Singing Butterfly and the Flowers
June, 2006
“The morning sun
shines warm and bright.
The morning wind
blows soft and light.
I fly into the gentle
wind.
I dance, joining the
wind in flight.
The sweet flowers
reach out to me.
The sweet flowers are
colorful to see.
I smile knowing the
flowers are my friends.
I sing, feeling happy
and free.”
This was the song
that Singing Butterfly would sing to herself as she would journey to visit her
friends the flowers. She enjoyed visiting with the flowers every day. In fact,
Singing Butterfly loved the flowers. They were her friends.
Singing Butterfly was
very fortunate because there were many flowers around her home.
They were all
beautiful to her. Not only did she enjoy looking at them and touching them, she
enjoyed talking to them. At times, she would even sing to them.
The flowers loved
Singing Butterfly. There were not many children who talked to the flowers. Most
of them only looked and walked on by. Singing Butterfly always spent a lot of
time visiting with the flowers and they loved how she talked to them and
especially, how she sang to them. To the flowers, Singing Butterfly was a
special little girl.
The songs that
Singing Butterfly sang to the flowers were special as well. They could only be
understood by the flowers. Not even her mother or father, or any one else for
that matter, could understand the words to her songs. She sang her songs in the
language of the flowers.
One sunny day,
Singing Butterfly wanted to visit her good friends the daisies and poppies.
Since the field where they lived was a long distance from her home, she invited
her mother to come along. It was a hot day and it would be a long walk. She
looked forward to being with her mother and her friends.
Singing Butterfly
always had fun with her mother. Her mother loved flowers as much as she did and
they always shared flower stories with each other. Singing Butterfly knew that
her mother, even though she loved them, did not sing songs to the flowers. She
wondered if her mother had ever tried to sing songs. She asked her mother, who
smiled and replied, “no love, I just talk to them and besides, you are the only
one who can sing to them!”
When they reached the
field where the daisies and poppies lived, Singing Butterfly took off running
right up to them and began talking to them. Her mother stayed back and watched.
She smiled as she watched Singing Butterfly talk to the flowers. She moved
closer in order to hear what Singing Butterfly was saying.
This is what she
heard Singing Butterfly saying to her friends:
“Oh, little friends
you are so beautiful. I love you. You brighten up my day. You make me feel
happy inside. You tickle my heart. You make me smile. I love your colors. You
are a gift to the world. You are special. Thank you for being who you are and
for being my friends.”
And then Singing
Butterfly began to sing. Her mother was close enough to hear the words to her
song. Her words sounded unlike any song that her mother had ever heard before.
Her song sounded like, “ey oh de la, deh oh de la, hey do mo, hey do mo, et tey
mo do, et tey mo do. Go hey me do, etah lo may, etah lo may, lo lo sey do.”
When she finished,
Singing Butterfly reached out and touched a few of the flowers. She turned and
looked at her mother who was now standing very close to them all. She ran over
to her mother and gave her a big hug. She said, “I love you, too. Did you like
my song?” Her mother replied, “yes, of course, and I know the flowers loved
it.” Can you share with me what you sang to the flowers?”
“Well, it is my
special song to my flower friends,” Singing Butterfly answered. “It goes like
this:
The morning sun
shines warm and bright.
The morning wind
blows soft and light.
I fly into the gentle
wind.
I dance, joining the
wind in flight.
The sweet flowers
reach out to me.
The sweet flowers are
colorful to see.
I smile knowing the
flowers are my friends.
I sing, feeling happy
and free.”
When she finished,
she looked up at her mother. She noticed her mother had tears in her eyes.
Singing Butterfly knew they were not tears of sadness. She knew they were tears
of gladness.
And they were. Her
mother was so proud of Singing Butterfly for sharing such a beautiful song with the flowers and with her.
She was so glad that Singing Butterfly loved the flowers as much as she did.
The walk home was a
good one. Singing Butterfly and her mother held hands the entire way!
Coyotes
April, 2006
They are our brothers
and sisters from days past.
They belong to this
land and have been here longer than humans.
They are our contact
with the future.
We need coyotes; we
need wildness.
Always out there;
yet, rarely seen;
Often heard; we need
to hear them.
They remind us where
we came from;
They question us
about where are going
We must not forget
them.
We must not neglect
them.
Oh, they will survive
in spite of us.
We cannot afford to
let them disappear.
Their journey is like
ours.
Somehow they make it
work;
Somehow they survive.
We have to do the
same.
We’ve taken away
their homelands.
We’ve taken away
their freedom to be themselves.
Yet, they carry on;
they adapt.
And, they contact us
to remind us, not to give up.
It is a joy to see
them; it is a joy to hear them.
They must not be
removed or eliminated.
They are our brothers
and sisters from days past
They are our teachers
for today.
How the Baboon Befriends the Bears
July, 2005
There once was a big
baboon
Who planted by the light
of the moon
When his plants grew
to monster size
He looked into his
lovers eyes
I think we’ve created
the perfect mix
But, now we could be
in a great big fix.
So, he harvested his
precious one
And laid it to
rest under the sun
Gave it away to all of
the bears
They leaped for joy
and then sat in their chairs
With a smile as big
as a rainbow bright
Smiled and smiled
into the night
Thinking, that Baboon
is an alright guy
While looking at the
stars in the sky
Beyond their jungle
world lay still
Another world worth a
thrill and thrill
Go Baboon, said the
Bear
You are the best of
the truly rare
I am the Bear who
knew the Baboon
No one else knows the
name of this tune.
