TWO POEMS: NOBLESSE OBLIGE, OMEN

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

(For Luisa A. Igloria)

It alights on the most unlikely places

when it is ready to unload its augury:

a herald that answers to no postmaster. 

Did it touch your face before perching

on your head preening like a silken bow?

Fear not, but beware its noblesse oblige: 

Whom the gods want to destroy, they

first caress, a beau geste for its fondest,

most innocent, most willing sacrifice. 

Like the heart that knows no rest,

the mourning papillon flits from leaf

to welcoming petals ready with nectar. 

Though it comes bearing sweetness

for its bounden message, it drops its

wings to let the doleful colour show 

and flies out of reach and rancour, out

now into the cusp of wind and fire, out

of grace, out into the world of Tiresias 

blinded but must prophesy what passes

from this life, all loves and lovers, gone

but never let loose, ever, not now, not yet. 

For any day now, the heart that bent

to the swallowtail’s random dance,

would find its elusive life full of radiance.

---Albert B. Casuga

05-30-31

Poetic Prompts: 

I hold my hand over my heart/ because I know it knows no rest:/ it does not want to mourn what/ passes from this life, just yet.---From  “Trauermantel” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 05-28-11

Any day now a god /might unfurl its wings to rend the canopy;/any day now, that radiant and elusive life.---From “Foretelling” by  Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 05-29-11

http://www.vianegativa.us/2011/05/foretelling/

OMEN

A papillon with the mourning cloak
bodes grief; leave it free to flit from
whence it came to where it goes. 

Capture it, and you become a gaoler
of the ghost it carries from unknown
gardens, uncharted lanes, lost zones: 

Mark how it circled you thrice before
alighting on your chair not your tea cup
where it is moist and comfortable.

  
Let it leave its yet undelivered
message: a brew of auguries and omens
from the cocoons of the netherworld. 

Do I scare you with this ghoulish rant?
Or shall I leave you to scare yourself

with your own disembodied yearnings? 

Ah, but beware my morning porch friend,
beauty, wherever you find it, is an omen.

—Albert B. Casuga
05-28-11

Poetic Prompt:  A mourning cloak butterfly circles the porch and yard three times, going behind my chair, including me in whatever it means to outline. Dave Bonta, Morning Porch, 05-28-11 http://www.morningporch.com/2011/05/