"Metamorphosis"

Metamorphosis of a monarch butterfly.

METAMORPHOSIS

 

Once I was a caterpillar, dwelling upon the earth,

crawling along day by day, adept at feigning mirth.

I only knew the earthy life; I thought that that was it;

I took what terra firma gave, the pleasures and the grit.

There was no beauty in me.  No one ever looked here twice,

Few cared if I were evil; no one knew if I were nice.

I was only concerned with myself, what the earth could give,

yet, inside I was sensing a far better way to live.

Instinct led me to spin a thread and weave a neat cocoon;

I became a living mummy, wrapped tight within my tomb.

What was happening to me?  I tried to kick and shout,

“Help me!  Open up this thing!  I want to get right out!”

No one heard and I was powerless, so I went to sleep,

not knowing what was ahead of me, feeling something deep.

I don’t know how much time went by within my tiny tomb,

but sensed that I was being changed, as one inside a womb.

Finally, instinct worked in me.  There was a sudden urge

to break out of my chrysalis and from the dark emerge.

Somehow, I then received the strength to burst my being free;

Alas, the golden Light broke through and there was a new me!

I took some time to understand, some time to wonder why,

then I just shook myself a bit and I began to fly!

And `lo, I was so beautiful, and `lo, I saw the sun...

Oh, after living on the earth, soaring was great fun!

A wretched worm was I no more; I knew that fact was true,

I was reborn and I became a creation wholly new!

A butterfly!  A butterfly!  I received my wings,

glorious splendors of the Heavens, all the higher things.

All old things have passed away; they’ll never come again;

I’ve set my mind on things above, on these I will attend.

Now, even when I swoop to earth and walk upon the ground,

I’ll never be a worm again...I’m Butterfly...glory bound!

Praise God for metamorphosis, it’s by His loving grace

that I’m a new creation now, and I shall see His Face.

 

Maude Carolan

"Sky Dancers"

I planted a butterfly bush and milkweed in the hope of helping the endangered monarch butterflies. I've seen three monarchs so far this summer and hope for more, perhaps a bright bunch of sky dancers like the ones pictured here...

SKY DANCERS

 

There's something happy about butterflies.

They flit-flitter as they flutter by,

flying flowers against the azure sky.

 

They alight upon the milkweed, and then

they circle, soar and alight again,

toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.

 

Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,

in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.

Pollination is purely happenstance.

 

I delight in their overflow of joy.

(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)

A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!

 

Do they recall they once were grubby worms,

remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?

Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!

 

This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,

sky dancers as enchanting as can be,

springing from blossoms right in front of me!

 

So, merrily a-nectaring they go,

reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…

Seems they have learned what all of us should know.

 

In contemplation of their simple ways,

I wish to add their ballet to my days,

to sky dance gracefully on wings of praise!

 

Maude Carolan Pych

It's Butterfly Season

My last blog post was May 26th. A few days after that my computer quit. I went shopping with my daughter Beth and grandson Dean and selected a new laptop. Dean set it up for me and has been helping me get used to it because there've been lots of changes since my old unit which was about fifteen years old. With a little luck this will be the first post using my brand new Lenova computer.

The poem I'm sharing today is an oldie. It is about a visit to the Butterfly Pavillion in Westminster, Colorado in 2007. We took our granddaughter Isabel, now grown-up and in college, but then three years old.

 

ISABEL VISITS THE BUTTERFLY PAVILION

Westminster, Colorado ~~~August 21, 2007

 

'Twas a magical land for Isabel, three

a tropical rain-forest, lush and misty

 

dense with fern, bright hibiscus and leafy trees

lazy old turtles, a muddy swamp, no breeze

 

Fluttering way up high, coasting low, low, low

thousands of butterflies gave a sky-dance show

 

They glided and swirled around us everywhere…

above, around us; we had wings in our hair!

 

Vibrant creations, every colorful hue

flaming red, orange, green and electric blue!

 

On Isabel, a mariposa alighted

Was she afraid? No. Issy was delighted!

 

She spied a swallowtail asleep in a tree

Our little girl picked it up, most carefully

 

then she set the yellow creature free…oh, my!

