The sea is resting now
after a long day
gnawing at the edge
churning in deep hollows
ever so slowly eroding
this peaceful coast

Sand is the issue
of this marriage
sea and sky
combining to
make the land large
in its retreat

A handful of sand
to the winds
my life
to these tides

I looked at him in awe,
His friends laughed and teased him,
He smiled and kept quiet,
His silence showed his wisdom.

He was a talented artist,
Midas Touch,
A gift from God.
People appreciated his work,
Famous people sought his paintings,
He became famous and rich.
Ego and conceit became his friends,
That was his downfall.

He is a pen,
I am paper,
Great ideas we create.
He is the bow,
I am the arrow,
Cupid's love is our cup.
He is the current,
I am the switchboard,
Our love flows without a hitch.
He is the hand,
I am the glove,
Nothing can separate us.
He is the melody,
I am the lyric,
Together we make a beautiful song.
He is the strength,
I am the love,
We face life with courage.
He is the body,
I am the soul,
A harmonious whole,
Soul mates.

indubitably,
the human mind
is one of the most
complex things
known to existence

the fact that
we only use 10%
of our brains
brings me such
exultant and rapturous
sentimentality to the
faculties of my sensory
that I almost feel a sense
of stability amongst this
treacherous
and perilous
society

entertain the thought and image:
a screaming child,
a dramatic teenager,
a juvenile delinquent,
a schoolyard billy,
a *** deviant priest,
a ******,
a child molester,
a serial killer,
mass murders,
psychopaths,
the insane,
the over opinionated,
the miscreant,
the doltish,
the frivolous,
the presumptuous,
the feminists,
our countries leaders
using and having
90% more complexity

all spirit and emotion
would be
completely obliterated
and the world
would be
pulsating into combustion

but then again,
there are other and more
preferable assessments
to contemplate on, whilst
looking at natures goodness
through a bullet hole
in the side of a car,
while bound and gagged
in the back of a trunk
with the final notion
that this might be
the last remaining moments
to be alive

you want a religious poem?

exterminate the doctrine

and the being

will reveal itself

once again

Love,let me be your warm woollen blanket,
Waiting patiently on your bed,
For night to unfold,
And so would you me.
Ready for bed,you would reach out for me,
Touch me,
Lift me,
Hug me,
With ease wrap me around your self,
Snuggle underneath me,
Clutch me tight,
In case I don't slid away.
It would be you and I,
Your soft breaths and my warmth,
Will lullaby us to sleep every night.

I say again: the fifties film “Forbidden Planet”
Brought us “Monsters from the Id”
Where your worst nightmares
Were brought to life
From the deepest recesses
Of your subconscious mind.

The Id is such a frightful thing.
It can create the greatest pleasure
Or the most horrific monster.
Even God may have an Id.
Maybe that Id created this heavenly hell
We call Earth.

Does anyone anywhere have any control
Of The Id?
Probably not.
Those mountains of our mind
No man fathomed.
Gloomy jungles infested by crocodiles.
Endless depths.

The Id holds all the cards,
Letting us have a memory
Now and then.
Imagine if our dreams
Could truly come to life!

Bad enough that the alligator within us
Swishes with fear
And anger
The moment we feel threatened
When really we are safe
As “Mindfulness” shows.

Yes, the Id is King of the brain,
No democracy here
And all we can do
Is play along
As best we can.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\2\18.