Husken, Wendy:
Ever trendy,
Always knitting
Something fitting.

Hudson, Simon
Working on his rhyming.
Not got it right yet,
Graphics is a better bet.

A Littlefair called Gail,
Often goes beyond the pale.
A canny Glesga lass,
Always as bold as brass.

That massive hulk Chris Bygott
Would make a ****** good pirate.
But he loves table tennis and fishing:
For success he’s always wishing.
He hasn’t done too bad,
Done even better than Dad.

Paul Butters

© PB 9\4\2020.

I've drawn down the curtains
on the window of the past
shadows will no longer linger
in my life--- now that I place all my trust

in being oblivious to all scenes of old
people I met, hurts I suffered, pain endured---let all of this rust
away in my new-found freedom
I can escape from self-inflicted sorrow only if I don't live in the past.

This is the road we must part
there's no need to say goodbye
neither you nor I

This is the road we must part
there should be no regret
our past we will forget

This is the road we must part
never again to dream
love was not what it did seem

This is the road we must part
our hearts have reasons we don't know
let nothing be said--let things be so

This is the road we must part
only this we need to know
all love is sorrow

This is the road we must part
here never again shall we pass by
just walk away silently---for love lost you should not cry.

She said she could never
Be my bride,
So now she's under the patio,
With that annoying girl guide.

She wasn't happy,
But what could I tell her?
There is just no room left,
In the cellar.

In Memory of a Good Man

He walked the path he knew so well
To the garden he kept
Which was were they found him
On cold ground in
Winter.

They thought he likely slipped and fell,
Curled up tightly and slept
Snug in blankets of snow.
Where else to go
To dream

Of rich soil, a man's hands once strong
That could coax new life from
A yard of glass shards, bricks
Growing God's gifts
To share.

Or concrete towers only drawn
Those hands that once built them
Spinning the webs of steel
That made dreams real
Shelter.

Smiling face that may still know me,
We'll just sit together
While I'll hear your stories
In memories -
No words.

Silently gaze and nod slowly,
Stare at one another.
Tired eyes tell where you've been
My dear sweet friend...
In dreams.

Rejoice at Morning’s Miracle,
For We are here again.
The Grim Reaper
Has let us live another day.

God’s Grandeur shines upon us
As, again, the clichéd golden sun
Pokes her head through the Eastern clouds.

An orchestra of chiming birds
Greets the day
As again I say
Rejoice!
I repeat: Rejoice.

Time to check the temperature outside
And scatter some wild birdseed.
Time for breakfast
And the early news.

Time to have a pub-lunch,
Then a game of tennis
Or table tennis
Or snooker.

Morning’s time to meet my Muse,
And listen to her lyrical tunes.
To get composing,
No more dozing:
Broadcasting words
Throughout The Milky Way.

Enjoying the day
I look forward to
Some cloudless skies
So I can sit
And watch the stars.

Paul Butters