Two Poems: "Flutters" and "Ways to Make a Moth"
Introduction: "Flutters" and "Ways to Make a Moth"
"Flutters" is poem that marked my angst over the temporal nature of the world. I wrote this poem as an Atheist (and a nihilist), shortly before becoming a Christian. It often reminds me of why I need Christ: because without the love of God, the world and all the beauty in it lead to nothing but death.
"Ways to Make a Moth" was also written before my conversion. This poem was an experiment, based on my observations of a moth on my wall heading towards my lamp, but now I believe it reveals my frustrations during that time.
The moth is a butterfly clothed in darkness, searching for the color of day in false light. Looking back on it, that seems to convey the state of humanity - living in darkness, searching for light and life. Throughout the poem, the moth is not quite alive, shaped by human hands, still missing something. But by the end, it finds life by letting the light penetrate it fully, breaking through all the emptiness and darkness. Though I wasn't a Christian at the time, it serves as an apt metaphor for my later conversion.
a butterfly flutters past my face
and I want to catch it in my net
stop its flight
(end its life)
so I can examine her
pin her wings
on scrap paper
put her in glass
let the dust collect
on her body
so whenever I feel
that all beauty is
I can retrace the
fading color in her winged skin
and feel human again
like when I sit in the sun
and a butterfly flutters past my face
Ways to Make a Moth
In cotton folds of grandma musk
find a caterpillar head wrapped in monkey's fur
fine and short
for dandelion flight
on a black breeze
two moldy leaves, or maybe four
frayed and softened
made of dead Autumn whipped up
in an abbreviated ant tornado
sweeping an empty parking lot
wings flutter like a drowsy baby laugh
sucking and snorting
choking with mother's milk
an invisible trail that flowers and dies
tracing cracks along a white wall
a wanton route to the meaning of pleasure
a bulb, blind and burning
There you’ll find
brown that revels in a spectrum
akin to elusive day
bleeding through night's needlework
like a butterfly blaze.
Poll: Writing Poetry
Do you ever use butterflies or moths in your poetry?
© 2018 Veronica McDonald