The Captain And The Butterfly Book 1 Poem by Falfalla Ardroy

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
My cold and saddened soul
Cried out to the sea
For solace.

And the giving, taking sea
Brought forth to me
A man of the sea
Calm and turbulent
Gentle and strong.

He took my soul
In his two cupped hands
And warmed it with his breath
His kiss, his loving.

It may never be that way again,
And yet – it is enough.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
Do not say
“It is enough.”
It is not enough.
It can never be enough.
Last night, because God was willing
we walked upon the earth
with feet clad in finest silver.
Last night we rode the heavens
on angel wings of purest gold.
Last night we were burned by death’s
chastising fire and we returned
victorious.
Last night we were made anew
by God’s own hand in the divine clay
Of human loving.

Do not say “It is enough”
Do not bring me this and pretend
That it is poetry. If you write for me
I want only truth.
Do not bring me this and pretend
That it is you. If you are for me
I want only all of you.
Do not bring me your tight-lipped
Protestant parsimony.
It is not worthy.
Between us there can be only
perpetual worship at the altar
of the universe,
filled to overflowing with Catholic extravagance.

Your fear has closed your eyes.
Come to me tonight with eyes wide open.
Come to me with the poetry of recognition
of the limitless dark and light
That resides in the sacred places between
your elegant feet and your intelligent brow.
Come to me with a hymn of praise
for the gift from the Potter’s hand
And together we will walk in
the holiness that is our I and Thou.
Anything less is blasphemy.

Do not say
“It is enough”
It is not enough,
It can never be enough.
My love, this is not the beginning,
It is not the end.
There can never be an end.
Do you not know that
Yesterday we met
But together we were born,
On this day or that
It does not matter?
Together we were born.
And if life or death calls one of us away
On this day or that
It does not matter.
Together we shall be
For we are made of the same clay.
And only that is enough.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
I saw you
and a slow smoulder began.
Was it the crowning cascade of copper silk that
framed your face and spilled onto your
shoulders above your embracing gown?
Was it the roundness of your breasts
or the curve of your waist or the fragility
of your so slim hips bearing toward me
the promise of Venus?
I am a man. I would like to think so.

As you came closer
you turned your face to my first officer
and I could see the strength and pride
in your chin and nose.
Your mouth shaped a polite smile and
then again your feet moved you to me.
When you were almost upon me I
saw your eyes, deep, but aloof, some
private amusement lighting them.
And then I saw your mouth with the
shadow of some great pain upon your lips.

The reception line has brought you to me.
Our hands reach out
and I am burned by the current in our touch.
The aloofness in your eyes replaced by shock.
We exchange the pleasantries. I say, as I always say
“Welcome to my ship”.
But I know - I know that you are not an ordinary woman.
And I – I am no longer an ordinary man.

I find you on the highest deck.
Where else but close to heaven?
And now I hear your voice like gentle rain,
and fire, and ash, and blood.
In my body all the oceans run and the sky rings out.
I do not touch you, I dare not.
Even here, alone, is too public for such a conflagration.
You talk of the velvety ocean and from this deck
on my great white ship I see it for the first time.

As in a dream we walk together to the safety
of my cabin. I am a man. I know what I want.
My mind is full of the perfume of your hair,
the promise of your soft tanned body.
I ache for your breast upon mine and
my manhood groans within me,
But I touch my lips to yours and everything is holy.
The world is filled with angel song and
I hear your voice calling me from my wilderness
of empty, passionless, carnal futility.

I discover again that here is no ordinariness.
Here is the first woman who knows
of Highland Park - who refuses ice and water,
and tells me what I know – that whisky must be warmed!
We talk of Schweitzer, and Neruda, and Allendé.
We talk of poverty and justice, of Keats and England.
Of blood, and ice, and fire.

Through the night we talk and I know that
I am yours and you are mine,
now, and even unto death.
As the dawn comes creeping across the Pacific Ocean
again I touch your lips with mine
and your eyes tell me what I want to know.
I carry you to my captain’s bed and your light
transforms this formal, ordered, stewarded space
Into a bright and fragrant bower of joy.

From your white gown your body emerges
like Venus from the sea.
Your sweet hand flutters from its resting place
on my heart to cover the evidence of your woundedness.
There is no need. It is the most beautiful guardian
of your innocence and ripeness.
I brush it with my lips. You cry out.
My violent tenderness finds you
Carissima signora di fuoco
And together we go into the little death.


