POEM: When Butterflies Aren’t Free

The butterfly has landed
A monarch of unspoiled nature
As we’d taken over
Urban land escapes
Of green carpet bombing
Convinced that lawn enforcement
Must be
On our side
Sow naturally lying
In trails
Of never ending growth
A cancer
Given the bird
To seed
And unkept dirt
In wild life
A refuge from sow called civilization
When butterflies aren’t free
As sum
How we are frayed
Too
Look out
The blinds
At nothing more
Then a sterile guardin’
Of mother nature
Missing awe
The flap about roil visitors
Immaculate preconceptions
And unworthy neighbors
Taking flight

This poem is inspired by my unkempt and unpoisoned backyard.  The memory is blazoned in my mind of reveling in the wildlife frolicking there being gleefully trumped by the serendipitous and regal appearance of a Monarch butterfly just feet from my face.  The earth is man's only friend. Bulgarian Proverb POLITICAL BUTTONThankfully, my neighborhood is much more free from widespread lawn poisoning than many Toledo neighborhoods.  I reel a bit whenever I see a lawn poisoning sign — yet another mourning representative of the sow called dawn of civilization.

I have a high tolerance for clutter and the apparent chaos of the wild we call nature.  I feel somewhat deprived and spiritually constipated amidst meticulously ordered lawns and landscaping, particularly when I know their maintenance requires poisons.  Such attention to pain staking order oft strikes me as an attempt to safely fence and order our external environment to address whatever felt chaos there may be in our life.  Also, I suspect that we too easily resort to the violence of poisons to enact our sense of order in the world, particularly when we are willing to surround our very homes with poison.  Awe of this was told me bye a little birdy and angelic butterfly.  May we find a way to live in peace with awe of our neighbors.

P.S. This poem employs the allusion to the play and movie, Butterflies Are Free, about blindness and seeing, and misguided attempts at mothering:

When butterflies aren’t free
As sum
How we are frayed
Too
Look out
The blinds
At nothing more
Then a sterile guardin’
Of mother nature

Leave a Reply