Poetry is word-music
Word, word music.
Is soul, spirit, magical mystery
Quintessential essence
Of love and beauty.

Iambic and other rhythms and rhymes
Are optional
For, again, poetry is soul.
The Word is King.
Any word.

***
A singular word of double meaning:
Lickle bird and ******
No waxing lyrical here
Just a bit of lit that’s bound to fit
Uninterrupted
Brief word
Amongst sesquipedalian articulations
And rapturous birdsong that echoes through the forests.

So leave that doggerel alone.
Let your heart sing
Freely
Your spirit and soul
Shining like a supernova
Resonating through our minds.
A concerto of verbal sounds
Played with our inner voices.
Literary art
Expressed in musical notes.
Poetry.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\5\2024.

Man not the less, but nature more,
Saithe not the lowly but a lord^,
And I not at all, and nature only,
Rather clutchest thorn of poison forb,
Then remain on path, and remain lonely,
And rather their canine tooth to absorb,
Prefer to stroll through ticks and toxin of
     hemlock forest,
And only the rat snake's diamonds I consider flawless,
Then their brownstones filled with horror,
Even the grey she wolf looks in scorn,
And with all creation wish their cities unborn,
Their mighty towers that mirror sky,
Only the lightning can afford,
Or the golden eagle flying by,
So let them mirror storm,
For their rallies are like rats under a hovering rough legged hawk,
Provoking much,
Or the swift^lawyer lecturing the rocks he stands atop,
Carving them away, until they split and gush,
Write a script, to heal thyself,
Better yet write a script for those you hurt,
Better to be a black bear licking your own wounds of dirt at least,
Than to listen to honking well fed geese,
And why do you boast on high, just because you can?
Look to the blue hills,
They will remain and you will never be again.

To think, this was once glacial till,
A million sabbaths to cure this ill.

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.