(The Butterfly to the Captain) .
All the night, all the night on the great black ocean,
your voice, your voice embraced me
and the intoxicating perfume of your breathing
stilled my fear and banished my pain.
Your hands remained calm, gently warming
the glass of precious Orkney gold.
But all the night you held me in their cup.

All the night, all the night on the great black ocean,
your words, your words reached for me
and they carried me on wild and wonderful journeys
visiting your great and your beloved friends
from the Pacific to Chilé and Lambaréné.
You gave them to my wondering heart.
And all the night you held my mind in yours.

All the night, all the night on the great black ocean,
your eyes, your eyes searched for me
and they found me in the deep of the water,
and they found me in the height of the wind.
They found me in our words and in our silence,
And in my cold and saddened places.
And all the night they warmed me in their fire.

At the dawn, at the dawn on the great blue ocean,
Your arms, your arms lifted me,
you carried me, to your strong and quiet bed,
and with my name spoken like poetry
and with your eyes, your voice, and with your all
you opened me with your humanity,
And found me no longer icy girl but woman born of fire.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
(with a debt to Pablo Neruda)
When you walk upon the decks,
They see you but they do not see you.
They see your long straight copper hair
But they do not see your glittering crown
They see your feet, your strong, elegant feet
But they do not see the red flowers
That I have strewn upon your path.
The real and invisible carpet.

When you speak to the people
They hear you but they do not hear you.
They hear the gentle girl,
But they do not hear the blood and fire.
They hear the grace, the well-bred reticence
But they do not hear the wild tumult
That I have heard awakened
The real and unpredictable tempest.

When I hold you in my vision,
When I hear you in my soul,
All the oceans run in my blood
All the bells of heaven shake my body,
And a great hymn fills the sky.
Only you and I, only you and I carissima,
Can know that we have heard and spoken
The real and inconceivable truth.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
When you walk the decks of your great white ship,
Your strong straight back in crisp dress whites,
Master of your noble Mediterranean body,
And commander of the throbbing Leviathan
Beneath our vacationing feet.
I see them watching you

I see the women.
The blue rinsed dowager from Toorak,
The sunburned Blue Hills matron,
The nubile girls from their Sydney offices,
entranced by your urbane charisma and
intoxicated by your primal magnetism.

I see the men
The graziers, the boys, the boring bankers,
Some resentful, some angry, some deferential,
All aware that their women are in danger.
of the spell of your courtly demeanour,
and the power of their own imaginings.

I see your crew
Your officers, and your engineers,
your stewards and your deckhands
compliant with your commands,
bound together in structured obedience
And freely given, unbiddable respect

They see me.
Sitting in the shade, oblivious to games.
Scribbling, or pencil held to lips.
`They do not know that in an hour,
Your mouth will replace the pencil
And we will sing again of fire and death.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
You came to my cabin in greatest dread,
For you were told that the Captain had died.
Carissima, on every voyage there are
Daily rumours that the Captain is dead.
This is why I must be seen in the morning,
Why I must always be at dinner, why I must
walk the decks at noon and be at the pools
And in the bars and everywhere else as well.

This time, of course, there is a grain of truth
For every night we share the little death
And every day I walk as if I have gone to heaven.

They see me walking and talking and they think
“All is well, the Captain is in control.”
They do not know that another commands this Master.
They do not know that on board there is a butterfly
Who has stretched her gossamer wings and enfolded
his aging heart into the radiance of her youth.
They do not know that she spins her silken thread
and binds him into the lunacy of loving madness.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
Here is wondrous perplexity!
A few short days ago
I did not know of your existence.
My life was arctic but safely under control.
I had a plan and was clear in my direction.
A few short days ago
our lives did not touch even at the edges.
your world of pleasure and command
to me were a foreign language,
far away from the path I had chosen
Of scholarship, service and self denial.

A few short days ago
The world shifted on its axis
And unbeknown, unsought, unbidden
You softly stormed my sanctuary
And everything was lost
And everything was gained.
Here is mystery
That you in your sophistication
And I in my solemnity
Should together find such harmony.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
Tonight sweet heaven closed its doors on me.
Sitting at table with the man I love
Glowing in the light of your charisma
And the glory refracting from your admiring entourage
I was caught up in the fun and laughter.
And in that lighthearted infectious foolishness
I told a silly story of some impudent local boys
Whose gauche attempts at seduction
Made me laugh – nothing more -
until your brooding wrath sliced through me
Excoriating my body and lacerating my soul.

