The above photographs were taken and submitted by New York City poet Joe Tessitore. We invite readers to pick one of the images (or both) and write a poem. Post your poem in the comments section below.
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Who is it that
does not despise
the one who preys
on butterflies?
————
A young man on the sidewalk sleeps
beneath the prayer of yoga peeps.
His chosen spot – a strange tableau –
for reasons only he would know.
Word scaffolding emotive of
Youth on his perennial pillow
Prays composing verses: male and female.
Preying mantis over monarch
Namaste in a gesture arch,
‘V’ for verses’ wings adverse in death
Yet, humane verses natural belief,
Strategies of scaffolding in word.
Am I allowed to say a word?
Long aged mantis prying creep.
Propped on prey the other leaves,
Still-caught yonder younger youthful sheep,
As sacrificial nature heaves.
The hold-up scaffold and the full-veined wing,
The rule of Nature and the rule of rod.
We pass off hardship as we pray or sing,
Through grace and gruesome on the swings of God.
In case it is pointed out that I have words between a Cap and a full stop without a verb:
The hold-up scaffold and the full-veined wing;
The rule of Nature and the rule of rod;
We pass off hardship as we pray or sing
Through grace and gruesome on the swings of God.
Joe – without your poem I would not have understood the righthand image.
I thought the man lying down was imitating a supine Buddha.
And that the scaffold was a photographically imposed grid.
As though the picture was a comment on active and passive contemplation with the X in front of the yoga-ists indicating a negative attitude to wards them.
And the V in the top right being something about versus, one against the other.
Your poem is a very handy caption. Thanks.
Too much yoga wrecks your head,
And leaves you lying drunk or dead.
The world is filled with jaws and claws:
A fact which ought to give you pause.
Both of them have me laughing out loud!
Thanks, Joe Nice summation ! I have this posted below:
Posting it here in case you missed it.
Two Contemporary Photos
There is a thing quite ominous about
These images, just waiting to get out.
Two people — what are they? Their inner screams;
May hold the stuff of all our darkest dreams.
One youthful figure, angled to the pair,
Retains an enigmatic secret there.
Foreboding and confusion cloud the blue,
A dance of ambiguity drifts through,
Propelling them through grey, impartial skies.
They will dismiss the hapless monarch’s cries.
A few months late: but better than never . . . I finally got round to replying to your comment under the poem by Damien Robin: Forgetting the Tiananmen Square Massacre for 30 years.
Of course you’re under no obligation to read it . . but we both know you will.
Yeah, I’ve read it. Typical blather in your inimitable style.
Proximity
Like a mantis on the butterfly
devours the beautiful for a boost.
You gorge on grace, engulf the lovely,
like an all-consuming Zeus.
Survival of the swift and fittest,
kill or be killed, it’s true.
In this world of praising power,
beware the one who’s nearest you.
Hi Joe,
This Monarch can no longer reign;
it’s life will soon be ended
I hope my eye can long retain
the beauty of its wings extended.
The attacker thus has staked its claim—
no butterfly befriended.
Crushed within, the one that’s slain—
in nature, no friendship pretended.
The tragedy of beauty as we know
it is, it can not last. Age wears it down.
Death stalks it. Things more beautiful appear.
Brave academics doubt that it exists,
or relegate it to some private sphere,
where careful thought dissolves in mushy mists
of sentiment. Yet beauty all around
persists. Be careful not to miss the show.
“Oh, look! A butterfly,” my daughter said,
And ran to fetch her little insect book.
From page to page her eager fingers sped,
Until she gasped, upon a closer look,
“Oh no! I’ll have to classify it ‘dead’.”
Is the Praying Mantis praying?
Saying grace before a meal?
Or perhaps it’s simply preying
With its mandibles of steel.
Either way she’s got her dinner
And the fight was not a draw,
For the mantis was the winner
In the realm of tooth and claw.
