Move

It's makeover time

I've found a new location

Here I'll move my rhymes

wings

What is it,

Why is it,

How is it

You do -

That thing with

the butterfly wings?

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Butterfly, Barbara Butler McCoy, Etowah Indian Mounds, September 2009]]

Ninety-eight in the Shade

Ninety-eight in the shade.

Frenzied for his lemonade

With great delight I take my place,

Savor his fruit, so sweet to my taste.

Forget this day some mermaid's coffee.

Let me rest at noon dreaming of Weeki Wachee.

Sunburnt I am, turning dark, but lovely.

Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, he loves me.

My sun-soaked 'hon' stands at the grill,

Flipping that others may get their fill,

Proclaims, "Behold, he stands behind our wall!

Shoo, you mite - you dare not stall!"

With barely a thought said mite steals weenies

Then races to see all the lovely bikinis.

Leaping he flies, a young stag, over grass parched -

A gazelle skipping on the lawn dry as starch.

"To love young, love seasoned," we raise rounded goblets.

He toasts to lips, lips "like a strand of scarlet,"

Says, "How beautiful are your feet in sandals.

Head to toe you eclipse the sun, earth's bright candle."

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Umbrellas at Pool, as seen from St. Simons

Lighthouse; Barbara Butler McCoy; August, 2009]]

Birthday Sonnet, the Third

This sole soul, that lone soul, circuit this globe

Beyond time, measure by measure, their feet

Graceful and precise beneath mercy's robe.

Their rhymes, their reasons making life complete.

Sunlight, dawn, and roses - word made flesh, bone.

Mere painted players, yet more, filling stage

After stage, stars to guide the lonely home.

It matters not one's nation, creed, or age.

Draw back the curtain, leave behind the lies

That pit the lost against the lost - darkness

Desolation gripping so many eyes.

Sun and stars, these loving souls end starkness.

His words light way to walk as others do.

His timeless phrases provide our cue.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Sky over Currituck Sound, NC; Barbara

Butler McCoy, November, 2010]]

Sage

No blackberries

trembling,

tempting twitterers

with juicy tidbits,

sustenance

No buds

'ere,

streaming by

o'er the shoulder,

distraction

No distance,

secluded

here, now,

silken slippers dusted,

serenity.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Stone statue in courtyard, January 12, 2011;

Barbara Butler McCoy]]

Venus

Venus

'Veni, vidi, vici' -

rising from sea foam,

stepping from out her shell.

Draped only in her virtue

she bears not arms -

nay - but patiently

the night of our terror.

Venus.

Herald of the conquering dawn.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Venus over the Atlantic;

November 27, 2010; Barbara Butler

McCoy]]

Dia de Los Muertes

Poets and peacemakers

along the way

before me, behind me -

me in between.

No better than any, nor worse -

simply walking, begging

Your pardon for the curses,

Your indulgence for the slips.

In Your continuum I tread -

the lines, etched into my palm -

stepping with the pulse

echoing since dawn.

We will carry it through

round and round again,

generation upon generation,

until the dreaming is done.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Photo: Barbara Butler McCoy;
Bee foraging for pollen; zoo,

Columbia, SC; September 2008]]

May 17, 1924 - South Bend, IN

I see her standing there

From the window by my chair

All loveliness and grace

Her face with dignity is traced

Yet soft, delicate as lace

My wish - to shield her from what may come

Wizards and Kluxers pour from the train

Coming to gather on the plain

Coming to protest her kind

The sons and daughters of Erin

They came, refugees from famine

The came to us, the free and the brave

Who resented their back-breaking labor

Blind to the practices employers favor -

Now it comes to rioting

What of this woman and her baby?

She drops to her knees and prays

I follow her gaze, and see Our Lady

Barbara Butler McCoy

(written 11.19.04)

[Photo: "Our Lady of Guadalupe," paint on tile, grotto at

St. Jude the Apostle, Atlanta, GA, 2009]

Birthday Sonnet, the Second

In the flower of days I turn my gaze

On those fabled glories of yesteryear

Lost to me in this vale of tears and haze.

How could I hope to purchase one so dear?

And now you see me here all dressed in white

I have not hope in hell but thee, I see.

To you I lift up mine eyes full bright

And tell the world the truth that set me free.

Oh please dear one, make me thy star of one

And purge the night of all grim hopelessness.

'Tis all to me that when the battle's done

You know I stood, tireless, for blessedness.

Know I strike my standard plea toward thee:

Wilt thou this, my verse, accept it freely?

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: "Dawn," Barbara Butler McCoy, 2009]

Thirsty

Following, following 'cross the wasteland

A steward who steadies with wit and staff,

Pilgrims set lonely course, buried in sand,

Hoping their no-name horse will find true path.

Marking the course with blood so red, they ford

Streams running wild, oh running wild with greed.

Such hopeful souls the dreaming pulls forward

To loving words, a face serene indeed.

Thirsty they are and, silent, they behold

St. Nick in this desert guarding a stream;

Peace and victory pouring from source untold.

Truth visible only for those who dream.

