i do - inner child do draft color gratis.pdf · ennui 29 for mozart 31 set aflame 32 a cry for...

I Do

The Coffee Table Edition

Siddartha Beth Pierce

inner child press, ltd.

iii

General Information

I Do The Coffee Table Edition


1st Edition : 2013

This Publishing is protected under Copyright Law as a “Collection”. All

rights for all submissions are retained by the Individual Author and or

Artist. No part of this Publishing may be Reproduced, Transferred in any

manner without the prior WRITTEN CONSENT of the “Material Owner” or

its Representative Inner Child Press. Any such violation infringes upon the

Creative and Intellectual Property of the Owner pursuant to International and

Federal Copyright Law. Any queries pertaining to this “Collection” should

be addressed to Publisher of Record.

Publisher Information

1st Edition : Inner Child Press :

[email protected]

www.innerchildpress.com

This Collection is protected under U.S. and International Copyright Laws

Copyright © 2013 : Siddartha Beth Pierce

LOC : 1-1017625451

ISBN-13 : 978-0615918488

ISBN-10 : 0615918484

$ 24..95

iv

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.

Robert Frost

v

Dedication It is with sincerest Love I dedicate this book to my family. Without whose

support I may have not been able to pen these words nor make these works

of artistic expression. A special thank you to Joanna Lee, Boris Glikman,,

Eva Poetex and Charles Clifford Brooks III for taking the time to read and

discuss this book. I am, also, exceptionally grateful to inner child press for

this opportunity and Mr. William S. Peters, Sr. for all of his assistance

during the making of this book. With the highest regard, I also dedicate this

book to all the readers of poetry and patrons of the arts.

vi

Preface ‘I Do’ is a compilation of poems and artworks created over the last ten

years. It is a compilation of works that explore humanity, writing, science

and what it means to ‘do’. It is my hope, as author and artist, that anyone

who reads this book may find something of themselves and/or something to

relate to whether visually or in print that is satisfying and fulfilling.

There is an exploration within this text of relationships, how we should treat

one another kindly always, sharing and caring. The sensual undertakings we

experience are also revered within these paintings, drawings and poems. My

artistic endeavors both visually and literary are shared here and it is my hope

that you may find something worthwhile in these explorations to warm your

heart, soul and mind.

‘Philosophy begins in wonder and wonder is the duty of the Philosopher.’

~ Aristotle

Blessings and creative perusing to all that take the time to discover some of

themselves within this work of poetry and visual arts.

~ Siddartha Beth Pierce

vii

Foreword

Siddartha Beth Pierce opens all your poetic senses in her book, I Do. Her

imagery is so sharp it could cut through stone. Not only does her poetry

strike all the heart’s strings, she also includes original art that’s equally as

breathtaking. The poetry and visual art marries in this comfortable middle

space where the common place and extraordinary meet to dance and

compare notes. You will feel like you’re being walked into a labyrinth of

secrets you didn’t know had answers. Yet, Pierce doesn’t give up the ghost

easily. Even though her themes are accessible by the casual reader, to those

who like to dig a little (or a great deal) deeper will find jewels of whimsy

and wisdom worth the second, third, or fourth readings. I Do is a volume

you don’t pick up and read from cover-to-cover like some pulp fiction. You

digest it slowly and let the colors, smells, sounds, and divine spark flow

from the pages then sink firmly into your consciousness.

Pierce speaks to you in a comforting, familiar tone as if you’ve been her

friend for years. She’s never garish or thumbing anyone in the eye to prove

a point. This is a poet who introduces you to the most private parts of

herself, reminds you why you adore Mozart, and how spiritual the mundane

can be when placed under the right light. These poems illuminate an

ethereal part of human nature that always wants to love better, know more,

and care with greater intensity about how words are used. Pierce’s

deliberate use of language appears effortless, but the design is far from it. I

Do is a book of poetry that deserves a place on the bookshelf, but more

importantly, it’s better on the nightstand when a bit of beauty and grace are

needed to brush off a bad day.

Clifford Brooks

author of The Draw of Broken Eyes & Whirling Metaphysics

viii

Clifford Brooks is a poet, freelance writer, and teacher living in

Georgia. His first book of poetry, The Draw of Broken Eyes &

Whirling Metaphysics, was released in August 2012 by John

Gosslee Press. Since then, the book has been nominated for the

Pulitzer, Georgia Author of the Year, and three Pushcart awards.

Currently, Clifford is haunting every corner of the American

South to bring his next book of verse, Athena Departs, into full

bloom.

http://www.cliffbrooks.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13580225-the-draw-of-broken-eyes-

and-whirling-metaphysics

http://www.amazon.com/Draw-Broken-Eyes-Whirling-

Metaphysics/dp/0983365539

http://fjordsreview.com/featured/clifford_brooks.html

https://www.facebook.com/charles.c.brooks.777

Photographer Credit : Aisha Cleapor

http://www.cliffbrooks.com/https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13580225-the-draw-of-broken-eyes-and-whirling-metaphysicshttps://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13580225-the-draw-of-broken-eyes-and-whirling-metaphysicshttp://www.amazon.com/Draw-Broken-Eyes-Whirling-Metaphysics/dp/0983365539http://www.amazon.com/Draw-Broken-Eyes-Whirling-Metaphysics/dp/0983365539http://fjordsreview.com/featured/clifford_brooks.htmlhttps://www.facebook.com/charles.c.brooks.777

ix

Table of Contents

Dedication v

Preface vii

Foreword viii

Poetry

The Healing 1

Evening Baptism 2

Broken Vessels 5

My Hands 7

Hands 8

The Art of Creating Art 11

Believe 12

Deja-Vu 14

Boudoir on Display 17

Surgery 21

Claims My Breath 25

If All Were to Write for a Day 27

Insignificance 28

x

Table of Contents . . . continued

Ennui 29

For Mozart 31

Set Aflame 32

A Cry for Purity 33

Maintaining Balance 35

The Meaning 37

Throughout Time 38

Consumed 41

Mirrored Glass 42

Diamonds 43

The Test of Time 44

Sculpted 47

Free Love Epitaph 48

Write This Down, My Dear 49

Great Men and Their Words 51

Take Heed from Fountain Pen 53

Vincent and Theo 55

To Be or Not to Be 59

The Kindness Collection 62

An Archaic Smell 63

xi

Table of Contents . . . continued

Demain 65

Undecided 66

The Fireplace Tune 60

Afloat 71

Yesterday’s Tomorrow 73

Music of the Spheres 77

I Do 79

Epilogue 87

about the Author 89

Siddartha’s Art 91

a few words from Siddartha 93

The Art 94 - 113

what People are Saying 114

other Notes of Interest 116

Siddartha’s Links 117

xii

The future belongs to those who believe

in the beauty of their dreams.

Eleanor Roosevelt

xiii


xiv

I Do

The Coffee Table Edition


inner child press, ltd.

xv

Self Portrait Etching


1

The Healing

Her body shook

with the vigor

of a tree

caught in a storm's gaze.

Their EYES met

once again

a CHARMING.

The ECSTASY

was to never be denied.

It was an Inferno

As Dante had predicted

Many years

before-

they were conceived.

A blue moon-

Love affair

Wherein lies the tattle-the TALE-

the rattlesnake

bite-

Their desire.

He possessed her now-

the antidote

was simple

a few words

BOUND them

forever-

I do, again.

I Do

2

Evening Baptism

Iridescence, turquoise, lavender, celadon

sparkle in pools, eddies of incestuous

babble.

Multiplying, piling high

as the tepid water makes minute waves

giving rise –

to their depth.

As a creek muddles through a landscape,

they pop, sway and

fade away.

Her loins

come to rest

within its warmth.

The grime of her daily grind

drifts –

slowly, softly

beneath her.


3

The most wasted of all days

is one without laughter.

e.e. cummings

I Do

4

Blue Vessel Photograph


5

Broken Vessels

I can see peace

stars

and the shards of the past

broken vessels of what

I once was.

Yet now I have

the strength

to pick up those pieces

glue them

wrench them

back together

with a caulking gun.

And use the vessels

anew.

I Do

6

Siddartha Working Photograph


7

My Hands

My hands

are delighted

with the scent

of vanilla

My hands

are excited when

you take them

within your own

My hands

are blighted

by that cursed

gold once

unfaithfully

placed upon

my finger

My hands

veins stand tall

working through

it all

My hands

pasteled, painted

poeified and placed

just here

upon your plate.

I Do

8

Hands

I have sought

a lifetime

for hands like yours

the ones that take mine

in yours

kiss them,

lick them

love them

as if they were your own.

You touch me like no other

in a myriad of ways

that are loving,

wild and unforgiving.

I want to hear your heart

beat every night

your member swell beneath

my hot breath and tongue.

You have eclipsed me

like the luminescent moon

that shone upon us

as we walked arm and arm.

My dear, you mean more

to me than

you could imagine-

separated from you

I long for your kind graces

your smiling face

and the sweet smell

of our coffee in the morn.


9

A quiet conscience makes one strong.

Anne Frank

I Do

10

Tomato Rose Mixed Media Painting


11

The Art of Creating Art

Paint lurks

between my teeth

as I spew it

upon the canvas

something bare,

raw, unbeknownst

to me

what it will be

until it coagulates

with flowers,

grasses imbedded

within the scene

that transforms

the dead man's

stare of

raw, white, blank

canvas to vibrant

hues, textures

that highlight

a mood perhaps

a thought,

an emotion

set in motion

upon these pages

I relate to you

the transformation

of love, hate,

power, weak

in meek feats

to make the unknown

within me

a true reality.

I Do

12

Believe

What does your

spirit say to me

I ponder

as we banter about

yet I wonder

what it is beneath

that stare

that wanders there-

begging to be freed

silenced all your life

something that not

even you believe in

wholly-

yet I can see it

animate you

dance within your eyes

when you speak

hear it in the soft

whispers that you keep

while you sleep.


13

What does your

spirit say to me?

