Moths…not Butterflies

Drab rebels have no day-glo colors.
Chromatic tie-dyed t-shirts
with hand embroidered blue jeans
are become gray hoodies
with camouflage print pants.
Separate and indignant
in nylon tent cocoons,
they listen on their iPods
to personalized playlists.
They mill around in habitats
where apathetic drummers

thump two-tone bongo drums.
Where is their Seeger, their Dylan or their Lennon  to sing a noble song?
Where is their Warhol or Vonnegut  to illuminate ideas?
Drab rebels you are moths…not butterflies.
Bonnie Marshall        
Repost from March, 2012

iThing, My Ariel


You nestle in my ears
to sing me wondrous songs
and orchestrate full symphonies
of kaleidoscopic notes.

Responsive to my fingertips
you anticipate my need
for instantaneous union
with out of sight dimensions
of thought and imagery.

Then…once you take me there,
you so intoxicate my mind
with vast…prodigious wonder
that.. inebriate and tranced
I grow reluctant to return
to tame sobriety.


Bonnie Marshall