“You sleep with me – it only take five minutes”
could never compare to the ineffable holiness
of being broken and dipped and mended
and dying in the cup of your sacred loving.
My love, my captain, my king, it is your power
That has released me from the cocoon of
sorrow and suffering and introversion
Your loving has given me euphoric wings
If sometimes the thrill of flying carries me
too close to the alluring flame
Forgive your foolish butterfly.
Your anger tears at my wings
and I fall into the drowning.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
Last night your presence did not light my cabin.
At dinner, my jealousy cut you, and I bled.
With your usual grace you excused yourself
and took the sunshine from the room.
I walked the decks, I visited the library,
I even searched the bars and lounges
Although I knew I would not find you there.
You have retreated to your girls’ cabin
And you know that it is out of bounds for me.
I can only send this letter.

Yesterday morning I saw you leave the ship
In a soft white sheath of silk, your hair
tucked up in that ridiculous hat.
I heard your voice and I heard your laughter
And I ached to walk the Vila Road with you.
Last night your silly story made everybody laugh.
But for me there was no laughter.
The Vila rain had made your voice sound richer
The Vila sun had made your light burn brighter
and I could see men falling into your flame.

You call me prince and talk of my urbanity
but I am an Italian man and my blood runs hot
and murderous when I think that other men
see you as I see you even when I know they must.
You are my princess butterfly, no, my Queen,
Not made for common looks and suggestive talk.
It is my duty to protect the innocence of your soul
and only I may be engulfed in the purity of your fire.
Carissima, forgive my green-eyed rage
Carissima, come back to me.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
You came to me and said
that tonight there could be no loving
because your woman moon was waning.
Foolish girl! My silly English butterfly!
How could you not know
That this flow that you wish to hide
Is the flow of life?

You speak as if you hate it.
How can you hate your body?
It is the temple of your life
It is the temple of our love.
It is the temple of my being.
And tonight was the night of confirmation

Tonight our loving was the sacred mass.
I held your holy chalice to my mouth
And tasted
your warm, sweet, bitter, woman blood.
I brought it on my lips
that you could taste it too.
And now and forever you are in my veins.
Your blood, your life, is in my blood
And you will be with me
wherever I walk upon the earth.
I will no longer be desolate
The spectre of loneliness will never again
walk with me.
Even when one of us is no more
We shall be together in our sacred blood of life.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)

For all my life to have been born female
has been a source of shame and guilt.
The curse of Eve
Has stalked me, and caught me,
And threshed me
and cast me in to deepest dungeons
where I have been glad to hide.

Tonight as easily as if you were
guiding your great ship into port
you took command of my self-loathing
and transubstantiated my reviled blood
into the wine of heaven.
I am ransomed, I am healed and I am restored.
The searing authority of your reverence
has purified the once tainted chalice of my life
And I am transfigured.
Father of an angel, are you an angel too?

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
Today we found our island.
In separate boats we came.
Secretly like thieves
we stole away from
gaudy Australians drinking from coconuts
and brooding Italians dreaming of olives
and another sun.

Today, my love, we found our island
Here is no country, no land that is not every land.
We carry within us the world,
Your blood in my veins, my seed in your womb.

We laughed and cried and danced
And knew what life could be
Away from jealous eyes and suffocating duty.
We walked hand in hand along the sand
And rested under breadfruit trees
With nothing between us but warm tropical air.

And then we swam and I saw you
With different eyes.
Your body, until now made only
Soft and tender for my loving
Transformed itself into a
Machine of invincible muscle.
Your shoulders which had seemed so fragile
Your legs which until now had only
opened to me sweet heaven
sliced you through the water leaving me behind.
You swam and swam until I was possessed by fear
That you would disappear beyond the horizon.
And all the light
in all the world would be extinguished.

Just as my anguish cried out you turned
and your athlete’s body brought you back to me.
Your eyes are shining bright and clear.
You take my hands and kiss the salt from my fingers.
I pull you to me but you escape and dive.
Your lips are on my toes and on my knees
And I am drowning in desire.
The warm water is cold against my fire.