Her voice soothes the bile riled by false faces;

Stream fouled by fairness still bears Her traces.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[[Image - composite of the author's photos; slogan found painted on

the wall of an outbuilding of the Spruill Gallery, Dunwoody, GA, 2009;

Our Lady of Guadalupe, paint on tile, shrine on grounds of St. Jude

the Apostle Catholic Church, Atlanta, GA, 2009; wall, 2008; thanks to

Sean for his Photoshop tutelage!]]

I, Georgia

Here in the wild place
The rocky place
Here on this canvas
I am true to myself

The canvas speaks of charms
The brush laid on
With tints in sweeps
All flourishes

And the tempest
Inside my heart of cold
Black stone
Bursts forth in waves
Of petals and pedernals

None so wonderful as these
Have eased my heart 'ere now
To be as one
With the canvas and stone
The leaves and the trees
In this wild, dry land
Is all I need to be

Free of restraints and
Gentle complaints
I soar with the mind
Of a child

My brush brings me home
To wander
In the broom

There I may find it
The next
Piece

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: "Equine Pelvis with Sky," after Georgia
O'Keeffe's "Pelvis with the Distance"; sculpture
of a horse out of driftwood outside the Hunter
Museum, Chattanooga, TN; July 2009]

Blues

Flying with the blues
Anytime and where I choose
Where'd I leave my shoes?

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: Hyacinth Macaws at the Tennessee Aquarium,
Chattanooga, TN; July 2009]

[This poem is a response to the four, challenge #12]

Dogwood

I could tell you of
the dogwood trembling above
as it feels spring's love

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: a dogwood blossom on the
tree in my courtyard; April, 2009]

Roundabout

She believes
believes in love.
What else can she do?
She takes the roundabout.
For so long she has
endured the runaround.

Round and round,
again,
in and out and about,
again,
since she stepped from her shell
hoping to end her exile.
Celestial body riding
the tracks of her tears.

A pilgrim to these shores
where uncertainty leaves us
reeling.
She knows and we will learn
our broken hearts,
hearts with room for ladders
to Beauty's divine mystery.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: a scooter I spotted
near the Woodruff Arts
Center; Atlanta, GA; April 2009]

Sisters' Windows (a response to The Four, Challenge No. 11)

Some sisters escape -
escape what blinds,
obscures the view,
escape the pain.

Sisters open their
shutters, see light,
focus their eyes
and expose life.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[This poem was also submitted as
a response to Challenge No. 11 from
The Four and suggested by Kirsten Crilly:
"Then swing your window open, the one
with fresh air and good eastern light
and watch for wings, edges, new
beginnings." Monique Duvall]

[Photo: Window above doorway,
Candler Building; Atlanta, GA;
March 2009]

The Maiden Springtime/La Jeune Fille Printemps/La Doncella Primavera

The Maiden Springtime,
her eyes the leaves
of the vine,
like water
with her eyes
She drinks the sun
until they burst,
her rosy spheres,
the fruit of the vine.

La Jeune Fille Printemps,
ses yeux les feuilles
de la vigne,
comme l'eau
avec ses yeux
bois le soleil
eclatent,
ses orbes rose,
le fruit de la vigne.

La Doncella Primavera,
sus ojos las hojas
de las vids,
como el agua
con sus ojos
bebe el sol
reventan,
sus esferas rojas,
la fruta de las vids.

Barbara Butler McCoy

[Photo: Berries after yesterday's rain.]

The Dancer

(A sonnet in honor of William Shakespeare's birthday, April 23, 1564.)

Dancing in time to the song of your heart,
No small thing this singing ever of bliss,
From which you rose, your ev'ry loving part.
Beautiful you, you must remember this.

Everlasting impermanence, dancing
To your enchanting meter round the globe.
Restoring hope, so much more than glancing,
For those who do between your lines so probe.

Wherefore art thou so constant, love?
Perchance your eyes do note the beat you hear
While these my soles, tattooed so red as blood,
Dance upon the lines you wrote so clear.

Now may I say I am fix'd in my dance?
I am here willed, not here by happenstance.

Barbara Butler McCoy

["Ballet Olympia," Paul Manship, as conceived by John Portman,
outside SunTrust Building, Peachtree St., Atlanta]

Ornamental

They know not this, the collectors of me,
The rough, rough nature of the beast I am
As the plastic stiff face is all they see.
Yet 'hind mine eyes I think therefore I am.

A stranger here, someone's beauty I think,
With all my tomorrows and hereafter
To thoughts of my yesterdays ever linked,
An everlasting soul in love, laughter.

Any who try to bring some me to heel
Or bribe me with a plastic pink Corvette
Will find somehow I found a tongue quite real,
Laced up with words, lightning they'll not forget.

Too, the sick pink mansion in Malibu
Without apology I do eschew.

Barbara Butler McCoy
(submitted, also, as a response to
Challenge #5, the four)

Response #4

Love joined us that day
Love made the cradle to sway
Love is all I say

Barbara Butler McCoy

Response to #3

My broken toucan
Fallen victim of rough hands
Waits to fly again

Barbara Butler McCoy