BUTTERFLIES

Trapped in a glass or pinned to a board,

Their beauty was something we thought we could hoard.

We laughed, we “Ooohh’d,” we “Ahhh’d,” with such wonder,

And never once thought God’s beauty ain’t plunder.

And only God’s best would do for our chest

Of treasures killed and pinned through the breast.

Ne’er once did they tell us it might be a sin;

The next afternoon, we’d do it again.

The lesson we learned was God’s humble Earth

Was ours to abuse for our own devil’s mirth.

How long can we use God’s world for our pleasure?

I think it’s in days not decades of measure.

                                               --Monty Wheeler

Written gratefully for NWCU's Wednesday Wake-up call

FAILURE

She wrote a poem then dared to let

One she thought a friend

See and read.  Then condemnation—

Her writing found its end.

She came nigh tears when he said,

“We’ll write today in class.

“Write a poem in any form;

“There is no fail or pass.”

The years had passed; she never dared

To let another see.

So painful-fresh the memory

Of criticism's glee.

“Tomorrow we will spend the class

In reading them aloud.”

She sat the hour with still pencil

And paper blank as sterile cloud.

At home she closed herself away,

Let fear consume her heart.

They’d laugh, she knew without a doubt;

She’d fail before she’d start.

She got her mom’s anthology

Down off the dusty shelf,

She’d read her favorites in that book

But always to herself.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

And Dickinson were there

Along with Frost and Elliot

And Poe’s disturbing fare.

She read for hours, grabbed her pen

To write a simple verse:

“I write for better or for worse;

“My writing’s not a curse!”

They didn’t laugh; they didn’t clap

When she read aloud.

It didn’t matter to her though

She’d wrote again and proud.

                        --Monty Wheeler

Image gratefully borrowed from Vanessa Mattews

Written as my own wake up call for NWCU's Fear of Failure Week