Waking Up

This poem is an example of the cyclic nature of life, particularly as it relates to creativity. I emerge to create, then go within to reflect, re-energize and then come out again. But in this poem I begin to question the process, is it worth it? Again, I love symbols and metaphors, somehow helps me to express my feelings and emotions in a fun, more complete way. This poem written in 2007, still relevant to my present process. This digital collage has two parts, one a garden ornament photo I worked on digitally, the other is a butterfly painting I did. Merged the two on computer to make a collage of sorts. Note: The butterfly is really more colorful than this image lets on. (P.S. Created this today, the writings led to making this image)

Waking Up

Emerging from my cocoon,
I feel dazed and blinded by
the sunlight cascading down.
I begin to open up my wings
and feel the damp stickiness
as I gingerly move my wings
and stretch my thin legs,
hanging dearly to a fragile flower

The warm sun sends a glow through
my body as I squint to see what
surrounds me
My senses are bombarded
by life and I want to run,
back to the the shelter of where I
had just come.

I liked my cocoon,
a green velvet coating
encrusted with tiny jewels.
It was safe and nurturing
there

No decisions to make
No feelings to be hurt
No friends to be made
No paths to pursue

Instead, peace and quiet,
to meditate and contemplate
to heart’s content,
the extreme nothingness
within me.

These thoughts lull me
into a dreamlike state.
My soul longs for
what it has forsaken
and left behind
and I muse

Do I really need to be
this butterfly?



I am awakened from my reverie
by wings flapping around me
Looking around, I see
my fellow butterflies
stetching their wings,
eyes wide and clear.

And some begin to fly,
using the flowers as
a launching pad, leaving
behind their cocoon homes.
They soar higher and higher,
not thinking, just being.

I admire them for their
adventuresome spirit,
for their carefree attitude,
and a part of me longs
to be with them, to bond,.
to connect.

But searching within,
pursuing my own path,
finding my own flowers,
my own piece of the sky.
seems quite natural
to me now

So I settle onto this
fragrant pink rose
and enjoy its soft touch
and take no action,
neither flying
nor nestled in cocoon womb.

Content to ponder
the who of me, now.

Beverly Bronson 2007