky
from the desert fringes of an African shore

tell me, why didn't anybody see you leave
they could see nothing with the naked eye
the Roses calling perhaps wasn't so naive
a yellow brick road you could not deny

tell me please, who paints the pattern on your wings
I know the Artist can't be of flesh and blood
as no man can paint such tremulous things
nor hear the calling from inside the Roses bud

each day is a special gift, that helps us to cope
the answer lies firmly in nature's right hand
to linger in happiness and radiate hope
then one day, this mystery, we'll be able to understand.

Joy

stood in awe of a Marbled White
smoothly it contours highs and lows
poetry in motion just like waves
she's spreading glitter as she goes
far beyond our latticed world
Small Blues skip in the timeless corn
like angels flying hand in hand
emerging in a golden dawn
under creation's timeless sun
Curlews cry and a Peewit sings
birch trees are rustling in the breeze
they know the joy of simple things.

a speckled Thrush would end the night
                 emboldened in his songs delight

I would laugh with the sun at dawn
                chase Butterflies upon the lawn

I'd hum a tune without a care
                 as lyrics float on limpid air
               
               

             
                
             

Small  Heath

By the River

Marbled Whites are in the chalk lands
Painted ladies are in the wood
Bullfinches are in the Rowans
Wild Roses are in the bud

scented air is in Lilac trees
by tears of weeping willows
the energy of honey bees
floats on streams of gushing mallows

Rye grass is in constant shiver
Blue Damsels lay still on the ground
docile Cows drink from the river
and stately Swans don't make a sound

banks are edged in verdant yellow
the west wind gives a mighty swell
Wise Owl is a handsome fellow
the golden sun says all is well.

Silver Washed Fritillary - Female

Broken Wings (for Steve)

never give up
wheelchair bound
confined to the ground
but your spirit can fly
high up in the sky
a Butterfly can fly..
with broken wings

never give up
let your problem be your flower
you're never crying on your own
you've got the Truth you've got the power
so now you'll never weep alone

never give up
let me see the world thru your eyes
when we walk that 'golden mile'
see those dreams under paradise skies
when you give me that Butterfly smile

never give up
your heart is kind so you can fly
soar just like a Dove
flying high above
then chase the lightning out the sky
and heal those broken wings with love

never give up
you've got the heart, you've got the soul
there is one above who knows all things
keep on striving to reach your goal
a Butterfly can fly...with Broken Wings.

A Marble White

A Spring Interlude - A short play (on words)

''hiya Cinth'' chirped Robin, '' good day leah. Is Iris alright? ''
Iris was singing to herself near the stream that ran through the garden
on the other side of the stream a Bull rushes but Robin takes his time,
he has an announcement to make to the whole garden!

" I have just heard first hand from Sergeant Greylag that Bad Winter wants to come back and take over our garden! We must act decisively. Does anyone have any suggestions?

"yes Rose"
"the only thing to scare off Bad Winter is colour! ''
"that's very prim" interrupted Mrs Finch
"Rose is right" asserted Miss Magnolia " we all need to flower our little heads off! "
Daff and Poppy nodded in agreement but Robin flew away.

"and where do you think you're going? " bellowed Colonel Blackthorn.
"singing practise for tomorrow morning's concert. I haven't got a girlfriend yet so I need to sing louder and longer"
Woody could be heard practising his drum solo in the distance.
Just then Brother Blackbird landed " right, no larking around. Bad Winter is at the gate! "

The battle had begun.

Field Marshall Jack Frost crept in slowly and stealthily but Dan de Lion pinned him back from all angles and with the help of Doctor Summerbreeze Dan de Lion gained control of the air. A vital strategic move.

In an awesome display of colour, Violet spread her troops out and defended the lawn while Captain Hawthorne gallantly defended the perimeter hedge with his trademark prickly stubbornness.

However things were not going so well in the 'battle of the pond'. Lilium was almost asleep in the grip of a cold front. This was not good. What was she going to do now. The Brown family immediately relayed information to the Blossom Sisters. The secret weapon. At the sound of a Yellow Hammer, one by one : Cherry, Almond and Apple discharged their colourful arsenal.

It was a dazzling display of pink botanical fireworks. An enraged sunset brought out every pigment of the deep salmon pink meadow. Rose was right. Bad Winter beat a hasty retreat. The Garden of Oberon was safe once again.

Well at least for a few months anyway.

Peacock

 The House that Jack built

on a beach innocent people are falling
overhead the Terns to their mates are calling
on another beach a tanker of oil is spilt
could this be the end for 'the house that Jack built' ?

the Monarch dried it's wings

disintegrating towers under New York skies
on a night of a billion butterflies
to their wintering grounds takes five generations
over polluted rivers and power stations

the Monarch stretched it's wings

vast holes in the ozone, vast holes in the sky
in the domain where the Monarchs used to fly
the Milkweed has gone and hence they have no food
so that was the end of their little brood

capitalism stretched it's wings

on the beach you can see the little children play
but their castles made of sand are soon washed away
a golden white arc, of wind firmed sand and silt
the tide swept away 'the house that Jack built'

the Monarch dried it's wings.

