The Moth...

...On silken wing, did glide.
Catching my eye like a flicker of hope.
Turning my head
to catch a glimpse
of your fragile perfection
cartwheeling
in sunshine.
Compelling my eye
with tumbling eights
temporarily obliterating
the sun.

Coronal filaments
limned white
To aurora,
To nova,
blinding me
with spectrumnal wholeness.

A blink

and the world flashes to

negative;

left layered momentarily upon...

The cat.

Crouching, stretching
slinking stealthily.
Liquid muscle serving sinew
tattooed
with raw intent
ingrained.

Adorned in Glory.

Meditative motivation
in focus absolute,
compels logic to...

The Moth...

...no moth.
but butterfly
frolicking through infinity.
Your name known
as my own.
Your genus
reminiscent
of Popsicles and summertime.
You are the only one I know.
I know...
you go to Mexico.
I know you
are endangered.
I know...

The kitty's coiling,
flicking, twitching dancer's flextion.
Sneaking, breathing, seeing
flowing glistening, gleaming.
Extension nearing...

The Butterfly.

Eternally suspended,
this Monarch,
(long my friend) did
ride a trade wind
from the end of time
and sunny Mexico...

To the cat,
adopted murd'rer
(For she once too, had death assured her.)
Surging hunter's blood
that urged her
ever onward...

To ancient Monarch brother,
unbeknown'st the fluttering other,
Time's own death machine be power-ed
up beneath.

For that ageless feline coil-ed killer,
has struck her pose,

Ancestral prowess

exposed

blood lust flows

and will,

through birth and blood,
ensure-ed skill
this savage flood,
this only thrill,
fulfills
the nature of the
killer in

The Beast...

extended its appendage
snatched the butterfly and ended
my befriended Monarch's dance
for ever more.

The cat return-ed from the sky
upon its landing, noticed I,
a velvet face had caught mine eye
from the felonious feline mouth.
The butterfly
was still alive
although in certain shock
thought I,
there's just no way
it can survive
because the cat won't
spit it out!

Still,
the Monarch's eyes implored
me
and
though true,
I did adore thee,
Twas' no more
could I restore thee
to the state once was before.

The cat,

Through natural selection,
intersected your direction
with indiscretion
to detection
and in one second
fell her prey.

No insurrection from this
witness.
No reckoned altruistic business.
No intervention could I bring this
situation
from this end.

For tho' you ragged wing-ed,
flopping thing did
trip a trade wind
from my childhood
and the shores
of sunny Mexico...

You'll not fly south
from Execution's mouth,
This course
is down and in.

And so
at your end,
my Monarch friend,
I've but one thing
to give to you:

It's my apology.
You'll not go free
And there is nothing
I
Can
Do



----------------------------------------------------------


The following is in response to the challenge, Where is Kerosene?

The structure: Rhyming Metred Flash Fiction (Ah eeyea!)
All words: 454

Cue the sax daddy-O...

KEROSENE WAS WASHED AWAY


Kerosene was washed away by a rancid wave of fate...


...and nobody thought to throw a line as the hour hand struck late. And his beanie bobbed unnoticed as his ball point bled it's blue and the waitress at the diner served up steaming bowls of stew.

And the Jesus man cried REDEMPTION to a faceless sea of skin, as the gypsies barked their bargains and the con men called bets in.
The queen was chased by a one eyed jack while, once again, the spade was lost...
and the wallet wanted payback irrespective of the cost...


'Cause laws and dreams don't bend around here, they shatter and they break.

Now that

Kerosene got washed away by a rancid wave of fate...

...And the rubby on the garbage bags was the king of heap and grate.
And the vacant suits in hot pursuit of fluctuating sums, numb cultured brains with crack cocaine purveyed by parkas in the sun.

And the gangstas sign to justice blind their motive and intent as the blue shirts look up desperate skirts swapping skin for rent. The purulent gash exposed for cash offers more bang for the buck while the crazy clown lets his pants slide down like the soft serve selling from his truck.

The fortune teller portends that the centre cannot hold while the newsboy cries of war crimes and injustices untold. The wordsmith hammers nomenclature forging user friendly shapes, the assumption mass consumption of his sour Bacchus' grapes...


And reality is the only thing that no-one can escape...

Now that Kerosene got washed away by a rancid wave of fate.

But there's no shelter from the deluge raining from the 38.
And the Marquee cries a matinee and the mannequins change their clothes as the flesh tides flood the concrete until the asphalt overflows. And someone took a dirt nap and someone else is underground but now it's surveillance of assailants in case the cameras are around.

And the flag pole stands as silent sentinel and the hydrants all ran dry, and the searching eyes saw nothing and the talking tongues got tied. As the Witnesses wave their Watchtowers seeking penitential kin and the junkie oozes jones from oily marmoreal skin...

The sun escapes interrogation inside a crimson pool of light as the moon arrives too late to witness but just in time for night. The third shift mans the sirens and the taxis haven't showered and a young man surfs the sidewalk while another gets devoured

...by the predatory manimals masticating, insensate.
And the bone chef serves a slop of blood and the sewers regurgitate
didactic streams of intentions gleaned from the candidate's debate


But

Kerosene was washed away by a rancid wave of fate.




© Copyright 2007 Queen Moniqwa ShaBoo-boo (UN: monique at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Queen Moniqwa ShaBoo-boo has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...