Guest poem (Vere Smyth)

From stormy Devon, here's a poem from Vere Smyth that is utterly different in its tone and 'weather'. I can't tell you much about Vere – an elusive figure; all I know is that we share an interest in Buddhist thought and practice.

What I particularly like about this poem is its appreciation in relation to timing: something I'm not so good at, myself.

Thank you, Vere, for the moments of stillness it brings, and the sense of deeper rhythms to which we're all attuned, whether or not we humans let them guide us.


Butterfly

A peacock butterfly
At the height of a hot summer chose
To take up on the wall of my bedroom
Just above the Popovici painting
(full of anguish about her homeland Romania)
And wait for the right moment
And wait
Month after month after my meditation I would look again at the butterfly
Waiting
Not moving
Just waiting, for the right moment
Then on the 23rd of December the right moment came
The sound of fluttering wings at the window
With a heavy heart I opened the window
What glee!
What certainty!
Off with a purpose into the winter sky
And I watched as another individual
Dancing to a beat we all know but do not understand
Did what it must do
 

© Vere Smyth