The night so long
ships calling
stay away
come

blindly pierce
clouds
anchored
at the waterline

engines throb
close, yet not
though eyes strain
soft white contains

merely
opaque outlines
shrouding
shapes familiar

eagles
materialize
singing
arise, arise

dissipating
melted wisps
ascend to kiss
returning sun

will illumination come
with fading notes
of this
fog song?

Some say I reflect only shadows
only darkness
only fear
am I to be negated for this
perhaps
accurate observation?
did Poe write of whimsical romps
through flower gardens?
did VanGogh paint in colors of glee?

balance
the dusk
the dawn
the unwitting pawn
the king who holds court
the peasant who merely survives

view from my pulpit before you judge
stand in my shadow before you declare
that I am without light

I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******.
      She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
     “Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
          We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
   Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”
    Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
           A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
       “I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
      We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget” and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head

     I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
                               Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
                   They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
      But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away

         We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
    The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
     Invincibility
        Pretty lights.
                Fun. All a lie.

*I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.

The very first thing a poet should do
Is throw that ego in the bin.
For being Great, or finding fame and fortune
Should hardly be your goal.

Just say whatever you have to say
With passionate heart and Voice.
Forget about Perfection
As all is relative:
And simply be Inspired.

Don’t be a slave to rigid forms:
Variety is the key.
Pulsing rhythms may match the heart
But missing beats have clout.

Be respectful to other poets at all times
And always return their praise, where you can.
Never criticise in a negative way:
Always be positive and supportive.

Keep out of inter-poet politics:
Such a waste of time!
Just write and write and write and write:
I simply cannot help it!

Paul Butters