Swallowtails
Every year we till and sow
our kitchen garden, parsnips in
a six-foot line, to catch the glow
of warm sunshine. The seeds begin
to sprout, then long-stemmed rosettes grow,
a mass of curly leaves. That’s when
small pearly yellow eggs are laid—
round globs of Papilio pomade.
Soon slinky caterpillars hatch,
attired in motley festal gear,
green-yellow-black, absurd mismatch.
Voraciously they chomp. We cheer
their pluck, hope predators won’t snatch.
These gobbling moppets persevere,
then pupate: gray-brown chrysalises,
so mute, you’d think that all’s amiss.
Their shrouds lie still, like death’s malaise.
But as in Psyche’s ancient myth
their tombs are but a fleeting phase.
The sleepers’ souls transform their pith,
mutate to butterflies. Ablaze,
flaxen-flecked, they flutter with
the currents of a balmy breeze,
a summer’s day of sun and ease.
Segmented younglings, gaudy-dressed
consume a toxin, apiole,
that parsnips’ feathered leaves possess.
Their bodies ooze that poison’s smell:
spiders and birds will not aggress!
In nature’s play, all things end well.
Each animal, both small and great
prospers in its portioned state.
How do questing females spot
our plants, alight, then drop, just so,
their eggs? It seems all creatures plot
their kind’s survival, somehow know
what works, and where to tie each knot.
This real-life metamorphic show
is more complex than Ovid’s schemes,
less likely than fantastic dreams.
Gray Matter
For practice, I unscramble daily “Jumbles,”
daft puzzles for my brain, to make it hum,
excel at writing poems. Instead, it grumbles,
declines to amplify its cerebrum.
Its balkiness makes clear I’m not in charge—
foiling my aims, as would a willful boy.
My plans to coax its ridges to enlarge
go nowhere, for it has in its employ
the shock troops of my stinted daily speech,
that swarm like army ants to sting and stun
word-embryos I’ve nursed through ceaseless study.
How is the race for lyric merit won?
Dear brain, you lack our childhood’s spur and reach.
I’m blocked: my words clichéd, my verses muddy.
Poet’s Note: The Jumble Daily is a word puzzle published widely in the US. I call it “daft” (rather than “deft”) because the level is “easy” and the solution is always a rather silly joke employing simplistic wordplay. https://games.usatoday.com/games/amu-jumble
Mary Jane Myers resides in Springfield, Illinois. She is a retired JD/CPA tax specialist. Her debut short story collection Curious Affairs was published by Paul Dry Books in 2018.
“Swallowtails” is a masterful interplay of exceptional words, references with allusions to mythical figures, and considerable sensitivity. I found brilliant imagery and imagination by the poet “feasting” off the caterpillars and their transition to butterflies.
“Gray Matter” is so fitting for the state of mind in which many of us find ourselves when sitting down to write something. On the other hand, it is difficult for me to imagine that you suffer from any such blocks with your beautiful poetry.
Roy
Thank you for your kind words. When I was a girl, our family discovered that our garden parsnip plants (meant originally to grow large delicious roots to be harvested and eaten) were being devoured by pesky caterpillars. We finally realized that we inadvertently had created a butterfly garden. So we concentrated on the butterflies and let the vegetables go!
Traditional meter-and-rhyme is a challenge, isn’t it? But I find it actually much easier to follow “rules of order.” Otherwise, I feel as if I’m “lost at sea.” Water, water everywhere, and not a word in sight!
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
The daily Jumbles must be doing their magic, Mary Jane. Your swallowtail poem is a beautifully told scientific tale with touches from myth and classic literature, providentially turning all this culture (with your cooperation as gardener and poet) into a moral fable of how beauty is produced and preserved. You end with perfect panache and fabulous finesse, explaining that real life surpasses the greatest of human schemes and dreams. Nature and creatures embody a certain cooperative knowledge, excelled only by the gifts of wisdom in the human mind, enabling human beings to take an intelligent part in the process–but still more, to feel and express wonder at it. In fact, your poetic lines leave readers as “gobbling moppets” eagerly devouring the many beauties of words you bring us in both these poems!
Margaret
Thank you for your kind words. Both these poems went through many drafts (and caused a great deal of poetess-distress!) before I decided they might be ready to “send out” into the world!
It helps me to “study the masters” to jump-start my creative endeavors. For “Swallowtails,” I copied a form used by Alicia Stallings, and for “Gray Matter” I was inspired by Don Paterson.
Most sincerely,
Mary Jane
Didn’t see anything to remotely give credit to the final line of your second poem,
Mary Jane. Its fruits belie the premise, as does “Swallowtails”. I can see that one as a lovely book with illustrations.
jd–
Thank you so much for your kind words. I appreciate your support of my work.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
Hi, MJ. I liked the way you turned the classic, beautiful butterfly poem on its head, it being you and your parsnips that undo the swallowtail!
As for Gray Matter, back in the day I used to do the Jumble every day, and have created some, too for my students. Ah, the nostalgia. And can I reiterate what JD says about the last line?
Thanks for the reads.
Dear Paul
Thank you for your kind comments and your support of my work. I typically work one Jumble puzzle weekly–it’s published by The Epoch Times that I receive via snail-mail. I love getting down earnestly to work late at night, Blackwing 602 pencil in hand. I time myself and groan if I get stuck and the minutes start mounting up! Though the “cartoon answers” are rather silly, I believe the Jumble sharpens my facility with “word-play” that is so important in poetry-writing.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane