They say the stars rarely come out in New York
But have you been over it, while sitting in an airplane?
New Yawks a galaxy
A galactic city named atrocity
Urging people to find themselves, and learn about themselves
Narcissistic like astrology  

New York rushes me
And brushes me
OFF
New York is so inspiring
But yet
My thoughts are stuck in traffic
And trust me
We have writers on every block

*** holes
That mock

The tapping of your shoe
As you try and try to hush a crowd
Just so that you could get through

We got news anchors talking about how somebody got shot
and sometimes you feel your spirit beggining to rot
Because you can't stop
Imagining bullets
Shooting In every angle
Just dipping into your wakefullness like lullabies
Once in the heart
Twice in the eyes

And three in each ear
It's like **** what you think, feel, see and hear

But It's next year and your still here
In the city where the sound of an ambulance
Can be your alarm
and with a stranger you'll sit arm to arm

So come camp out in Brooklyn under the bridge because your heart will know exactly where those lost ideas now live

Come take the subway and study the map
It'll let you know where to go to get all your inspiration back

And if all fails head to the flea market somewhere sorta creepy downtown
And get yourself a muse
She'll show you around.

All is still.
No more “Chase” or “Eggheads” from Tuesday.
Everything is shutting down.
The Winter Break is soon upon us.
Our “Festive Season” it is called.

Even Winter is having a rest this year.
Sixty Fahrenheit outside now.
I feel like hibernating ‘til the Spring.
Yet some brave blossoms think the Winter over
Already!
Foolhardy flowers indeed.

Our services are stumbling to a stop
Like a long Bank Holiday.
Sports facilities are shutting their doors.
Cafes shutting soon.

If only this stillness could pervade
Those warring factions
Throughout the world,
All through the year.

Peace to All Men
We say.
Amen to That.

Paul Butters