It says believe

in yourself,

in me,

in humanity

as we walk a

new path

sometimes arm in arm

sometimes far apart

yet always

your spirit

says 'Believe'

in your children

and mine

their smiles we find

divine-

Believe.

I Do

14

Deja-Vu

In the beginning

was the end as in

the end was the

beginning-

the cycle continues on

as we recall, relive

the days of yore

once more-

washed upon

our shores from ancient

continents-

to be reborn, set free

created yet already

complete within the

constructs of contemporary

history.

Repetition, once again

begins anew with few

changes from that which

has passed before us

eons before while

most do not realize

they are reliving

moments gone by,

often a sense

of ennui

ensues in this mad-minded

composition of

deja-vu.


15

I dream my painting and I paint my dream.

Vincent van Gogh

I Do

16

Stained Glass Antique Candy and Cough Drop Molds Assemblage


17

Boudoir on Display

Civil war bullets

scraps, bits

mangled from

entering bodies

manifested

into spheres,

sculpted

from their

corpses

unto my hands

placed on glass

table for

perusal

in Art shows

around town.

Perfume of

many smells,

lotions, essential

oils

candles

incense

used to scent

sculptures-

quilts,

cigarette butts

fill the ashtray

as great-grandfather's

violin

rests gently

in the corner.

I Do

18

Wax molds

of candy, cough

drops

hot-glued to

wine bottles,

myriad shapes

adorn chests

of drawers

also visiting

galleries

from time

to time.

Paintings,

abstract,

vibrant

with clover,

iris, rose

petals

imbedded

in thick

paint

adorn

the walls

of my boudoir

and studios

as I place

my room

on display

for all to see,

me.


19

Art is not what you see,

but what you make others see.

Edgar Degas

I Do

20

Buried Alive Mixed Media Assemblage


21

Surgery

At the age

of fourteen

the first

thing they

took from

me

was my

appendix.

Although, afraid

I walked

within

a day

and was

promptly

released

from the hospital.

At twenty one,

my cervix

was next

to go

as cancer

had set in.

Years later,

it seems it

has not

returned

and the laser

they used

seemed to do

the trick.

I Do

22

At twenty two,

two foot surgeries

were undertaken

as it seemed

my high-heeled

commercialist days

had created

synovial cysts

at the base

of my big toes.

The doctor

called me

a 'Bitch'

when I complained

of the pain-

yet they have

not returned.

At twenty four,

my wisdom teeth

were next.

Contrary to popular

belief,

I have a very small

mouth,

not even

enough room

for the permanent teeth

I grew as a child-

four of those

had to be pulled.


23

They needed to

saw out part of

my jaw when

the wisdom teeth

came out as the

teeth were

growing in

sideways.

When I awoke,

from my induced

slumber-

the dentist was

kind, handsome

seemed interested

in me

even-

what a surprise

as he had just

spent the last

few hours

hacking at my

face.

At twenty six,

the C-Section

ensued.

I Do

24

My son

broke my water

six weeks earlier

than expected-

yet once born

he was still

considered

full term-

19 inches long,

5 and a half pounds-

well worth having

my guts spread

out upon the table

beside me.

Surgery-

a blessed thing

for without it

I may have never

even survived

my teenage

years.


25

Claims My Breath

That exquisite divot

that once was before me

that spot where collarbone,

crisp white shirt meet

That exquisite divot

I crave

I dream about

I rave about

in my mind

And the man

that has that sweet spot

that exquisite divot

which claims my breath.

I Do

26

Feather Acrylic Painting


27

If All Were to Write for a Day

If all the world were to write for a day

there would be an end to war

all these needless fights

that plague us so

day and night.

No one would be shot or killed

instead each one of use would take up the quill

releasing years of frustrations

on our pages in ecstatic reminisces

or sweet memories

of childhood's past longings

adult yearnings

hopes and dreams for the future

would become a true reality

as each one would learn

once again those simple words,

'The pen is mightier than the sword.'

So much can be spoken

in a few well thought out lines

and in time perhaps this imagining

may become a tradition

that travels forth through family lines

where rather than guns

we take up our pens

release our tensions

and think before speaking.

'Mommy, missiles are made of flowers, feathers and butterflies.'

~ My Son, Age Five

I Do

28

Insignificance

Nada

zip

that's on this trip

no part

no trace

no element

to interest you

or face

insignificant

unimportant

that which does not exist at all

no value

no worth

no one to call

to do or say

triviality

a naught

useless too

I say to you

is nothing.


29

Ennui

I am alive

and you are the living dead

I have been where you are

I understand

I attempt to wake you from your miserable nightmare

And yet you only sleep.

Wake up my love

Here we are

The scents prevail

The colors swarm

Enwrap us

And yet you do not see.

There is life here

There is love here

A perfection,

And you pass every moment

Ennui.

Live my love

for if you don't

neither will we.

I Do

30

Quills Collage


31

For Mozart

Inky equations

set to note

with each perfect

quill stroke-

the Requiem mass

you built for yourself

as you fell ill

into a limey pauper's grave

never again to be saved-

yet live on in eternal

Love

by those that hear

the Magic Flute,

Don Giovanni

and all those miraculous

compositions

penned without mistake

or remission

but straight from your head

'the noodle'

could not be mislead

instead

we have your graceful music

playing still

as was your will

when you placed heaven

upon the page

with quill.