Gatekeeper

Butterflies - Sonnet

fluttering rose petals high in the sky
self propelled marigolds over the lawn
in some fresh meadows danced a Butterfly
freedom, sunshine and nature they adorn
woods or hedgerows, it goes where it pleases
star of summer it pleases where it goes
down by the river when the wind eases
Orange tips fly by in sweet scented prose
Brimstones and Ringlets, harbingers of spring
they just could not wait to be beautiful
ballet in the air or a Highland fling
they fly in a natural musical
the Caterpillar works hard many days
but the Butterfly gets all of the praise.

Small Tortoise Shell

The Meadow

Tell me, are you coming down to the Meadow?
I don't think that you've ever been there before
on a sun beaten track your life is aglow
the nature at your side I know you'll adore

you smile to yourself for so many reasons
as pathways converge where butterflies settle
you were inspired by all of the seasons
when golden rays bathed every scented petal

to be given the gift of time and space
and a shadowy copse o'er a pool of green
where Damsels lie down in bluebell embrace,
speak only to your past, the future's unseen

the shaking of the sheets in life's short moment
loitering a while to point out an old friend
exuberant stillness of nature's lament
they all come down to the meadow in the end.

A 'Small  Copper' I nearly fell off my ladders clicking this one!

Musings on my first sighting of a Purple Emperor

Southrey woods, a sylvan delight!
a proliferation of large and small Whites with a newly painted hue
a few pairs fly in such unison as if they're in a cage
and everything was good.

lower down Small Heaths rise and fall in yoyo geometry.
Over on the path a lone Painted Lady suns herself,
only recently emerged from her secret world.
Small Blues en passant like celestial confetti,
as a Hornet on pest control declares..
..everything is good

...but wait a minute, what is that!
a purple jet fighter of the Butterfly world!
He teases me, landing twice
demanding respect
opening wide it's wings
as if to say... can't you see what I am?
It is, it is, it is!.. It can't be.. but it Is! A Purple Emperor!

Like a fool I reached for my camera and immediately zoomed in...too late
missed it, should have taken a safety shot first. Not to worry.

So what was I expecting- an impromptu rendition of Schubert's Marche militaire no.1
                                            - a brass fanfare of immense proportion
                                            - every living breathing thing in the woods to give homage to
                                               His imperial majesty.

Well, an iridescent flash of purple was more majestic to me than the music of Schubert.

That articulate 'white coiffe' meant more to me than a brass fanfare.

And the thought of woodland creatures paying homage to anything paled into insignificance at the capture of Butterflying's biggest prize.

A 'Ringlet' ..one of the Brown Family.

Nearly Spring

The squeaking mantra of a child on a swing
a Christmas card Robin has started to sing
making our peace with the rear vanguard past
like scattered rays of sun you know will ne'er last
Aconites gather under swaying Daffodils
as colour cascades from old people's window sills
Orange Tips fold their wings in the long grass
waiting for the final cold front to pass
the sound of a distant lawn mower's hum
beckoning an endless Summer to come
dappled light in the tree tops and a squawking Jay
effectively end another 'nearly spring day'

A tatty 'White Admiral' but a good find!

On spotting the first Brimstone in Spring

a heartbeat flight on fragile wings
like seeing Northern Lights in daytime
gold streaks the sky as the Brimstone swings
a childhood dream in the sunshine

sipping sugar from luscious flowers
where the Lillies and the Violets meet
or chasing Bees in shady bowers
gracefully poised from my window seat

Brimstone asked Rose if she cared to dance
fell in love with a flower so sweet
clearly Rose was not in for romance
" you flutter on by just far too fleet "

"I'll dance on one proviso of mine
being so stately I observe all things
when you learn to fly in a straight line
we'll dance as the Nightingale sings!"

------/-------

"You don't eat butter and you're not a fly
please tell me your name don't just flutter by"
"you called me Butterfly,  that was so wrong
now you'll never know the words of my song.
people want to know things that are hidden
I know of two who sought things forbidden
one plucked some strange fruit and said 'take your fill'
and from there things went slowly downhill
so the summers have come and the summers have gone
you can't know my name it's a beautiful one
as an Angel's wings fly higher and higher
if I told you, you would surely expire
the mystery of my name goes on and on
I can't tell you my name it's a wonderful one!"

Red Admiral

Golden Hair - sunset over the Kyle of Durness

beneath the shelter of a sunset rose
Ambrosia's palanquins in repose
ribbons of peace, silver and Wedgwood blue
tho our wants are many our needs are few
cocooned by nature on a lonely shore
golden candy floss floats down off the moor
colourful world in a vibrant soiree
butterflies wings caress the air today
a breeze drifts through your veils without a care
untie your ribbons slowly ... Golden Hair.

" The Caterpillar works hard for so  many days, but it's the Butterfly that gets all of the praise" - One love, Marky x.