With swirling serves and
Arcing,
Lashing loops,
The Table Tennis King
Of spin,
Attacks his foe.

In gladiatorial combat
He reigns supreme,
Sweeping and swirling,
Smashing,
And feather-touching,
That gyrating ball.

For many hours he’s trained and sweated,
Perfecting skills from very youthful days.
He started in the youthie playing “Ping-Pong”,
To rise, a phoenix, from the local flames.

His coaches now sit very proudly,
Having made him sweat and toil.
With all that stamina-work behind him,
No way will he go off the boil.

At last he stands victorious,
Having made that final kill.
There is no game like Table Tennis,
And winning’s such a glorious thrill!

PAUL BUTTERS

A bacteriophage virus
Sits snugly inside a germ
Which looks up
Not comprehending that
It lies on the surface
Of the eye of an ant
Who stands guard outside her nest,
A miniature citadel.

The ant looks up at the sky,
Not knowing that her home is hidden
In the garden of an observatory.

And here the astronomer looks up
Through her telescope
Trying to imagine what wonders
She might find.

Only aware
That beyond our universe
Is a multiverse,
A greater Realm,
Infinite possibilities acted out
Infinite times
With infinite variations.

And perhaps,
A spiritual world
That makes our realm
Look smaller than
A pea.

Heavens Above!

Paul Butters

Mother Nature rules the World,
And probably
The whole Universe.

Our Earth, a planet blue,
Just teems with Life.

Even deep beneath the ocean,
Amongst those geysers,
Oh so Hot,
You will find Life.

Lakes filled with acid,
Bone –dry deserts (look underground),
Solid sheets of ice:
They all are home-sweet-home
To bacteria
Or Viruses,
At the very least.

We bomb those cities to piles of rubble,
And poison the Earth with God knows what,
Yet always, given time,
Life will re-assert itself:
That sprig of couch-grass,
Those flowers.
Mother Nature never does give in.
Life springs eternal.

From amoeba to a dancing dolphin.
So utterly determined
To survive.
Clinging to existence
Like a limpet on a rock.
Invincible in Her tenacity.

Paul Butters

Just take your mind beyond our time and space
Continuum.

All things have happened, whatever they are.
The Universe has died, or been reborn
Again and Again,
In God’s Embrace.

You and I were born and passed away.
Andromeda and the Milky Way were merged.
Our Earth was roasted when the Sun ballooned into a Red Giant.
The Human Race had its day
And learnt its fate.

And I wrote this.
It all has happened, as I say,
Yet still is happening
Now.

Paul Butters

We seek another Mother Earth,
Another Planet Plenty:
A World within a Goldilocks Zone,
Snuggled up
Where everything’s just right.

Out there we gaze,
High in the sky,
Up amongst those swirling nebulae.
See those galaxies twirl,
As gas-clouds spawn new stars.
Supernovae die
To be reborn
As clouds of suns
And Planets.

Countless Billions of Worlds
All waiting
To be explored.

Paul Butters

Inspire me to aspire.
To fulfil my every desire.
Come down you Muses.
Swoop low from Mount Olympus.
Fill me with your blazing fire.
Make me rise like a Phoenix,
Soaring aloft with burnished wings.

Give me a vision
Of Heavens paved with gold.
Let me see palaces
Carved from diamonds
Made in Neptune’s
Molten core.

Blind me with a light
So fearsome
I can barely look.
Show me infinity,
Eternal bliss.
Make me feel
A boundless Love.

Well,
What are you waiting for?

Paul Butters

Where are you Paul?
I'm in Cyberspace Mum.
My Pentium processor has broadbanded me
Into this wondrous realm.
A pixel powered virtual landscape
Peopled by avatars
Speaking Internet Slang.
FFS, WTF are you talking about?
She asks.
In so many words.
I LMAO and ROFL at her incredulity.