It flew off happily…fast as it could fly!

 

Caterpillars, chrysalises, some breaking free…

Winged ones as fanciful as insects can be!

 

In a special kiosk, a fine artist drew

with bright paint on children, butterfly tattoos

 

Issy selected a beauty she liked lots—

a splendid specimen with green polka dots!

 

That evening she told of all the fun she had

and showed her painted tattoo to Mom and Dad

 

Maude Carolan Pych

2007 Revised 8/24/14

 

Thank You for Your Service...

 It's Memorial Day!

The following is a poem I wrote

several years ago

 when the USA was at war in Iraq...

MY ADOPTED SOLDIER

For Cpl. R. J. Roberts, USMC

America At War In Iraq – March, 2003

 

The message on my computer screen

said click on The Presidential Prayer Team –

the Adopt Our Troops link

and be given a soldier to pray for

until the end of the war

 

I don't know any soldiers

stationed in Iraq, personally

soldiers who startled us with Shock & Awe

soldiers who endured stinging sand

blazing days and shivery desert nights

Don't know any who engaged in combat

manned planes, copters and tanks

or risked biological warfare

during that arduous trek to Baghdad

Don't know any at all

so I clicked on the website

…but was unable to access the link

 

When the morning paper arrived

the front page held a full color photo

of a British medic

examining a newborn Iraqi baby

cradled in a cardboard box

with the flaps torn off

I placed my hand upon the soldier

 

Jesus, bring him home, whole

 

laid my hand upon the infant

 

O Lord, please have him grow up

safe and strong

in a land free of terror…

 

At work, later that morning

a co-worker approached my counter

softly singing a hymn

 

How lovely to hear singing

in times like these, I remarked

 

My son left Tuesday, she said

Our eyes locked

mother to mother

 

I'd like to adopt your son, I told her

I'll pray for him every day

until he comes home

 

He is a Marine, she said

serving in the air delivery platoon

Cpl. R. J. Roberts

He'll be on the ground

distributing supplies in Iraq

 

I know he'll return

 

Our pastor prophesied

a few years ago

that R. J. will become a preacher

 

He's not a preacher yet…

though I suppose

there's a very good chance

he may be preaching right now

 

When I got home

I fastened a yellow ribbon

to my front porch railing

 

Maude Carolan

It's Pentecost!

Pentecost - Acts, chapter 2

 

ACTS, CHAPTER 2

 

Sometimes—

when I read my Bible

I imagine myself

there, in the rumpled, dog-eared pages

where and when remarkable things

were happening

 

For instance—

Oh, I wish I could’ve been

in the room that morning in Jerusalem

on the Day of Pentecost

when an astonishing sound

of rushing wind came from Heaven

and filled the place with the Holy Spirit

 

wish I could’ve been among

the crowd of bewildered people

clutching garments and belongings

securing food baskets and money bags

amid the sound of whirring wind

wondering what was going on

 

I would’ve seen with startled eyes

blazing tongues of fire appear

then split and rest above us all

would’ve heard the Galileans

miraculously uttering languages

they did not know

proclaiming good news

to people of every nation

 

Oh, joy! Euphoria!

 

I would’ve heard

preposterous ridicule and accusations

that we were drunk with wine

Drunk with wine so early in the morning!

 

Had I been there, I would’ve seen

Peter stand with his brethren

and quote the prophet Joel

and speak of Jesus

Crucifixion, Resurrection

and call us to repent

 

and finally, would’ve witnessed

three thousand souls receive salvation

and I would’ve been in that number

 

Oh! How great that would’ve been

How exciting to imagine

 

but, I didn’t need to be there

God had other plans—

 

On another Holy Pentecost

His Spirit came to rest on me

just as surely as it did

on the early believers

in Jerusalem, that day

 

and just the same as they

I have been changed

 

forever

 

Maude Carolan Pych

To read more of Maude's inspirational poetry

consider ordering her book online.

It's titled, "Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

and is available at

Amazon, Barnes & Noble, CBD, etc.

www.maudecarolanpych.net

A Tribute to My Mother

 Happy Mother's Day

to all mothers

and a loving tribute to mine...