My arms find you and lift you
and carry you to the water’s edge.
I expect to enter your yielding softness
But you fall on me; my strong man’s body
Can not match the athlete.
Your lips burn my face
Your teeth graze my lips, and bruise my breast.
Your eyes burn my soul and I am powerless.
My command is gone.
My Italian heart is shocked.
I die in aching surrender
And I am glad,
for you have found my wholeness.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
Tonight I am transfigured yet again.
Today we visited what is now our island.
To go to separate places
To wait for separate boats
Was an adventure.
When I arrived and you were waiting
Your whites vanished and replaced by
The island sarong about your waist
I knew that this was home.
To be taken in to such illustrious company
As if I had belonged forever
Was yet another gift in these days of ceaseless grace.

The talk, the laughter, the dancing, oh the dancing
the sun on our bodies no longer concealed-
even the ridiculous hat has been discarded –
freed me in a way that no polemic ever could.
We walked on the beach and I felt some inner power
Spreading through my limbs.
And when we swam my fragility dissolved.
I did not worry that I left you far behind.
I wanted you to see my potency
I wanted you to see the might in my arms
And the strength of my legs.

I heard your call as I swam toward liberty.
Were you afraid that I would not return?
You need not have feared.
I was swimming away in order to join you.
I turned and saw you standing arms outstretched
In painful supplication.

As I swam back to you I felt myself transformed.
The power of the swim emboldened me.
I came to you not English butterfly,
Nor even woman of your fire.
Today at the water’s edge I had my own fire
It burned you and bruised you and stunned you
And I saw you die in the joy of submission that
Usually only women feel.
My dying came with the scorching power
I thought belonged to you.
Now we are of the same clay.
And only that is enough.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
On my right sits the grazier’s wife.
Even here in her evening gown
in the middle of the blue Pacific
there is a slight aroma of dust and horses.

On my left the lady from Toorak
her fingers heavy with diamonds,
talks incessantly about corgis
And how the Queen of England keeps them too.

Opposite, my love, are you again
That lovely Zampatti gown off your shoulders
A single diamond at your throat
And French champagne raised to your enigmatic mouth.

How I wish I could escape these women
And become those lucky bubbles
Slipping past your lips, caressing your tongue
And wrinkling your captivating patrician nose.

The sheep farmer from Burra Burra
talks to you of salt bush and blue bush.
How do you know my English butterfly
of the complications of feeding merino sheep?

What is this? His hand is on your arm.
I feel my anger rising but I must be circumspect.
Your foot moves reassuringly against mine
You gentle your divine Drambuie eyes at me and smile.

He switches his talk to political matters
Complaining about the government
Poor man he has made a terrible mistake
By directing his personal sneers at your good friend Don.

My lovely, loyal and courageous one.
“Don is twice the man you will ever be”
you tell him and you turn your icy shoulder
I smile and am proud that it is my flag you now carry.

People should not underestimate you my love,
Those who see only French champagne
can be frozen by your vermouth on ice
Especially when you treat them to your twist of lemon.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
Your green-eyed rage is unnecessary
It is you who has breathed hope into my anguished soul,
And made it sing with flowing melody.
It is you who has captured my cloistered heart
And ribboned it to yours with the finest red silk.
It is you who has ransomed my body
Out of its terrified, frozen captivity
and transubstantiated it into your bread and wine.
You are the Master of the vessel of my being,
If you are not at the helm I will founder.
Do not let the green-eyed rage
Cause you to take your hand from the wheel.
And yet, do not banish it from your heart
It is my sound line, quadrant, compass and anchor.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
Never trust a sailor your mother told you
And she was right.
A seaman’s life makes fickle men more fickle.
It is a lonely life and dangerous.
It makes men take their pleasure
and comfort where they find it.
Your mother knew about sailors
But she did not know about you.

She did not know that her daughter
is a woman who could take this sailor
Who has had a thousand women
And call him from the empty deadness
of the futile agony of bodies
to the ecstasy of heavenly union.

Whether you melt for me or ravish me
Every time you come to me
You come as the virginal earth,
The turbulent ocean, the wide bright sky
And the sacred azure blue of heaven.
Our loving is wheat and fire and water.
Filled with God’s wholesome justice.