It’s full of danger, that Internet, says Mum.
That’s true.
It’s full of paedophiles,
Spammers and trolls.
Hackers.
Chat-rooms and forums
Plagued by flame-wars
And spam enough to fill a trillion tins.
Sites full of viruses, Trojans, malware and spyware.
Cyber-bullies and loons abound.
But I just Love it.
A Heroin addiction
Needing every fix.
A realm indeed of quantum singularities,
And imploding nebulae.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 3\9\2011 in Yorkshire.

They say there is a world that stands beside our own.
We cannot see it ‘til we pass on through that wall
‘Tween Life and Death.
Once there we are restored to what we were
At twenty five.
All ills removed to leave us all in perfect health.
There is no hell nor heaven waiting there for us,
No punishment for sins committed through our lives.
Nor golden pavements flanking diamond streets
For those who have been “good”.

Yet call this Heaven if you will.
What’s in a name I have to ask.
Let’s call them Angels who live there.
They watch our struggles through this Earthly life.
On passing some will even go
To their own funeral.
It’s said this nether-world is made of spheres
One atop the other
Through which you rise as you “mature”
In a spiritual sense.
All Angels work together
Just learning what they can:
And growing to a higher plane.

All this is said,
By many round the world.
My Hope
Is that
They’re right.

I see a pattern Everywhere:
Circles and globes (three dimensional circles);
Shiny rings of fire.
Countless manifestations of this same shape.

Star-spangled galaxies wheeling through the sky:
That half-globe dome.
Earth, in circular orbit (more or less) around the Sun,
Escorted by the Moon.

Days give way to seasons,
Repeating every year.
Groundhog Days becoming
Groundhog Creations
Perhaps.

The list seems endless:
Hopkins’ dapples,
Planets, craters, cyclones, anti-cyclones, sea currents,
Balls, apples, oranges, nuts, potatoes,
Teardrops, heads, faces, eyes, mouths,
Holes!

Coins, bin lids, and plates;
Sunflowers, daisies, pansies,
Rings of mushrooms,
Circling birds of prey,
A cat curled in a circle,
Like a foetus.

Life as we know it
Is a circle
And a cycle too.
Birth, Death, Blossom, Wilt.
Reincarnation?
Renewal?
Clock-faced Time itself.

Eternity might be a circle,
Infinity the same.
Maybe even God,
Some way.

Perhaps we still are building God,
For Him or Her to travel back through time
Like Doctor Who
To Create The Big Bang,
And form this expanding Universe,
Thus taking us full circle.

Or maybe the Universe will fold back in upon itself,
Producing yet one more Big Bang,
In an endless cycle,
Of Big Bangs,
Amongst this ever circling
Multiverse.

Paul Butters

© PB, 14th February, 2011 at 14.00, in Humberside.

Delicious eyes of magic fire,
Warm shafts that finger forth a touch
Of Love;
Enticing my desire
To surge through lancing beams
As rolling waves o’erride the ebb,
Which sheens, a mirror of the sky,
Leaves pools of cool tranquillity,
Enriched by sprinkled stars of pollen-
That fell from flowers, that hug the heaven:
Hidden beyond the misty trees,
Which blossom founts of rustling leaves.
   These forks of light lash through the woods,
   From dawning suns that melt the ocean floods.

PAUL BUTTERS

Does a mirror show the truth?
I could be a girl for all I know,
Or look like one at least.
Might be so ugly,
Or very handsome.
A monster
Or Tom Cruise.

That mirror
Like a television
May have a life
Of its own.

So if that glare
Should ever be switched off
(For any reason)
Then my real image
May resurface:
A scabby, gargoyle horror
Mutated
From atomic war.
Or, some radiant beauty,
Freed from the mirror’s
Shining cell.

Mirrors!


Paul Butters

Genetic engineering’s here to stay
Possibilities are endless, scientists say:
Men mixed with anything we can find:
Oak trees, wasps, ants and elephants combined.
Satanic horror armies sweep their enemies away
And Frankenstein’s monster’s little but child’s play
Compared with this lot.

