Zen
West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017
Indescribable
cries the butterfly
caught in my hand
flittering
powder puffing
my life line.
Et vous
how long will you last
in a jar
with holes slit
in the top
of a Masonry cup
typically
gallons of tea with
fresh mint
from the garden
for me.
No wonder
I am the one
with the energy
God bless caffeine.
Now as summer sulks
into our bones
I find myself
lacking a dime
to call
anyone
and therefore return
to Nature, our Paradise
pouring over the
Audobon
identifying these buggy species
collections
for my
horticulturalist
need.
Zen.
Bonjour butterfly
moth
wild-webbed spiders
galore
upon the walls and windows
of the outdoor cave
near
the Appalachian trail
where I was raised.
Thoreau, Emerson and Whitman
walk these shores
of inspiration
with me.
T.S. Eliot shaves his face in the mirror
of my buttercream laveau
as I detick my legs
from the poisoned ivy
travail.
I have returned Mark Twain
and I got your number
along the way.
Spectacles.
You spirits
are happy to dine
with me
as Hawthorne removes the
hitchhikers from my memories.
Bronte, O'Keefe and Virginia Woolf
wax poetic and scream
tears of joy at
my man.
Oh, Immanuel Kant we all get along?
Our UNIVERSE unites.
ENLIGHTENMENT my lovers
of TRUTH
and FICTION.
Enlightenment my fellow sinners.
Enlightenment you dirty devils-
Rats,
this Witchhazel burns.
Copyright Siddartha Beth Pierce
