The fat, the grease,
of these in between days
stills my pen a little

So even if I wrestle
with another monumental year tick,
like the crack of doom

I look at the stuff in the fridge
and shrug

The existential crisis can wait
til the brie is done
and the crackers
have gone soft

We sit there
in our corners of a bar
our eyes never meet,
you there with your
mild mouth and your
signature breath so rare
and your infinite stare
chills to the bone.

We sip scalding tea
etched in time like a
stitch that saved none,
you by yourself
me by myself
not by ourselves
and slowly we burn
out before Saturn
returns to take its rightful
place under the sun.

Think you can write?
Wake up, smell the tea,
You’re just a mardy
*** from Palookaville
so am I
who are we kidding?
Delhi has no lights
or black sparrows
but then again
neither does Goa.

The day will come,
or maybe not,
one day is just
another day, let’s
sleep in and
smoke tea.

The world doesn’t know it needs setting right
but we do it anyway
against bucolic backgrounds,
corners of this sceptered isle
known only to types who like to ramble

point to point meticulously planned
by his draughtsman’s hand
our mouths and minds driving us more than legs
words to square away despair at the world
or delight in some magical new tech
to save it

these are footsteps I’ve always followed
always will
despite a mardy heel drag  in my teenage years
the muscle memory - one foot, then the other -
cannot be unwritten
even as knees now complain otherwise

on an account of being mardy,
these sincere words will not
be exposed. nor, fall from my mouth
and land at your feet.

while mine storm through rivers
every settled pebble swirls about
like every thought, every question.

my error, left in a translucent
body of unclear directions.
your silence, left in a flaming pit
burning in my gut.

knowingly enough, everything
will fall to the bottom
and there it will rest.
every pebble, every ash.

Time to wax lyrical,
Time to shout from the rooftops,
My words rolling like thunder
Across the whole wide world.

No mardy moods
Or negative vibes.
Time to replace killing with care
Hatred with love
Tree chopping and ploughing
With planting and wild growth.

Let emotion sing as music
Love and care
Musical words
Called poems.

What are we doing?
What are we doing with our planet
And it’s folk?
Aliens from other worlds might ask
And wonder whether to intervene.

Re-education is required
Getting us back to the ways
Of Mother Earth.
Teaching us to let go
Of our egos
Our lust for mere goods
And territorial land-grabbing.
It’s not what you have
But what you make of it

We only live once
And not for very long
So I say again
Love life
All life
From the tiniest ant
To the loftiest tree.
Enjoy a giraffe
And savour the aroma
Of a bower surrounded by flowers.

Let’s grow more forests
Teeming with life
Clothed in mysterious mists.

Unite together
To end poverty
And strife
Cease all wars
Treat everyone with respect
As equals
All free
All loved equally.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\11\2023.

A strong person doesn't seek revenge, he bides his time and lets karma make it right......
Nope Sweetheart, karma just takes too long.
Ya hit back fast..... and ya hit back twice as hard!
,
Reluctant to face the music?
Take a deep breath, gird your *****....and come clean!
The sense of release is extraordinary....and you feel a far better person having done it and ****** the consequences!

Wallowing with worms and squirming with centipedes, lurking in dark shadows of uncertainty and unsure of your ****** identity?
Leap onto a sunshiny path and laugh out loud, disgracefully.....
Who is going to give a flying ****, anyway?

And if she is grinding you into the dust, issuing superlatives that perpetually put you in your place....generally making life Hell and turning you into a mardy ****???
Try vanishing suddenly, for a week, casting the remark over your shoulder as you walk out the gate...There are plenty of fish in the sea, Darling!

Just a few salty thoughts on offer....Absolutely No Charge!
M.
Foxglove@Taranaki, NZ
24 Feb 2022