God is van gogh

Your eyes are his starry night,
Your heart is his yellow house,
Your smile is brighter than the days of arles,
And your love opens at eternity’s gate.

I am a sketch,
Lost in the wastebin-
My heart is its tears,
My page is unfinished,
And my love has been tossed away for better ventures.

Yet I am still art
And I am still beauty-
After all, without me,
Where would be his masterpiece?

Repetition is the best petition.
Drive that refrain into your brain.
It’s my mission.
Driven on by Stewart Copeland the musician.
Drums and dance
Send me into a trance.
Transcendental music
Any way you choose it.

Repetition, repetition, repetition
Just as potent as nuclear fission.
Sometimes, for me, it’s just too much.
As crazy as Screaming Lord Sutch.
Yet here I make a telling submission
About the power of repetition
As beautiful as a painting by Titian.
A composition to appeal to your cognition
To get you into a better condition
Without transition.

There are four hundred and ninety rhymes
Of repetition
And that’s not something from superstition.
But I’d better avoid a war of attrition
Even with your kindly permission.
It’s great to prance
And have a dance.
I’m glad you’ve given
This poem a glance
To give its rhythms every chance.
My aim is to enhance
And cut through the boredom like a lance.

Poems are music
Poems are Romance
So let’s advance
Then make a stance.
That’s my position.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\2\2020 (first line written 31\1 then notes made 1\2). Final line added 3\2.

It’s all about the way you care,
With no ulterior motives there.
It makes a difference if to try and fix this,
You lay your soul out bare.

You can try, you can try, you can try to cut her down, but she’s not fallin,
You can try, you can try, you can try to pull her down, but she’s not movin,
You can try, you can try, you can try to make her drown, but she’s not drowning,
No she’s not drowning again!
She’s not dying again!

Desperation sound,
Makes her come around.
It means more when you are bleeding.
It makes her feel found.

You can cry, you can beg, you can try to change her mind, but she’s not changin.
You can snoop, you can sneak, you can lie right through your teeth, but she’s not believin.
You can push, you can shove, you can try to force her love, but she’s not loving.
No, she’s not loving you again!
She’s never looking back there again!

Don’t call her sadistic,
That will make her ballistic,
She’s just a willow tree with her roots in the ground.
She’s just animalistic.
So don’t try to change her or tear her down.
Herself, she’s finally found.

Time to write
Time to talk

No wasted effort
No wasted breath

Dusting off
Standing up

Less trash
Less tears

This time I **** my fears

The joy that comes with a pretty spring day
And stopping to smell the roses
Or listen to the birds
Or feel the warmth of the sun caress your skin

The joy of a smile
A laugh
A conversation with someone new
Or friends you’ve known forever

When you cross paths with an old acquaintance
You haven’t seen for a while

The feeling when you see the “A+” on a math test
That you’ve studied for for hours

The laughter you when your pet does something funny
Or a friend
Or a sister
Or a brother.

The happiness you feel when you know you’ve done something right
And can now relax, the burden relieved.

When you help someone
And know that it’s made their life
Or day
A little better,
A little easier.

The feeling when you realize
That maybe even reading a poem
Like this one
Can make you just a little bit happier.

His mouth forms a wide smirk
as the others laugh at his words.
But it isn’t funny.

She lowers her watery eyes, glasses slipping
down her nose.

Book pages flip
in the breeze that picks up.
She loses her page.

His mouth opens, sharp daggers sliding
from his lips
Their laughter echoed by the trees.

She gets up, stumbles, falls.
Lines of carefully thought-out words tumble to the ground
his foot stretched out in front of her.

Their hands reach for the pages.
Fingers wrap
Around worn bindings.

They play tug-of-war,
trying to pull it out
of each other’s grasp.

A rip.

Papers scatter in the wind.
Snickers fade with the footsteps
as her eyes rain tears.

I bend down.
Papers fill my hands
one by one.

She looks up.
The sun lights up her clouded eyes
as she takes the faded pages,
in her grasp again.

"Move on"

All we can do is

Say

We're fine

Even if we're not okay

It's not good

Keep lying

We can't

Snap out of it

It's a bad habit

Can't get rid of it

But you

Keep trying

Keep going

Just stop and

Look around

No one's there

Don't think that

They'll be there for you.



(Now read bottom to top)