I like your poem; speaks visually and musically to me.  I do think that
baring it to its bones would improve it even more, give it a oriental flavor.


kol tuv, Ryfkah


In a message dated 4/4/02 12:41:41 PM, [log in to unmask]
writes:

<<          Lepidoptera


He paints butterflies and moths

resting tremulously on flowers

so delicate you are afraid to breathe

lest a warm waft lifts them

away from the paper


his beloved brushes, chisel tipped

or sucked to a chinese point

arranged in a dark bronze jar

like a bunch of smooth stems

streamlined ikebana


tubes and cakes of paint

laid in careful spectra

piled paper like scented sheets

in a linen press

aching to be touched


he mixes alizarin, black,

ochre and white

precise as a pharmacist

dilutes, inspects, dilutes

then floods a new white sheet


when it dries and shrinks

it will be ready

not quite white, washed

with the whisper grey

fainter than a gnat's shadow


on this he draws the outline

of wings, a peacock eye,

antennae fine as shrews' hair

the flower comes later

born from the butterfly

a reflection of its wings


both hover on the page

suddenly alive

see the butterfly

scenting the flower

you know it is a trick

but it is still magic


in the corner is a still life

five crushed red lager cans

brash as whore's kisses

bills, books, magazines,

a mouldy bread baton

conducting an trio

of orphaned socks


you wonder if it is

installation art


perhaps if you stirred it

gently with a mahlstick

you might unearth the chrysalis

of his crumpled rainbow soul


                         grasshopper >>