Anna, I love this! I raised three girls and, when they were little, your poem would have fit them perfectly!
Anna, I love this! I raised three girls and, when they were little, your poem would have fit them perfectly! (Repeat post that should have been here)
Thank you! I liked your use of praying/preying, reminiscent of the homophonic poetry challenge. And you managed to come up with a clever poem for each photo, too. I enjoyed both. I personally am a much bigger fan of caffeine than yoga!
Many people find practicing Yoga serene,
Others think that it’s spiritually deep.
But for those who prefer to be stoked on caffeine,
It’s so boring it puts them to sleep.
Another that has me laughing out loud!
Some years ago I saw a tiny little snake (a baby?) in the grip of a mantis.
The reversal was a marvel – an insect eating a reptile!
Two Contemporary Photos
There is a thing quite ominous about
These images, just waiting to get out.
Two people — what are they? Their inner screams;
May hold the stuff of all our darkest dreams.
One youthful figure, angled to the pair,
Retains an enigmatic secret there.
Foreboding and confusion cloud the blue,
A dance of ambiguity drifts through,
Propelling them through grey, impartial skies.
They will dismiss the hapless monarch’s cries.
Joe, Nice photos, by the way. Also, you are probably aware that the poetry site Rattle has a monthly photo/poem inspired contest which they call an “Ekphrastic Challenge.” I’ve entered it several times and have enjoyed doing it—just as I did here.
[Sapphic meter]
State-Run Agriculture
Venezuela. Food in a daily ration.
Mere survival. That is the daily passion.
Protein sources found in a novel fashion.
Butterfly brisket.
There once was a swami:
Bone-idle and barmy,
Whose favorite pose was supine.
When asked why he did it
He said “There’s no limit
To goodness it does for my spine!”
Yoga Teachers
Two yoga teachers folding hands,
Praying to mold life of A young man ,
Sleeping on road side,
When sun is on his head.
Early to bed early to rise,
Make “Surya Namskar” possible,
For every young man wise,
It is sure to give him healthy and respectful life.
Get up young man! and perform yoga exercise,
To your emotional , Spiritual mental and physical health,
Yoga will act as catalyst best,
And will shift your life equilibrium from good to best.
Grasshopper-Butterfly
Grasshopper green in colour,
Butterfly is multicoloured,
Green color is riding on multicolours,
Symbolising though today mother Earth is multicolour,
Let us make mother Earth dominate in green colour.
Sukarma Rani Thareja
Alumnus IITK
UP,INDIA
Young man! there’s no need to be down!
Young man! get yourself off the ground!
Young man if you got 800 bucks
You can come and do some yoga!
Go it’s fun to sing it boy
Y-O-G-A!
It’s tax deductibay!
Y-O-G-A!
All the boomers say:
Y-O-G-A
Come in an purchase the illusion
So-phis-ti-ca-tion…
I remember bedtime
When my grandparents
Would kneel and pray
Hands together
At the foot of my bed,
And I would say Amen
And snuggle close,
And ask for another story
But they would say, tomorrow,
Now Hush-a-bye baby,
Go to sleep
But I would cry
And beg them to stay,
Secure in their giant shadow
And their prayers
That somehow meant
That I was safe
In my cocoon,
Till darkness left
And light returned
They say a picture is worth a thousand words
But surely that makes the lies more difficult to spot,
For an image can say what it likes
Unlike words that need to be precise
Take for example
Two praying mantises
Came upon a cocoon
Where the butterfly lay sleeping
As they swooped
In perfect synchronicity for the kill.
I think I should have revised before I posted.
Have learnt my lesson.
Apologies to Joe and James and all poets here.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words
And surely that is no lie,
For an image can speak its truth,
Unlike words that need to be precise.
Take for example
Two praying mantises,
Observing a cocoon
Where the butterfly lay sleeping
As they hovered
In perfect synchronicity for the kill.
