Bridalflies

Bride seen from behind wearing a butterfly-embroidered wedding dress in a garden
AI has done it again…

Bridalflies

I can see the romcom now…

Felicity, a scatty dreamer,
Known as Flick, a rose-cheeked beamer,
At a wedding in Californ-aye-ay.
And after vows before the priest,
A thousand butterflies released
Bring gasps of awe, as the band strikes up with My Way.

Flick is spellbound, Flick is smitten –
She’s never seen the like in Britain –
How can she bring butterflies back home ?
And think – how much she loves attending
Summer weddings never ending,
Circling-round the brides as flit-wings roam…!

But a Google on her return flight
Soon puts her zigzag thinking right –
The monarchs and mormons and morphos are def’nit’ly out !
She has to stick to native species,
Has to find our cutest beasties –
The ones to make the congregation shout !

Brimstones ?  Yellow beauties – great !
But Flick will learn they hibernate,
And that is why they’re rarely captive-bred.
And swallowtails may look so regal,
But to capture them’s illegal –
No chance she can raise some in her shed…

And I can picture well the scene
Where Flick is sure she’s found her queen –
The gleaming, bridal-dancing cabbage white.
She doesn’t understand the panics
From the guests who grow organics –
How can such a small thing cause such fright ?

Or how about she comes to learn
Hey best bet for the least concern
Are admirals and peacocks – at a price.
Her flower garden trades it’s petals
Into beds of singing nettles
Just to raise the caterpillars nice.

And oh, what hijinks they’ll create
When Flick hears of a heavyweight
The elephant of hawkmoths – what a stag !
But noisy wings attract a buzz,
And hairy bodies ruffle fuzz,
And spiral mouthparts set some tongues a-wag.

But hey-ho, here’s the happy ending –
Emo goths with nuptials pending
Love these bugs with a heavy-metal twist !
And so she spends each wedding do
In vintage black all Summer through,
Until the credits roll – you get the gist…

Persuading the usually crepuscular elephant hawkmoths to fly during the daytime is not impossible, but after the initial burst into the air, they probably won’t flit around for many minutes before wanting to settle down.  If Flick is written as smart, she’ll have numerous pots of honeysuckle / jasmine / red valerian / fuchsia dotted about the guests, perhaps supplemented with sponges soaked in sugar-water, to draw the moths back down, and become an attraction in their own right.  She could even stray scented sugar-water onto the palms of guests for an even closer approach.

But if she wants a proper day-flying hawkmoth, she could consider the hummingbird variety – but it comes with its own headaches.  Natural England considers it a non-native, but frequent visitor and suspected resident.  So, she might fall afoul of Section 14 of the Wildlife and Countryside Act (1981) for the wilful release of a non-native species (or, more specifically, “not ordinarily resident in and not a regular visitor to Great Britain in a wild state”).  The trouble she will face is that the Act does
not supply a designated list of native species and does not simply declared any species not listed as illegal…

And does the law consider a species that arrives every year, and increasingly so with climate change, to actually be non-native in the first place ?  If she made a point of collecting her breeding population from individuals in Britain herself, and then contacts Natural England for clarification, they might tell her that they don’t think she’ll need a special licence – but this isn’t the same as saying her action is definitely lawful when the law has never been tested in this specific grey area.  Good content for a romcom, but likely to be pricy if she ends up in Crown Court as a test case  Perhaps she should just stick to the elephants…

Meanwhile, whoever organised this wedding was deffo breaking the law…

Stomach-Flies

Photo by Andy Lee on Pexels.com

Stomach-Flies

Only a dozen-ish species, I promise,
To look for around the park.
Well, maybe a few more, that we won’t spot,
Nor moths in the after-dark.
Some are only seen in the gardens,
And some underneath the trees,
And some won’t stay still long enough,
So best not sweat over these.

I tried to pay attention to you,
To ev’rything you said –
But your butterflies just flew around my head.

See, it isn’t so hard to tell them apart,
Bar the Whites – those two are close !
But ev’ryone know the Brimstones in yellow,
And Peacock will chime with most.
And the Red Admiral is red and black,
And the Holly Blue, well, that’s blue,
And the Orange Tip has bright orange tips,
And the Gatekeeper, eyespots two.

How I tried to pay attention,
To your fluttery, zig-zag crew –
The trouble was, I only had eyes for you.

The Comma looks ragged around the edge,
While the Ringlet is full of rings.
But Painted Ladies and Tortoiseshells, mind,
Have the self-same orange-black wings.
The Speckled Wood is a blur of brown –
But hang on, that’s thirteen…
Let’s leave it there, and come back noon tomorrow,
If you’re keen ?

So I’ll try to pay attention,
Give your fascination due –
While the butterflies ignore us, as they do.

The Everlasting Subplot

I asked AI for an image to match the words – and I’d say it didn’t do bad

The Everlasting Subplot

Ev’ry movie, ev’ry story,
Action, horror, western, crime –
Whatever else our heroes do,
They have to pair-off two-by-two.
Yet even ancients found it hoary,
Turning plots to pantomine –
That for a tale to really sell,
They have to fall in love as well.

It seems no genre is immune,
Nor leading man is spared the job –
It’s not enough to save the world,
They also have to get the girl.
And heroines can call the tune,
But only with their hearts a-throb –
For no adventure’s over till
The audience have had their thrill.

A Venus Key

Steampunk Key by Turbosquid

A Venus Key

She has the key to my heart –
But just what does that mean ?
That my love is locked in a box, apart,
Unused, still mint, pristine ?
Or that my spring needs winding up,
Made taut and tense, and set to start ?
Or that my keyhole’s cup can sense
The subtle slide and gentle shove
From her cunning iron dart ?
From the only key that’s smart enough
To skeletise my love
With a twist of her art ?