Frances Longo Walsh - 1915-1966

MOTHER

In loving memory of Frances Longo Walsh (1915-1966)

 

I recall the way

my mother’s whole body jiggled when she laughed,

her sweet, shy smile,

that she understood Italian, but never spoke it,

the utter simplicity of her desires...

never asking for or receiving much

and not once complaining.

She had all she wanted, a home and family.

 

I remember the helpmeet working side by side

with our father, clearing the land

and building our stucco home.

 

My mind’s eye sees her plucking

chicken feathers in the backyard,

walking uphill home from the bus stop,

huffing, puffing;

scratching her itching back

against the bedroom door frame;

camping, just to please us children,

though it was more work than fun for her.

 

Recall, as if it were yesterday,

the flowery apron over her housedress

with its chain of safety pins

and her elastic band bracelets,

and Mother, standing at the stove, stirring

the bubbling red sauce in the big enamel pot.

 

Little Mommy, four-foot-ten and overweight—

She served herself the skimpiest portions,

never ate dessert, but occasionally gave in

to one indulgence: a crusty Italian bastone

from Minardi’s, sliced and spread with a pat of butter.

 

Hindsight reveals her quick on her feet

in the yard goods department at Quackenbush’s,

where customers remembered her

for smiles as quick as her feet.

 

When she arrived home, she changed her clothes

and aired out one of her two work dresses

on the clothesline off the back porch.

 

In retrospect, I see her

rolling her dark hair back into two neat curls

above her forehead,

applying red lipstick to her upper lip,

bringing both lips together to transfer color

to the lower, then, blotting.

 

Never attended high school, but

she could add columns of numbers

rapidly, in her head.

She read the newspaper nightly,

and completed the crossword puzzle.

 

My memory flashes to her relaxing evenings

in our parlor, in the old tufted chair,

watching Alfred Hitchcock or Lucy or

Barbara Stanwick in, “The Big Valley”.

She never missed the easy crooning of Perry Como.

He was her favorite. (He’d been a barber, like her father.)

 

I remember it pleased our father

that she always waited up for him

till he arrived home after working

the night shift at Wright’s.

 

Yes, I still see clearly, her dear kerchiefed head,

which Gramma remarked, made her look

like a peasant in a babushka.

 

Remember trying to convince her to hike her hemlines,

wear “Kiss Me Pink” lipstick, update her hair style,

learn to drive.

 

Flashback to hear her inviting my date

to come in for a cup of tea at our kitchen table

when he brought me home.

 

Vividly, I recollect the day

she was curled up tight on the couch.

She didn’t want me to call the ambulance,

though her hernia was strangling,

didn’t want to spoil plans

my sister and I had with our friends.

I disobeyed. The doctors operated just in time,

before gangrene set in.

 

My mind’s eye still sees tears in her eyes

when she came to my wedding

without my father.

 

And I remember her joy

to learn both daughters were pregnant, however,

 

she died before her grandchildren were born.

 

Oh! How much her grandchildren have missed

for never having known her—

 

which is one of the reasons

I’ve written this poem

Maude Carolan

*The above poem was originally published in the Paterson Literary Review.

Would you like to read more poems?

"Behold the Lamb...poetically"

by Maude Carolan Pych

is a book of poems

about the Birth, Death & Resurrection of Jesus,

written over a period of 30 years.

It is available online

at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, CBD, etc.

www.maudecarolanpych.net

"The Iris Garden"

 It's May!

Irises are getting ready to burst into bloom.

It's time to plan my annual visit to the

Presby Memorial Iris Garden, in Montclair, NJ...

Presby Memorial Iris Garden, Montclair, NJ

Photo credit: essexcountyparks.org

 

THE IRIS GARDEN

 

I delightedly strolled

along an iris rainbow

one effulgent Sunday in May

while would-be VanGoghs

painted under sunbrellas.

 

God could’ve made irises gray,

but He’s as lavish with color

as He is with love.

 

Maude Carolan

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"

by Maude Carolan Pych

is available online

at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, CBD, etc.

www.maudecarolanpych.net