Butterfly Blues
I spotted it on the sill first; then
about a minute later, fluttering like crazy,
bashing itself on the filthy glass
doing its best to be anywhere outside.
I did my best to emanate my empathy,
to let it know that I, too, know how it feels
to be forced to remain where you are
when your lost and longed-for Nirvana
lies just beyond an almost invisible
but adamantly unbreakable barrier.
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dVerse Poets
Tuesday Poetics
~ 1st Person Animalia ~
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Scrambled, Not Fried 
There’s beauty in those frantic wings. Lovely poem.
So close, but yet so far.. great metaphor with the window sill!
Reminds me of a line in Roethke poem In a Dark Time—
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill.
Love this! ❤
Love this! Excellent wielding of metaphor here, Ron! 💝💝
We are all caged animals now. (K)
You made me chuckle, and also feel great sympathy for that butterfly — and you Ron. Enjoyed this my friend.
Great use of alliteration in the title, Ron. The butterfly must be a blue one, they are the most beautiful of the species, but how tragic to be stuck on a windowsill ‘bashing itself on the filthy glass / doing its best to be anywhere outside’ – just like us during lockdown, or even scribbling in our own worlds, away from the rest of humanity.
Gorgeous, Ron.
May I ask what you perceive your nirvana to be?
❤
David
How poignant and sensitive your writing here, Ron! It is an awful predicament and I too can identify with the butterfly at times.
Well played. Nice!
I love how you tied those fluttering wings on glass… that desperation. It made me think about “The bell jar” by Sylvia Plath as well.
i am feeling the beat of those wings i to need to get to the outside wprld. wonderful poem
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