‘Skeletise’ as in a skeleton key.

Spearleeks

Eleven Garlic Scapes by Sheri Farabaugh

Spearleeks

The only way to dine on garlic
Ev’ry day or two,
Is to only visit friends who dine on garlic
Just like you.
So lace that bolognese another clove,
And stir it in that fry,
And then be sure to bring your friends around your stove
To have a try.
And don’t be so afraid to say très bon
When sharing peppy dips –
And don’t be shy to relish it when tasted on
Another’s lips.

Dancing Gnats

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

Dancing Gnats

Time is short, perhaps a month or two,
Since they were just an egg –
But now the gnats must boogaloo,
To swarm a wing and shake a leg.
They gather round a random patch of air
Just as the eve’ning falls –
And jink and jive until they pair,
Attending countless black-fly balls.
If love is on the cards for them tonight,
It leaves them out of breath –
Exhausted from their swaggered flight,
Too soon they’ve danced themselves to death.

Confession of a Faithful Husband

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Confession of a Faithful Husband

I do love my wife, I don’t hide my ring –
But the thing is, she’s not here.
I get so lonely on endless business trips,
So short of cheer.
Then Rachel from the presentation
Pops into the bar,
And the smiles come all-so-easily
On the verge of gone-too-far.

But I, it seems, with my guilty conscience,
Cannot just kick back,
And seize the moment, live the day,
With Zoë in the sack.
I reckon I could have been that hound,
I could have learned to lie –
My wife would never even suss,
If I’d grow the balls to try.

Somewhere in his hotel room tonight,
There’s another me
Who’s shares his bed with maybe Jane from Sales,
And with liberty.
I hate him, and I hate how I envy,
While chatting with Charlotte in red,
And I try not to give-off some signal of all that
I wish we were doing instead.

I do love our wife, I remind myself,
As I think how he’s not alone.
We’d both spent a hour in the bar with Kaz,
As we muted our mobile phone,
With plenty of eye-to-eye, and gin,
And far too at-our-ease –
But where he fulfilled his promise to Kaz,
I proved to be just a tease.

Hampstead Heartaches

Photo by NADER AYMAN on Pexels.com

Hampstead Heartaches

Even the rich deserve to love,
They have it hard enough, we feel –
Having to live with all that guilt,
While all their wealth is jerry-built.
How can they hope to show their stuff,
Unless they give it up for real ?
To work a job and earn a crust
In hope they one day earn our trust.

Even the rich deserve to love,
To prove they’re more than privilege.
We shouldn’t judge the state they’re in,
Or hate them for their perfect skin.
I really hope they care enough
To share their fortune round a smidge –
To favour ev’ry love-struck son,
In hope we all can be the One.

To Have & To Hold-Off

Gerberas by Carlos Torrealba

To Have & To Hold-Off

When I was nine, they told me,
I would marry,
Some day, long away.
I wondered who she’d be,
Whom I would marry –
Would I get a say ?
I knew I’d have to wait,
And so I waited –
But was led astray.
I thought my future fate
Was overrated –
I would rather play.

When I was seventeen, I learned
That I could marry
There and then.
I was of age, the right was earned,
To marry
Sue or Imogen.
Not that I knew of Sue,
Or Jane, or Kate,
Or any girl like that –
I had exams to do,
They’d have to wait,
I hadn’t time to chat.

When I was twenty-two, I felt
No hurry,
I had long enough –
I played my hand as dealt,
With not a worry
’Bout that marriage stuff.
I never doubted I
Would still succumb
To walking down the aisle.
But not today, I’d sigh,
Though not so glum –
Best put it off a while.

When I was thirty-three, my oldest friend
Got married
Out the blue.
I wondered if this were my end ?,
And tarried
On the best man’s pew.
Should I be busy scouting out
A wife ?,
Had I now come to this ?
Was I now forced, despite my pout,
To share my life
With wedded bliss ?

When I was forty-four,
And still not married,
I was short of time…
I could delay no more,
For all I parried,
Burning through my prime.
I had to face the fact
It’s now or never –
I was flabbergasted !
Had to get my act
Quick up-together,
While the music lasted…

But now I’m fifty-five,
And still unmarried,
Yet am quite content –
I found that I can thrive
When left unharried
By the Big Event.
No more anticipating
To propose,
And life is no less good.
I am no longer waiting –
But who knows,
One day, I guess I could…

Amateur Amore

Cyborg Girl by Brian McRae

Amateur Amore

Adults, parents, they all say the same –
That my love is just puppies, is all.
This is my first crush, my first move in the game,
And to fall in love just means I’m gonna fall.
Sixteen, they say, that’s nothing,
This is just a beta test –
This girl, this guy, is yesterday tomorrow.
They say, don’t talk of loving
When I’m lonely and obsessed –
It’s only right I have to suffer sorrow.
Neophyte, dilettante, call me what you will,
But just don’t tell me I’m practicing a skill !

Adults, parents, they’re quick to exclaim
That my love is a see-saw, you know ?
They won’t meet my steady, won’t even learn their name,
When they soon need to forget old so-and-so.
Sixteen, they say, is nothing,
This is just experience –
A chance for some rite-of-passage fun.
Well, I may be new to loving,
But it’s still my present tense –
And I have to think that this one is the one.
Fledgling, tenderfoot, call me ingenue,
But I’ll break my heart myself, no thanks to you !