Carissima, I am an Italian man.
If life should take you from me
there will be other women.
But with me they will never know
The sacred Mass of life,
With me they will never know our island
With me they will never know
The consecrated union of souls
for mine belongs to you, only you,
even unto death.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
Your eyes, search me, and find me, and know me.
Your voice, cradles me, and soothes me, and rocks me.
Your hands caress me, and accept me, and claim me,
Your strength confronts me, and stretches me, and holds me.
Your heart quickens me, and stirs me, and shakes me.
Your mind delights me, and binds me, and frees me.
Your body pierces me, and ruptures me, and mends me.
Your love unfolds me, and blesses me, and enfolds me.
Thou mastering me, your being brings me into being.

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
We are sailing the Pacific Ocean
But when I look at you I know that
I have on board my great white ship
The essence of the whole wide world.

You are so surely the South Pacific,
You have in your luminosity
The white sands and turquoise waters.
And when you walk I see the suppleness
of swaying palms.
When you swim I know that you are right
And your totem is the dolphin.

But when we dance we leave the South Pacific.
We waltz and you take me to Vienna
Or to the gentility of the Court of St. James.
You come close and we are barely moving
But I know we are in Aznavour’s Paris.
And now that I have taught you to tango
you bring the heat of Argentina
and my ship is ablaze with Spanish fire.

We talk and my cabin becomes the classroom.
You bring me philosophy and theology
From America and England.
You speak of the Celtic insights of
your father and your forefathers,
You share your mother’s Hebraic wisdom.
And you take me to the outback and the caves
and waves of your beloved Australia.

When you come to me in your nakedness
we sail upon different oceans,
and we fly to different lands.
In your purity I find the temples of Tibet,
And my cabin is filled with sacred lotus flowers.
The playful butterfly takes me to the Caribbean
And I feel the sparkle of steel drums and taste
the rhythm of calypso upon my sheets.
And then there is Africa. Africa, oh Africa!
When you are Africa, I see the heart of darkness,
And feel the miracle of fear dispelled by passion.

I have traveled the world on dirty old cargo ships
And magnificent liners of sophisticated elegance,
But in your words and in your touch
And in your silence and in your secret smiles
You carry me in our ship of loving on all the oceans
And to all the lands of this beautiful earth,
But I beg of you, my love,
Never take me south to Antarctica.

(The Butterfly to the Captain)
I lie quietly in your bed
And watch your sleeping eyes.
Next to seeing their wide open fire
I love to see them gently closed in sleep.
Your noble head resting quietly on the pillow
Haloed by the strong tender light of your soul.

Your light is not a simple glow,
There is the blue of your powerful mind,
The purple of your sanctity and
The white of your integrity.
And then there is the ruby light which
Tells of the heights and depths of passion.
They are all encased in the silver and gold
Of your holy covenant with heaven.

I lie with you sleeping beside me
And watch your magical mouth.
Your lips which can rap out curt commands
And roll out loving soubriquets,
And disarm antagonistic men
and beguile the coldest woman with their smile
are now a quiet portal for your holy breathing.
In an hour we will kiss each other awake
And give our thanks for another day
In the glorious song of life.

How could I not love you?
I am captivated by your charisma,
Apprehended by your magnetism
Liberated by your justice,
Raised up in your righteousness,
Cloven and restored and brought to the altar
by your passion.
How could I not love you?
Who, seeing what I see could not love you?

(The Captain to the Butterfly)
Your friend Don is right,
You do justice to white
In white your innocent purity is brought to light.
When I see you walking among the people
your strong, fragile body
sheathed in that white silk dress
of the Vila Road,
your copper hair falling, falling.
the sun caressing your golden skin
the ridiculous hat shading your honey eyes
I know that there are angels.

Your friend Don is right.
You do justice to cream.
In cream your sophistication is underlined.
When you walk into dinner
as if you are Venus on the catwalk
embraced by the Zampatti cream
your copper hair held high by the diamond clip
the softened light brushing gold dust
on your shoulders and arms and face,
I know that here is no girl
but my woman of the fiery night.

But he is not altogether right,
Your good friend Don.
For in the turquoise caftan,
You paid too much for in Suva,
Your deep honey eyes turn to iridescent gold
Your puzzling mouth twinkles at the corners
The copper crown flickers and floats
And you become the playful butterfly.
Then there is the Zampatti handkerchief
Layers of pink from pale to hot.
When I see you in that
I remember I am twice your age.
And my heart weeps for us.

When you come to me in life,
when you come to my grave,
wear white, wear cream,
wear turquoise blue or shocking pink.
Come in your nakedness,
but never, my Lady of the Light,
never come to me in Italian black
or my heart will weep again.