I Do

32

Set Aflame

Staring at that blank page

that is your face

bolting doors upon me

when I do not follow your embrace

as closely as you would like.


pondering what to write

my way out of this conundrum

of you and me set wrong

in the world as communication

lacks the fifty cents it needs

to call for help

in such situations.


that was me

before you helped my color flow

then flew away

frightened by my brilliant hues

set aflame.


33

A Cry for Purity

Angel

staked in the smoke

of Divorce

he beat my soul

the smiths will rebel

ring that tragic

bit of gold

the cursed gold

my least favorite metal.

Instead perhaps

a savior

will resurrect my heart

enhance that

lost loving mind of mine

into blissful ecstasy of reason

with the lucky Jupiter

electricity of love

in dashing, flashing platinum.

Rescue Me.

My birthstone

the Perfect Diamond

is broken in teardrops

of despair.

I Do

34

Ashes to Ashes Photograph


35

Maintaining Balance

Ashen fields

debris

left behind

in war torn parts

scream for resurrection

from the icy decay

they have fallen to.

Green grass once again

will come

flowers will bloom

sprouts of trees will

begin anew

refreshing that which was

ravaged by man's hands

set upon rifles, machine guns

and canons.

That which was put asunder

shall rebound

in Mother Nature's fervor

while a monsoon wipes out

half a continent

on the other side

of the world

in order to

maintain balance.

I Do

36

Tulips Acrylic Painting


37

The Meaning

Pasteled pronunciations

upon the page

set forth in grace

a covenant

of longing to

mirror the subconscious

so that you

may see my very being.

Erased at times

in lines of rage

yet brought back to life

with the coming

of that which exists then

as a new creation

once within the mind

now an apparition

for you to find.

Pleasures, sorrow or denial

of subject matter

color, texture, hue

if only you knew,

the meaning.

I Do

38

Throughout Time

Ripped apart the alphabet

explored the numbers

yet what did I get

a riddle

a rhyme

of complex proportion

the notion that each

stood for something

profound

but I remain

dumbfound

in that the secret

has yet to be revealed

or discovered

in the uncovering

of letters and numbers

issued upon our scene

by an unknown being

however, it is mathematics

upon which we all agree

the numbers of pi, infinity


39

are equal all

around the globe

no matter your creed, race,

gender or language

the alphabets differ

however, numbers remain

the same

I would that I could

decipher the name

of this word game

of this rhyme

yet it remains part

of the Sublime

a jester entertaining

us all

throughout time.

I Do

40

Consumed welded and painted steel


41

Consumed

I sip lightly

upon your breath

as your near my lips

which quiver

in anticipation

yet I do not want

to partake in the

wine of your soul

as it is likely

to consume me

whole.

I Do

42

Mirrored Glass

Through mirrored glass

I see the past

while looking for the future

what happens now

is a matter of letting go

of old wounds, scars

so

that the next thing that

happens may pertain

to Light, goodness

rather than the darkness

that was bestowed

when I knew you well

could not quell

the atheist's fists

of denial.

Through mirrored glass

I see at last

a kind, welcoming face

although not my own

it is replaced by Him

a masterpiece

of loving, longing

lasting friendship

and desire to see

Him in the flesh

is a most consuming

wish

yet He leads

quietly, secretly

from behind

mirrored glass.


43

Diamonds

In honor

of you

I pen these words

on the bed sheets

and walls-

mementos of thoughts

passing sporadically,

miraculously,

maniacally

through my mind-

what is the cure for

such undertakings

but to continue on

attempting to make

sense of such things

as 'Diamonds dance

upon your eyelashes

in red glittered

dresses upon my

windowpane.'

I Do

44

The Test of Time

What are you willing to

settle for

the thrill

of another dollar bill

and my meanderings

with quill in hand

are useless, unfruitful

nonsense

you say

well there may come a day

when my son grows up

and takes a peek at these

sketches

what will he find

but a glimpse

into his loving mother's

heart, soul, and mind

bound to the pages set forth

what are they worth

he may remember me fondly

for that I believe

the payment is priceless

and as forthright as

a lovers kiss

worth more than gold

in today's market

or so my story

is told

in poetic meanderings

that may not collect a dime

but will stand

the test of time.


45

Come forth into the light of things,

let nature be your teacher.

William Wordsworth

I Do

46

Read mixed media assemblage


47

Sculpted

Slip knots

ties that bound

is when

you turned

the rope around

the wax

unto me

the lavender,

sandalwood,

vanilla oils

soaked in their esteem

made me your slave

yet you did not know

that was what

I wanted

or did you

Sculpted

like

one of my own creations.

I Do

48

Free Love Epitaph

Remember when

we used to dance

out amongst the limbs

and flowers

without a care

we would tear

through this world

with powers

that not a one

could understand

yet they would wonder

at our beauty

in spiral curls

set about in furls

we made our place

amidst the gloom

and duty

set forth

while we made ours

one of happiness

and joy

others mired

in the mess

set forth

here in politics, war

global warming

instead we were enamored

with that old oak tree

simply sang a song

about it

how lucky are we

to have this

free love epitaph?


