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The Beautiful Blue Butterfly

The falling flower, I saw drift back, was a beautiful blue butterfly.

It flew very high, nearly touched the turquoise sky.

The yellow-grey cat came stealthy by.

It lifted its opened paw to play with the butterfly.

The cat hit the air. To where did the butterfly fly?

The butterfly died. It was consumed by the cat.

Here’s to all who think they sting like a bee and float like a butterfly.

Beware of the yellow-grey cat. The butterfly didn’t have to die.

Avarice was the reason why. These are cats in people’s dress.

They’re here to cause duress. I loved that beautiful blue butterfly.

I’ll never see it again. Bye, bye.

But perhaps some day another butterfly will fly by.

I’ll look for it with a piercing eye.
Cat Love

The more I know about people,

the more I love my cat.

I think I'll write a poem about that.

 

Winter's Field *

I can still hear the screams and howls of youngsters

Playing ball in the summer and early fall.

The air is getting cooler.

Winter will be here sooner.

The field can be filled with water and frozen, naturally.

The youngsters will have an outdoors ice skating rink

Through the winter until the thaw.

Our field will be useful yearly.

* Published in "Network for Women's Spirituality", 2002

The Christmas Gift for our Godson

January 6, 2004

My family and me sat under the tree.

We had waited a year for this day to appear.

All those bright faces, were in their places.

One by one they opened their gift.

After the wrapping paper they ripped.

With "oohs" and "ahs" his turn came,

Christopher, that is his name.

He was thinking which gift is for me,

“The big one or the one so tiny?”

He pulled off the bow

and with a loud "oh",

He did impart,

"I always wanted a bag from "Wal-mart."


Taste How Good Life Can Be

Since I have a wish, I want to wish this; to be a big fish in the stock market dish.

To make a killing for which I’m willing to make a good score and a little more.

I would do it right. In no time at all. Go in. Get out. Be in the lime light. And have a ball.

I won’t be gambling. I’d just be rambling.

With all this money, what would I do? I’d give some to my niece and nephew.

I’d give to my grandkids for their college kids. I won’t need much to cover such and such.

I’d give donations to charity without any parity.

I’d pay my bills to heal ill wills. I’d give to my sons and their darling ones.

I won’t have to be rich too long. I won’t do anything wrong.

I won’t have to borrow any money tomorrow.

So here’s to getting money for my darling honey.

I love to please my lover, so we’ll be forever and ever.

The Birthday *

You didn't send me an invitation to your birthday party.

My mother even bought you a gift,

I thought we were friends. I guess we're not. So long,

Oh, what did I say to her? I'm so very sorry.

I'm sad for saying that.

I wonder if we can ever be friends again.

I'm going to ask her.

* Published in the Catholic Women's Network paper on March 2000.


My Niece's Mom & Dad

Dedicated to Mom & Dad


One super friend is all you need

to help you live the life you lead.

One super friend who's for your end,

who'll help you make life sway and bend.

That is nothing else you need

but that one super friend indeed.

---

My day is you.

Our love is true.

Our love's complete.

Our souls are sweet.

Ideas flow.

Concepts grow.

Joys supreme.

Faces beam.

Emotions, feelings of these I dream.


The Photographer

(Dedicated to my Niece, Laura Quinn)

In the glow of early morning

At the first new glint of dawning,

She's taken a picture of time

With shadings and colors that rhyme.

Her photo has opened a door

To a world not seen before.

The goldens, reds and greens come through

As feelings of warmth coming true.

She finds what she likes and shows it

To us in the pose which is fit.

Her photo picture comes alive,

Through my whole life it will survive.

The photographer likes to share

The picture she's taken with care.

Her photo is a simple prayer

As lovely as the morning air.

I keep her memory close to me

It is cherished by all who see.

Her photo is a measure

Of her love to treasure.

When a Cloud Dies

 

Last night white flakes fell.

People called it snow.

That's a lie, I'll dispel.

It wasn't snow.

It was a cloud that decided to blow.

A terrible wind told the cloud to go.

The cloud had no wish to wander.

It flew into the great yonder.

It no longer mattered.

Its white flakes it scattered.

Down from its berth

All over our girth.

It isn't snow

And now we know

When a cloud dies, it rests in peace on earth.