Note: this poem is not about what you think it may be about!
Note: this poem is not about what you think it may be about!
Intimacy, the Soul
of Existence
October, 1991
Today as I ran up the
creek
I felt a special
closeness
To all that was
around me;
A renewed feeling of
joy and relatedness
To all things living
To my place and the
present moment.
I felt truly alive,
truly connected.
Yet, somehow
something was missing.
I was alone, feeling
even more alone.
I felt isolated,
imprisoned within my aloneness.
The joy, the beauty,
the moment, the place
All were very
special, needing to be shared.
Yet, I was alone and
this hurt deeply.
The pain and
depression slowed my progress.
Taking away all the
energy I had.
Emotion filled my
body.
My thoughts were with
my love.
She didn't even know
where I was or what I was doing.
I wondered if she
even cared.
She had her own
place, her own space.
Distractions,
perhaps, but reality.
Busy, busy, go, go
A different path and
direction
From where I was at
the moment.
Then as I came upon a
meadow green
I came to my senses.
I realized I was far
from being alone.
I was, in fact,
surrounded by friends.
Escorted as I moved, part
of a living force.
A heart rock helped
to shift my thoughts
From my mind to my
heart
Where I could at last
see.
The world around me
was alive.
Fall was in full
array.
The air was fresh,
the sky clear.
The colors hidden
only by the random shadows.
The creek was full
and noisy.
The sun bright and
warm, giving quality to the living.
The wind was brisk
and refreshing.
And I felt close,
oneness, truly connected.
My loneliness was
broken
As I began to
converse with my companions.
I spoke to the pine,
whose beauty I had long admired
I touched the aspen,
whose golden leaves glittered.
I reached out to the
asters, yarrow, and paintbrush.
I exchanged with the
willow, wild rose and tall grass.
I called out to the
flicker, jay and robin.
I joined hands with
the wind and sun.
And there were many
more friends along the way.
Those seen and those
more shy.
They all joined to
help me understand.
What I shared was
from my heart.
My words expressed
the pain I was feeling.
My tears expressed
the depth.
What I shared was the
triumph of hope over despair.
It was a moment that
transcended space and time.
I asked the pine and
aspen to carry my message
Within their roots,
through the earth
Along the hidden
system of connected arteries,
Until it reached the ground
beneath my love.
"Let your
vibrations tell her I care and that I miss her.
Hear me wind. Take
from me the force I feel for her.
Tell her, strong
wind, the depth of my feelings.
Pass it on until it
surrounds her soul.
Take wing robin, jay
and flicker, go to your friends,
Pass my message
within your songs.
Convey it to your
winged brother and sister.
Sing our song, tell
her how much I need her.
Spread the word until
it reaches her gentle ears.
Sunshine, take her
hand and warm her body
As only I could do.
Tell her, she
brightens all of my days.
They heard me and
they knew.
They knew how limited
a single being can be.
They knew I needed to
communicate.
They knew I needed
them.
And in their presence
I discovered that
I am capable of much more
than perceived.
I am limited only by
myself.
My prospective is
limited only by my perspective.
Shining Star
July, 1988
early morning flower,
bright,
aware,
warm,
removed, and
always there, but
never seen.
The River of Time
November, 1990
time is a river
flowing
toward it's finality;
falling abruptly;
rolling smoothly;
rushing urgently;
intent upon arriving.
time is a river
rushing
toward the open sea;
a force, pulling;
pushing and
gathering:
relentless, never
pausing;
out of control.
time is a river
raging
to it's destiny;
beyond control,
forcefully;
divine energy,
uncompromising;
unforgiving,
detached:
destined to be.
The Magic of A
Cactus Flower
June, 1986
a cactus flower
blooms with a magical message. It says:
i am alive! I am as
beautiful as ever!
my beauty is always
within and not always seen.
i am a subtle
reminder of hidden beauty.
my beauty is as
natural as my rough edges.
i can brighten a
desert, though I appear small.
my bloom is bright
and as dark as my hearts flow.
my color lives in the
center and shines in the middle.
i don't need constant
attention or rich, deep soil.
i bloom because you
love me.
Partridge Foot and
Pasque Flower
April, 1976
it's our home away
from home,
set in a different
world.
we're peaceful and
relaxed
as we wile away the
hours,
on the corner of Partridge
Foot and Pasque Flower.
enjoying family and
friends;
sharing with the
chipmunks and jays;
watching for the
deer.
as we wile away the
hours,
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
our moments are full.
our hearts are
content,
all seasons of the
year
as we wile away the
hours,
an the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
when snows blanket
the grass;
when the pines are
wet with rain;
when the days are
warm and clear,
we wile away the
hours
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
surrounded by red
earth and meadows green;
by small creeks and
mountain peaks.
the beauty never
ends,
as we wile away the
hours
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
like the living
springs of crystal waters
or the dying sunsets in
the west;
the stars in the
evening are always there,
as we wile away the
hours
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
we've come to this
place not to escape,
but to discover more
about ourselves
and especially more
about each other,
as we wile away the
hours
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
we leave this spot
richer for having spent
the time and energy
to learn.
thankful we are able
to wile away the
hours
on the corner of
Partridge Foot and Pasque Flower.
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