49

Write this Down, My Dear

Her hands were intertwined

as she slept

as if in prayer he thought

which endeared her even more

to his aching heart.

He dared not wake her

but watched on as a connoisseur

to delight in the beauty

of the scene before him.

Later, when she awoke

he spoke of this

sealed it with a kiss

saying only, 'Write this down, my Dear.'

I Do

50

Le Livre de Leonardo Photograph


51

Great Men and Their Words

Samuel Clemens upon his deathbed

said 'Bring my spectacles'

I suppose he was a man

who was in the end wondering what

was there to see next

what was God's Master Plan.

Leonardo da Vinci is quoted as having said

'Poor is the pupil who does not surpass his Master'

was he attempting to teach greatness as a scholar

even though he was known

to be haughty towards Michelangelo

or perhaps he himself wanted to conquer the Master of us all.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart once spoke these words:

'To talk well and eloquently is a very great art

but to know the right moment to stop is an even greater one.'

With quill and ink in hand

he penned - sweet note by note - ending with

perfection that is timeless

and took a stand

creating his own Requiem

death within his grasp.

Einstein is quoted:

'God don't play dice'

So forget the luck and chance

Even the great scientist

seemed to believe

there was something beyond

the nature of our reality.

I Do

52

All men of beauty

creations True and strong

not only are their creations

masterpieces to us all

but indeed their words are too-

an author, an artist, a musician, a scientist

gone but forever here

resting within our eyes, ears, souls, and minds

men of greatness through and through.

Are there lessons to be learned from

the words that they spoke

beyond the pen, the brush, the pages

of glory-

men of greatness that strove to tell a story.

Twain with his seeking

da Vinci with his wanting

Mozart with his advice

Einstein with his belief.

They each sought perfection

living still in our memories

however the words they spoke

tell me more about these great men

perhaps even than their work

as each chose a path

of creativity-

as we have

each and every one of us-

a Godly undertaking I say to thee.


53

Take Heed from Fountain Pen

Cucumber melon treats

sure sound neat

in waxifieng poetic schemes

dripped upon the pages

my flesh

set about in unrest

fluttering in the breeze

unforeseen

until they are unloosed

upon the likes of you

have you got a clue

of what these words are here for

to make your bodies rise, your soul soar

your mind grapple

with that with plagues us so

in the arms of the muse

we set about abused

most often by ourselves

the greatest and most

hideous critic of all

willing to scrawl

black paint over the pen

ink it out again

as if it never were

there for you to ponder

that muse has taken flight

inspired by the moonlight

in its place remains the gloom

of a sunny afternoon-

shining brightly forth

with smiles upon the sun

daunting the ones

that take heed from fountain pen

and feed it 'til the end.

I Do

54

Van Gogh’s Landscape Colored Pencils


55

Vincent and Theo

Starry Night

beguiles now

while all the while

you struggled with

what seemed to Gauguin

to be

an insanity plea

the bipolar mind

split in two

ripped off your ear

sent it to her

the lovely dear

prostitute.

Although you ate

your own oil paint

whet your palette

your blade

with your tongue

so perhaps

this is where

your disability was begun.

I Do

56

Afflicted in the mind

within the Red Studio

set askew-

Finally, shot in the stomach

your own attack

in the fields

where the flock of crows danced

who knows

why you chose

to die slowly

for three days

with Brother Theo

there beside

your final resting place

instead of you

we have your canvases

and a sibling

who gave his life

for you as well.


57

More than kisses,

letters mingle souls.

John Donne

I Do

58

Root Pastels and Mixed Media


59

To Be or Not to Be

Perhaps we are

earth and all

a simple atom

within a greater entity.

This might prove

the absence of reality

as we know it.

Does grass green

scream

when we cut it

so silently

that we can not hear it

then does that mean

the call from the blade

does not exist either

as it is living too

it seems

or are these dreams

of reality

as we believe

them to be.

These things we think

to be true

could perhaps be a falsehood

a hoax

a mirage

for one and all

to make sense

of something

so abstract as even

the thought of reality

I Do

60

is to me.

The feel of June

on a summer afternoon

could this be

unreal

and placed here to

simply entertain us.

Although

a feeling of love

a smell

is that real

or all a concoction

of the mind

to make sense

of the dreamscape

that we live in

forever still I ponder

Reality

may not be

or is a construction

of desire

to make sense

of a world in which

there are so many

atrocities

sufferings

and fewer moments in time

as the clock chimes

counting out the rhythm

of our days

in moments

less full of splendor

but warm, soft, ache

sweet, hate, pain

are no more reality

than is the word


61

Reality

which means you see

or so they say

fact.

Well then

what of opinion

or fiction?

Do the blind

see reality

or are they also

deaf and mute

and believe not in

its existence

because they can not see.

Either way

reality

is as true as a dream

at night

and is as fleeting

as the words and memories

meant by an

Alzheimer's patient.

