Butterflies and Floodwalls
Looking back on the memories of butterflies and floodwalls,
A weird combination I know.
The mem not so pleasant as I recall.
It all began one sunny day,
Riding bicycles with my mother.
A white flutter caught my eye.
I followed it down the path,
Away from my mother.
It cast me under its spell and
Down I went. Tumbling down
The hill, still bike in tact.
When I landed at the bottom,
My little white friend disappeared,
Flying away with a smirk on its face.
I've always hated them since.
I've forgiven the wall, but the insect, my foe.
I'm sorry you fell down the hill! I liked the descriptions in this poem, and how you described the butterfly as your foe. My favorite line was, "it cast me under its spell."
ReplyDeleteEmily,
ReplyDeleteThis is a step forward because you've gotten away from rhyme and have had to focus on what else can make language memorable and beautiful.
That happens in a few places, where you're careful and original with your images, where you avoid cliches, where you set up a situation and surprise us with a description.
I'd avoid the repetition of the word "mother." If you read the poem outloud, you'll find that that word feels flat. Also, I think the end is missing a word.
Think about revising this one. It's an interesting mix of nostalgia and disgust, and that could really be something!
Dave