Yet with Good intent,
And wisdom heaven sent,
Utopia or Paradise could be on its way:
Bumper bug-free harvests every day,
Giant fruit and docile, friendly beasts.
Food for all, and endless feasts.

All manner of
Good
Or Evil
Is within
Our grasp.

It’s down to us.

A poem, to me:
A statement, speech, a view.
Onomatopoeic metaphor
About me and you.
Plotted and planned,
Or just a thing I do.

From instress to inscape,
Hopkins-like,
So very, very true.

A riotous myriad of colours,
Scented roses,
Touches new.

In verses and stanzas,
Pocket pictures you see;
Iambic rhythms and pulses,
Traditional verses,
Or free.
Time for tea.

Above our Earth so high
The Hubble telescope now hangs
Beyond our vault-like sky:
An all embracing eye;
Now showing us the universe
In all her glory.
Those swirling galaxies give way to seemingly endless
Tracts of quasars, dust and gas.

Through Hubble we look back through time,
At remnants of the Big Bang:
The Birth, they tell us, of Creation,
That might be repeated,
Over and over again.

Yet, before this satellite was launched,
Or telescopes invented,
Just what did humans know?
What did the Aztecs know of England,
Or fourteenth century English folk know of America?
As technological advances have
Been swift, so our state of ignorance
Has been revealed for all to see.
For no-one knows The Purpose of Life.

     Why?
   Oh Why!
Do We Live
   To Die
     Why?

For we will Die
Not Knowing Why.

Ask Christ they say,
He’ll show The Way.
Ask God and He will too.
Ask Allah, Buddha,
Anyone you like;
And Me, I’ll tell you just to Hope,
For Love will see us through.

Life-Death Forgotten, Never Was;
Time, matter whirling, empty Space.
Love, merely hunger, drives us On;      
Self, ever lonely, rots apace.
God, faintly ruling, far away,
Sees sinful, lusty liars pray.
Vague faceless ocean,
Blackest Light;
Nothing tells us What is Right.
Life is but a Game we Play;
Death no more than End of Day,
Forgotten.

(Yet Remembered,
With Hope).

My dearest reader, seconds ago, before your
Decision to turn the page, there was nothing.

These very words were hidden away and thus
Unseen, to all intents did not exist:
Just like the beauty of the Jovian Moons
'Til “Voyager” beamed those pictures back to Earth.

For you have brought this page to life - yes you and only you!
You bring along a wealth of memories of your own,
Your feelings, thoughts, regrets and sorrows, joys
And fears, your hopes and fantasies.

You have the mountains of your mind:
Your personal rivers, clouds and suns: flowers and gasometers!
Landscapes, dreams and nightmares of your very own.
And me, as you sit reading this, I might be dead and buried,
Or with you right now, or maybe miles away.

To you I give the role of God: to breathe your life upon this page.
Take you away, dear reader, and there’s nothing: formless void.
Yet now, together, you may join me, in a realm
Where Life, though challenged by evil,
Is warded by our Love.

My head feels dull.
Not even “comfortably numb”.
No mood for rhyme
Yet must cast my soul
Back through time.

No.
No more rhyme.
Just cast my mind back.
Seek that spark.
Call out my Muse.
Be inspired.
Excited.
Yes.

Excitement shines
Like a billion suns.
The merest touch
Explodes
My every nerve.

Magical mysteries
Unveil themselves.
Brilliant, fluttering butterflies
Flash and flicker
Those rainbow colours and more.

Deep inspiration.
Adrenaline rush.
Electrical discharge.
Cascading sweat.

Thunder-drummed tornadoes.
Lightning storms.
Rose tinged dawns,
And silver-ghosted Moons.

Inspirational volcanoes
Of Muse-blown delight.
That’s how it was,
To be in Love.