I Do

62

The Kindness Collection

Kindred spirits

gathered

smiles

A tongue swept quickly across a lip-

Drip by drip

salivations-

Jugged.

Memories-

requited loves

secret

evasions-

tactics of their war

kept quietly

like their toothy grins-

Capped.

Labeled

to be-

or not

consumed-

perhaps

on a later date.


63

An Archaic Smell

Antiques

Ancient artifacts

Shellaced

And dusty.

A clothed hand

Wound around

Wiped them

Cleaned.

Cared.

Endeared.

Engendered

Male

Female

He is a grand grandfather clock.

She is a lovely glove box.

Musty.

I Do

64

Books

Molded

Tattered, torn

at the edges

the spine releasing its grip

the bind

pages

turning

fluttering

frail with use

worn

a dusky brown

from fingertips

the perusal

cherished

opened once again

by the next generation.


65

Demain

Darkness settled

Colors deepened

My red robe

hanged

the bedpost

a shadowed burgundy

now

A chill in the air

skulked

four white walls

Deafening the tick of time.

I Do

66

Undecided

Each of you

came to me

open-armed

stroking my silence.

Each of you

loved me

open-hearted

and we walked as One.

Each of you

looked at me

open-minded,

questioning my thoughts.

I answered

ruthlessly,

honestly,

I walk alone again.

Each of you

listened to me

but never heard,

a word.


67

And if my heart be scarred and burned,

The safer, I, for all I learned.

Dorothy Parker

I Do

68

Sooty Stains Photograph


69

The Fireplace Tune

The kindling sparks

within the dark

to light the flames

of the night.

Brightened forth

with its warmth

we sit around the hearth

to pass tales of days gone by

and of those passing-

our words woven fancifully

that bring our hearts together.

Nestled in like mother hens

with her chicks all round about

we settle in and taste the gin

of stories spun of flowers.

Ashes in the morn recall

the previous nights blessings

where one and all

joined the call to bring forth

themselves together

and speak in tongues

with their loved ones

of things that matter to them still.

I Do

70

Sooty stains

are all that remain

of the night time warmth

by the hearth.

Yet in their hearts

they carry forth

the memory of their stories

where one and all

shared with each

a memory of their day or past

meant to last in

sharing with one another.


71

Afloat

Fountains

penned

in ink swells

of watery

drops

upon the pages

outlining

yesterday's

memories

in hopes

that some may see

the smell

of the font-

purity

in cleanliness

flows

sweetly

from thy breast

of the rocks

Sublime

imbedded

in the ground

as these words

now are

upon the Sound.

I Do

72

Mistletoed Illusions Acrylic Painting


73

Yesterday’s Tomorrow

Early morning

I awake

to light the flame

the candle bright

the pages set

upon my desk

so white and blank

a dead man's stare

waiting to be made aware

once more.

Fighting away the memories

of last night's dreams

laden in hazy sleep

gossamer scenes

to set free upon this open

book

another look

into my soul and heart and mind

thoughts and feelings

unwind

cobrafied about

bound up tight

as the ropes that bind

me to the need

to free myself

and meander among

these words again.

I Do

74

Trying to express

in simplicity

that dream I had of you

the Kiss

upon our sweet lips

or the smell

of my little boy's hair

the saltiness of the midnight air

in June

the goldfinches tune

outside my window

dining on its breakfast

of thistle seed

sun shining now in conniptions

off its golden breast

while the flame flickers

in the wind

as I raise the pane of glass

and let the breeze

come in to rest upon

these lines of inky

excursions

set to rhyme or not.

Only a desire unfulfilled

until each morn

I take up

the quill

and begin the toil

once more

of setting to fill les livres

avec mon amis-


75

to appease my aching soul

and set it free

amidst the sweet flow

of my blood.

Mistletoed illusions

cut quick upon the pages

bright

before work again sounds out

its calling me away again

from the poetry

I hold so dear

and wake to each early morning

clear and still.

Though these moments

are the best

of all

recalling you, or him or her

within my night bound train

traveling back to life with me

and planted here

in candle glow

to grow

the words flow

across these lines

in refrains

of memories

of yesterday's tomorrow.

I Do

76

Keys Mixed Media


77

Music of the Spheres

Inane assemblies

Treble clefs and bass chords

dance upon the keys

of my mind

not Sublime

but daunting.

Static echoes

trodden

through my night

when I awake I can not

escape them.

Shards, threads and tatters

of rapid sounds

clad in animal hooves-

The musical charge

of nothing good.

I ache to hear a muse

smooch him if I could

The delicate, tender, embrace

of his sweet song

could puddle jump with me

for infinity,

so heavenly as Pythagoras purported,

in my heart, my soul and limbic system.

I Do

78

Only if he would come

and play his drums

for me

a sweet tune of reverie

to rid me of my own

monotonous songs

that clatter about

within my head

each eve and every morn.

And with this beautiful

undertaking

he could spread apart my ribcage,

petrify my heart

with his rainbow glow and burn

of tune,

the magic of the loon

a Master's guarantee

of the love he feels

for me,

a tender, sweet-

Melody.


79

I Do

Are you someone, anyone?

