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The Land of Rainbows and Butterflies

Have you ever been to the land of rainbows and butterflies?
What a wonderful place to be
There is no crime, bureaucracy, or hatred
Just love, peace, and harmony.

The young never grow old
The aged never die
Everyone is happy all the time
And don’t even have to try

In the land of the rainbow and butterfly

(Hubert Dyess, Oct. 2003)
written to an acquaintance for her birthday after she said that her friends said she lived in the land of butterflies and rainbows.

Carpe Noctem

How magical , mysterious , ethereal
is the shroud of Night .
It's weight on my skin , it's embrace -
a warm kiss on sleepless lips .
Through dim panes I see trees sway
against transient clouds ,
and stars try to hide .
On far horizons lightning flashes –
so distant it's bereft of thunder .
In green canopies nightbirds flirt to a symphony –
the Katydid's and Cicada's
staccato songs reach a crescendo ,
then wane into quiet reverence .
Fragrances are aloft from perfumers ,
borne from unseen chambers .
I pause - and with arms frail and trembling -
reach into Life itself
and feel it's pulsing heart .
While worlds slumber , an empassioned soul
whom the Day will not receive
and the Night will not release ,
dances timeless in this caress .
With outstretched arms
and wind in face
in primal embrace -
we kissed the kiss of life ,
this Night and I .

Oy
It's not even winter yet
It's already cabin fever I bet
Joy.

Sonnet XCVII

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

and on the lighter side this is one i had published yrs ago
Grandfather and me
We were to go fishing my grandfather and me
spend the day on the deep blue sea
the evening before the sky was bright red which meant good fishing or so it was said

we readied the tackle all in a box
checked hook line and sinkers of which we had lots
then off to bed for a good nights sleep
grandfather said he'll not hear a peep

before daylight with rod in hand
so much better than fishing on land
just grandfather and me in his little white boat
grandma would joke about did it still float

those memories i share with my grandchildren now
in hopes that someday they'll show their grandchildren how
to spend the day like grandpa and me
in a little white boat on the deep blue sea.

Ahh, poetry.

Here's one of my favorites, and I'll bet you nice folks here will even remember this famous ode to our leafy friends who often supply us with sustenance and shade on a warm summer's day.

"Trees" by Joyce Kilmer

(oh...btw...before I begin here, I must tell ya that in honor of my posting this at this particular website, I felt compelled to "slightly" modify "some" of Mr. Kilmer's words...okay, NOW, here we go....)

"Trees"

I think
I shall never see
a motorcycle
in a tree.






Well
I guess
I was wrong!

There once was a man from Nantucket
Whos.....

never mind

There once was a man from Peru
Who....

Oh well, that's as close as I come.

roses are red
my tiger is blue
i give it some gas
and way bye-bye to you

I ride with the wind
I know freedom and I live
The Earth is my kin


Geez, that's what I get for drinking sake

I don't want a pickle...
I just want to ride on my motorsickle.
And I don't want a tickle...
I just want to ride on my motorsickle.
And IIIII don't want to die...
I just want to ride on my motorsi
cle.

there once was a man from montana
that dressed like a harley guy with a bandana
he emptied his pockets
then bought him rocket
and now he's just tickled sh*tless!

e.e. cummings
she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff I was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.K.)

I went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute I was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue I touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

(it

was the first ride and believe I we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens I slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-
;Still)

Beer, by George Arnold (1834 – 1865)
HERE,
With my beer
I sit,
While golden moments flit:

Alas!
They pass
Unheeded by:
And, as they fly,
I,
Being dry,
Sit, idly sipping here
My beer.

O, finer far
Than fame, or riches, are
The graceful smoke-wreathes of this cigar!
Why
Should I
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead,—
My pleasures fled?
Have I not still
My fill
Of right good cheer,—
Cigars and beer

Go, whining youth,
Forsooth!
Go, weep and wail,
Sigh and grow pale,
Weave melancholy rhymes
On the old times,
Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,
But leave me to my beer!
Gold is dross,—
Love is loss,—
So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
Or see them drown
In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
Then do wear the crown,
Without the cross!