The poem
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward, strong beyond the garden-wall! Butterfly, why do you settle on my shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe, Lifting your veined wings, lifting them? big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind blows strong to the sea from the hills where snow must have fallen, the wind is polished with snow. Here in the garden, with red geraniums, it is warm, it is warm but the wind blows strong to sea-ward, white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm house? Will you climb on your big soft wings, black-dotted, as up an invisible rainbow, an arch till the wind slides you sheer from the arch-crest and in a strange level fluttering you go out to sea-ward, white speck!
hi, thought id b the first to give you some feedback... its interesting the idea that the butterfly is content, it doesn't need the high life, the fame the glamour... it is content with wat it has... no presure to climb the ranks of life but to enjoy the pleasures of what already surrounds him... one day he will leave his posted shoe and find a new safe haven ... but at the moment he is content, settled down and…
Read the whole commenthi,
thought id b the first to give you some feedback...
its interesting the idea that the butterfly is content, it doesn't need the high life, the fame the glamour... it is content with wat it has... no presure to climb the ranks of life but to enjoy the pleasures of what already surrounds him... one day he will leave his posted shoe and find a new safe haven ... but at the moment he is content, settled down and waiting for the right time...
well this is part of my interpretation of your poem anyway...
to me the butterfly flying off in its whiteness and glory kind of reminds me of us going up into glory when Christ returns ... the beauty of such an event... we will no longer wish for pleasures on earth and will no longer be content with our position in life ... we will want Christ ... the best there ever is...
kazza
Thank you, Katrina, for your warm and thoughtful analysis of my poem. Also something to think about here is the lateness of the season, the beckoning of the butterfly toward the abyssal expanse of the sea, and even its symbolic white colour. These are all symbols of our mortality, so you may also find some bittersweet tones in this poem in addition to the hope you have happily found therein. Not to be morose, but…
Read the whole commentThank you, Katrina, for your warm and thoughtful analysis of my poem. Also something to think about here is the lateness of the season, the beckoning of the butterfly toward the abyssal expanse of the sea, and even its symbolic white colour. These are all symbols of our mortality, so you may also find some bittersweet tones in this poem in addition to the hope you have happily found therein. Not to be morose, but the fact of mundane death is an essential question of poetry in general, and mine in particular. Let us trust that we may live on in some semblance after Death, or at least seem to do so. I think the path you have identified is a wise one. I would much rather I had less to do with Death these days!