For the longest time
I wore a mask of veneer
Just to fool other
But in reality
I was a mooncalf
Who escaped…
From intervention
I became a bughouse
Only because of brooding over past
I ought
Things to fall over again
For me to revolve
I want to start afresh
—Butterfly -Grasshopper
BUTTERFLY
Butterfly emerging
from your chrysalis
sun upon silken wings
here to dance this air
moving sound and silence
where earth to oceans sing.
A palette of colour
like petals in flight
circles woven beyond time
whether caressing leaf
or seeking greater shores
let your wings be mine!
Word scaffolding emotive of
Youth on his perennial pillow
Prays composing verses: male and female.
Preying mantis over monarch
Namaste in a gesture arch,
‘V’ for verses’ wings adverse in death
Yet, humane verses natural belief,
Strategies of scaffolding in word.
Word scaffolding emotive of
Youth on his perennial pillow
Prays composing verses: male and female.
Preying mantis over monarch
Namaste in a gesture arch,
‘V’ for verses’ wings adverse in death
Yet, humane verses natural belief,
Strategies of scaffolding in word.
Am I allowed to say a word?
The Praying Mantis
and the butterfly
in a game /change to rows
to semicircles
woles/bo
lift its face and see a ewe
at the green pool.
living here.
Purple truce
Sitting in the dark with no hopes alive
Lit inside me kept telling me you are not alone
With the world full of people my presence was amplify
Looking around my true lonesome boundaries
I saw a little shining star giving me a new lively teaser
With no desires of wishing and dreams, I took myself to clarify
The sun is rising above me every day ever so bright
And the night with stats beautifully limelight
With the smoke of fear, I survived to let it glorify
Heights of mountains so high as my sorrows
Deep into the seas lies my infinite pain
With the time so fast yet less I want to magnify
In the hustle of chills and thrills
We lose and continue to the behold nature
With life so hard and dead so easy where to notify
Butterfly
I went from staring at the sun, to staring at the shadows on the wall.
I went from going on movie dates with my friends, to sitting alone like pain never ends.
When it comes to drugs I have never been a rookie.
Seven years old the devil in a syringe took me.
I loved the feeling of pride when I hit a vein
The poison I thought was initially healing
Soon enough it went away
My skin turned yellow not feeling sane
Hearing came in waves that day..
Ripping my skin to pieces the bugs where eating away..
But that devil.. That devil I loved so much
Tried taking my life that day
Ladies in scrubs took me away, helped me recover
And i’m sober today
My brothers and sisters where gone
Maybe this was a wakeup call to stay..
Mother was an addict her life falling apart
I am her strength we cant ever depart
Every addict wants recovery, and recovery soon came.
There was nobody to blame. Oh no not today
We are people too believe it or not
Just living sober is harder than I thought.
The walls were so different
No shadows oh no
Is this the feeling of sobriety?
I most definitely wouldn’t know..
The sky was so beautiful, moving slowly this time
This world didn’t seem real, the hills, the stars, was I so blind?
Thinking and thinking.. It was because
Because my life was no longer unmanageable
I could finally love, I could finally feel loved
And so, another day of staring at the sun
Dear,
i guess it is not mentioned how to send the poem for you, i appreciate that you guide me on this matter.
look forward to hearing from you.
sincerely,
MONARCHS
~ after G. M. Hopkins
The first one floated
onto my pointed finger,
flexing its orange and black
wings, relaxing to linger,
as if I were a strange
butterfly bush in shape
for it to rest on in its range
of flight, to let me gape.
And then another came,
followed by a dozen more
alighting, as if my odd frame
flamed warmly from each pore,
until my head bore a crown
of moving color, on each arm
front and back, up and down,
they landed, showing no alarm.
But then the still air shocked
with cold, and we all froze
in place, our limbs were locked
and we assumed a pose
of sleep, and never to awake,
a million lost and silent things
nothing would inspire to make
us rise with ah, bright wings.