A good person

with certain bad notions

Could you be compelled to toss your child out a window

if you had never heard of such a thing?

Have you ever felt completely human

organized, just

like an animal

seething at the mouth?

Do you ever wonder what is in a name

a word

a number?

Are you one

the other

something else

near

far

now

then

later

gigantic

small?

Do you know where you come from

what is the location?

I Do

80

Can you soft

hard

tame

wild

open

close

well

ill

stay

change

whisper

loud

sing

song

glow

dim

face

fear

war

peace

scare

calm

travel

home

mind

waste

is the sky black and blue?

Are you natural

plastic

looking

satisfied


81

dressed

bare

moving

still

sanely

mad

a modest pomp

addicted?

Do you know what a race is

where it is going?

Can you up

down

idle

work

order

chaos

break

mend

bend

grade

A C F

E Z

pro

con

sub

un

in

out

better

worse?

I Do

82

Do you have the right

left

wrong?

Can you say no

do it anyway?

Do you love

hate

power

weak?

Are you beautiful

ugly

male

female

father

mother

sister

brother

husband

wife

young

old

ancient

new

American

anything

else?

Something, everything, nothing, line, square, circle, box?


83

Do you desire all

none

speak

in silence

feel pleasure

in pain?

Are you selfishly

selfless?

Do you know the value

of worth

clean

dirt

remember

to forget

feel safe

in danger?

Can you consume

life

poison

yourself?

Are you, me

and I

lonely

with everyone?

Do you know

ignorance?

I Do

84

Are you illuminated

in the dark?

Do you love your family

the stranger

lie

truthful?

Can you laugh tears

devour loves?

Sense beyond the sensible.

Have you ever felt living

lived

larger than life

dying

dead

divined?


85

Hope is a waking dream.

Aristotle

Siddartha Beth Pierce ~ I Do

86

To be is to do.

Immanuel Kant


87

epilogue


88



89

about the Author

The exhibits I remember most, quite awhile ago now, are the Degas and

O’Keefe works at the Phillips Collection in Washington, D.C. One Degas in

particular, was a bather, but is was like nothing I had ever seen – all other

bathers pale in comparison. The depth of surface, quality of the pastels on

such a flat medium were astounding and the colors brilliant. O’Keefe’s

show with Stieglitz was also extraordinary – mostly for the undulating line

and again such vibrant colors. Picasso’s show at the National Gallery was

astounding primarily for his incomprehensible talent – such natural ability in

so many ways at such a young age. Then, perhaps, my favorite of all was

the Egon Schiele. His life, unfortunately cut short, but the expression and

content of his works will never leave me.

I wonder why, throughout these last 100 years, each generation has often

defined their art as succinctly? Duchamp – against aesthetic, for the idea.

Surrealists – against conscious and rational, for the irrational. Why is it

always an either/or? It seems to me there isn’t one without the other. If you

require no meaning then your meaning becomes meaning. It is not black

and white, there are grays and beyond that there are millions of colors.

There is pretty and ugly and both at the same time. I don’t want art that is

simply one or the other – why not both. While these artists have always

chosen a path, generally distinctive and definite – they formally have used

tension, balance, complements. This underscores the variety while they

often hone in on one aspect of meaning rather than continuing this

exploration of difference. Why look at only our mathematical, scientific

side or only our irrational, ‘Universal’ side – each make us who we are,

human, individual and yet alike at times as well. Complex and simple –

perhaps more one that the other at times but always combinations. –

Siddartha Beth Pierce; August 10, 1998


90

Ms. Pierce is a nationally and internationally published poet and artist as

well as a Mother. Some of her works have appeared in The Indian Diary,

After-Nyne, Issuu, The Artist in You, The Dead Mule School of Southern

Literature, The Muses Review, Budzu’s Hammer, and Blue Fifth Review.

Much of her work can be found at writerscafe.org.

http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-beth-

pierce/Content?oid=1383112

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4ILksMzt20

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2oqxUiVnng

http://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-

artist-poet.html

http://afternyne.com/2012/09/28/profile-siddartha-beth-pierce/

Siddartha is not a pseuodonym for the author but her birth name after her

maternal grandmother. Her great-grandfather studied theology and named

his eldest daughter after the Buddha and hence Siddartha Beth Pierce

received her name from her grandmother.

It is the author’s hope that all may find some positive aspect in her writings

and work that may affect them and that they may then take this on to others.

http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-beth-pierce/Content?oid=1383112http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-beth-pierce/Content?oid=1383112http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4ILksMzt20http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2oqxUiVnnghttp://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlhttp://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlhttp://afternyne.com/2012/09/28/profile-siddartha-beth-pierce/


91

Siddartha’s

Art


92


93

a few words from Siddartha I am a Mother, Poet, Artist, Educator and Art Historian. My works are

informed by Nature, Math, Science, the Universal, Sub-Conscious and

Metaphysical aspects we encounter throughout our lives. I work with a

variety of media including painting, drawing, printmaking, sculpture and

some computer graphics.

