The trap by Janet Butler

A tipsy god stumbles
and confusedly mumbles
after an evening in Paradise,
drunk on sweet wines
from perfect vines
that he drank, he admits, more than twice -
offered, it seems, by a certain Snake
who now shakes in quiet laughter
for Eve followed suit
and bit the bright fruit
while poor Adam wept
at the wily trap set
to drive them away
this day
forever.

Janet Butler, Pittsburgh, USA

towards summer by Janet Butler

minutes grow heavy
plump with promise
late spring blues packed in tight
weighted with white sands
burnished by winds
that drift from there
just there beyond that line
bursting now to color
then fading to night
momentary demarcation
where sight becomes vision
and longing drifts hungrily towards
the ever-desired elusive perfect summer


Janet Butler, Pittsburgh, USA

train ride by Janet Butler

A momentary sun shines
on a world lighter, brighter,
half-glances almost meet
to slip to nonchalance
as eyes shift
feigning interest in passing things
unseen
heart beats
in fluttery stops and starts
a tightness
where longing sits
the pit
where dread
flits
electric wires
of desire.

Janet Butler, Pittsburgh, USA