The Butterfly Effect

Meg suggested that I wrote a poem on ‘the butterfly effect’. I’m not sure why. But, as you can see, I created a highly original title for the piece. I’m good like that.

Here’s the theory. I’m sure you are all familiar with it. A butterfly flaps it’s wings in China and a week later there’s a tidal wave in Samoa. Or something like that.

What I take this to mean is that everything, everyone, is connected. Someone smiles in Africa and someone cries in Tibet.

But there is something that made the butterfly flap it’s wings. A subtle change in the wind, perhaps. And what caused that change in the wind? Was it a heatwave in Indonesia? That heatwave may be the result of forest destruction in Brazil. And so on and so on and so on …..

So the wings of a solitary butterfly at one particular moment in time have an impact on all of us and on everything. Just as all of us and everything influence the flight of the butterfly. Everything happens for a reason. Or for no reason at all. Who can really tell the difference?

Not that my poem really has all that much to do with it.

***

You take a breath in Texas

I exhale in Japan

It’s unbreakable. A nexus

This game. This little plan

Everything directed

Every moment bought and sold

Everything connected

Everything has been foretold

You’re a captive in the prison

Whilst I am chained here to the mast

When there’s no hope, there’s no decision

Because the future is the past

Yet I can hear your thinking

Every thought entwined with mine

While our boat is surely sinking

We are doomed. But feeling fine

It’s a book already read

It’s a song already sung

All our words already said

Our race already run

It’s the butterfly effect

And that’s how it’s meant to be

We act. We don’t direct

But still you flap your wings for me

***

Cold feet.

Another spin-off from Cyranny . It’s not supposed to mean very much.

(Actually, walking in the snow in bare feet can be quite exhilarating, don’t you think?For about a minute?)

***

Walking in the snow

again

Been walking since I don’t know

when

No word from you

except bad news

Forgot myself

Forgot my shoes

I played my cards

You rolled these dice

Leaving me to freeze

Ain’t nice

Your love’s gone cold

so heaven knows

I’ve lukewarm thoughts

with frozen toes

But hoping. Hoping

now and then

That sunshine might

arise again

That snow will cease

that ice will thaw

That you will be

my love once more

***

Butterfly

I have heard the word ‘butterfly’ used as a descriptor for people who struggle to make strong emotional connections – people who float from one romance to another.

I think it has something to do with the image of a butterfly going from one beautiful flower to another without ever landing – hovering over beauty as one might over a black hole – aware of the danger of being consumed by gravity.

I certainly don’t interpret the term negatively. I love butterflies.

Anyway …. Cyranny wrote a piece with her usual insight and delicacy but instead of focussing on the content of her post I became, instead, obsessed with the image that accompanied it. I wrote her a poem. It doesn’t mean much.

This is it.

***

I don’t really know you
But I recognise your style
I don’t really like you
And I’m not flattered by your smile
Don’t think that I am looking
When I see you everyday
Please don’t think that I am listening
If I hear you, anyway

I’ve never really talked to you
I’ve not heard a word you’ve said
Please don’t think that thoughts about you
Interrupt my time in bed
Don’t imagine that I think of you
When taking off my jeans
Don’t think that I can’t sleep at night
Or that you interrupt my dreams

But what is this thing about you?
What is this strange appeal?
I’ve never really touched you
So I don’t know how you feel
But you’re feeling free and floating
Flying faultless, free from sin
There’s a butterfly within you
And it’s painted on your skin

***

The truth is that I really do like Cyranny. We all do.