Not only is my purpose self-exploration and philosophical researches, it also

reaches to you, the reader and viewer in order to illicit a response

mechanism within your own circle of knowledge, heart and soul. It is my

hope that each of you may find something of value to consider and expand

upon your own lives and experiences.

It is my mission to bring these works to the public at a minimal of expense

but with a depth that is far reaching.

I have most of my works in my own private collection, however, I welcome

any inquiries for the purchase of any art you may be interested in. I have

shown my work nationally and had it featured in print magazines and

journals internationally. Many thanks for taking the time to view and

explore this variety of creations.

If you are interested in looking at further works in addition to those in this

book, please check out the following links:

www.ubiquitygallery.com

http://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-

artist-poet.html

Or you may contact me directly at : [email protected]

http://www.ubiquitygallery.com/http://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlhttp://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlmailto:[email protected]


94

Carnation


95

Cellular I


96

Cellular II


97

Cellular III


98

Cellular IV


99

Chalk Spirits


100

Eden


101

Fertility Figure 2007


102

Fetal II


103

Kahlo


104

les fleurs


105

Mikey Kitty


106

Moi


107

My Son


108

Puppy II


109

She


110

Spider Mum


111

St. John Puppy


112

Sublimis I


113

Tapestry


114

what People are Saying Creation Story : Siddartha Beth Pierce

Artist, Poet, Educator

Why her work is intended to be a sensory experience:

Pierce uses scented wax and rope to build organic sculptures over bases of

welded iron. She invites viewers to touch and smell the pieces to understand

their connection to memory and humanity. Some are fragrant with vanilla or

baby powder, evoking links to her past, while perhaps stimulating similar

recognition in others. "The olfactory sense can be a godly sense, associated

with the universe and divine creation," she says. "These are pieces of

divinity for me; they come from the sublime."

How her interest in the metaphysical informs her work in sculpture and

poetry:

"From everything that I have learned," Pierce says, "every culture has some

form of honoring those who have gone before. It is important to recognize

people who have helped you along the way, including ancestors, other

philosophers and artists." Pierce marks significant personal losses by

creating poems and spirit vessels, including a feathered bottle for her

grandfather that, she says, gives wings to his soul. Named after her

grandmother, Siddartha explores her name's meaning, the enlightened one,

by delving into spiritual realms in her work and scholarly research.


115

When violence finds its way into art:

Some of Pierce's works have startling imagery, including butcher knives

thrust into "bleeding" boards or sculptures made of bullets found on the

streets of Richmond. Rather than promoting shock value, these pieces and

accompanying poems are statements against crime, and she hopes viewers

will confront their fears and fight to survive. "When something is painful I

don't shy away from it," she says. "I've had a great deal of physical pain, and

I'm exploring that and turning it into something beautiful."

Why her work as a student and professor is enhanced by her role as an

artist:

Pierce has taught African art history, computer graphics and survey courses

at Virginia State University as artist-in-residence, and as adjunct faculty at

Virginia Union University. "I tell [students] it's a matter of jumping in and

letting go," Pierce says. "I do ask students to keep dream journals, to find

materials even in the trash. You're on a fact-finding mission, you need to pay

attention to the details. You're going to end up with something if you use

your mind to create." She follows her own advice, and has constructed about

75 works with more in progress. "I'm a successful professor," she adds, "but,

without this, it wouldn't be enough. It is a craving that has to be satisfied."

On whether critiques are useful:

Pierce has experienced the art critique as both teacher and student.

"Everyone has different ways of looking at things. It is a wonderful

experience to have your students do their work and all of us explore it and

speak about the work. I believe in honesty and truth, but also to be kind to

one another, to give credit where it is due." On the other hand, when on the

receiving end of critiques, "I like brutal honesty, but I get to a point where

my work is finished, and I put it out there and people like it or they don't,"

she says. "I love to hear people's feedback. I'm a communicator. But I am

busy, I have other things to create here." ~ Deveron Timberlake


116

other Notes of Interest

The following works have been

previously published.

The Healing

The Artistic Muses

Great Men and Their Words

Botticelli Magazine

Undecided

thefirstcut #4

An Archaic Smell

thefirstcut #7

I Do

Humanize Magazine Issue 18

~

Reviews

http://shaunaswriting.com/wordpress/2012/10/

http://shaunaswriting.com/wordpress/2012/10/


117

Siddartha’s Links

http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-

beth-pierce/Content?oid=1383112

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4ILksMzt20

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2oqxUiVnng

http://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-

pierce-artist-poet.html

http://afternyne.com/2012/09/28/profile-siddartha-beth-pierce/

http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-beth-pierce/Content?oid=1383112http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/creation-story-siddartha-beth-pierce/Content?oid=1383112http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4ILksMzt20http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2oqxUiVnnghttp://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlhttp://www.thebeautifulpeopleproject.com/2012/09/siddartha-beth-pierce-artist-poet.htmlhttp://afternyne.com/2012/09/28/profile-siddartha-beth-pierce/


118

You are never too old to set another goal

or to dream a new dream.

C.S. Lewis


119

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120

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123

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Inner Child Press is a Publishing Company Founded and Operated

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Writers, New and Seasoned may face in the Business of Publishing

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