ten decibels below the wind
causing the wings of a crow
to lift and soar above the pine tips
silently swaying on top of the mountain peak
in January in a snowstorm
in beautiful sunshine on a cold
breezy day I sat and just listened
warm as ever I have been
consoled by
all the beauty of
it

Never act like your a writer .
Or say the things you believe others want to hear.
Art is in never being certain.
The page has no time for half *** lines .

Do not be what you think a writer is.
Writers are ego driven ******* to self absorbed to see anything in front of them.
And thats just there good quality's .


Don't pen it the way you believe that will please others take it down the road as far as it has to go .

Let it get messy let it be awkward.
If your thinking bout other people your ****** to begin with .

You the page the ******* work that is all that matters .
That is what makes you a writer .

Not people blowing smoke up your *** .
Not how many people read it.
Who publishes it and if you made a dime off it.

Make that page bleed .
And **** those who dont get it.
Lemmings have often had to be told whats in .

They think there hip they want to hang around those who have it in hopes they can maybe find it as well.

They are like cancer you listen long enough to there ******* and they poison the well of your imagination.

Never take advice from someone who can't do what you can.

The world is not a play.

Never act just be one with the page.

I never act.

I'm curious about you
want to touch
the places
you've been
and the places
your body's touched

but my mind screams
like a thunder spirit
all you do is
use her
rock her back and forth
all you do is
use ******
rock back and forth

South side
acting west side
and no direction
in my eyes
no future and I'm feeling
more and more
like a waste of time
nothing new

I hear they opened
a **** recycling facility

right next door
to the ***** store

apparently
**** can be reprocessed
manufactured and molded
into most durable caliber
of ***** ever

***** that bend
but never snap

***** that pull
but don't shove back

***** that give
for evermore

rapping
(articulately, symmetrically)
across adjacent chamber doors
flung off rust hinges
obliterated ornamental remnants
upon electric yellow sidewalk
chalked with stardust parallels
thresheld holding, walked over
most excellent righteous ride
corset finger writhe
on Other side

(evidently ******* is most valuable
as it’s so transparent and malleable)

On a distant summer
a girl walked four miles
to sell fruits at the haat
and mowed by the May heat
fell asleep on a patch of concrete.

The noon dusts played around her
sleep little girl rest your feet
the winds will play you a song
refresh you with dreams so sweet
the walk back home won't be long.

The sun had slid the shadows grown
when opened her dream dazed eyes
there she was at the haat all alone
her fruits in the basket had dried.

She had dreamed a round dime
clutched in her palm
colored gold with her wish

she had slept thru the time
and when the winds calmed
held nothing to buy home a fish.

Time has flown those dusts far away
years have grown her wise
yet when the winds blow lonely in May
her tears she cannot disguise.

I know a bit about
learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching
but...

I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen

despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands

I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride

devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession

but I already know
what he’s saying

stop dancing like that
in front of our son

you mean…

to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?

one day that boy
will be a man
who knows

better

than to ever
call a goddess

a ***** in the kitchen

When you have been asleep in life
When you are wrapped tightly
In a conscious coma
One that you carefully weave about your shell
Because it is easier
Because it’s a barrier from what is hard
Because it’s hard

When 10, 15, or even 20 years pass
While waiting the days out
While going about business
While walking with the walking dead
Because you have to
Because you have learned
     Learned life is a miserable professor
          That delights in your failure

When you have been asleep in life
When no one woke you
When no one told you
That you have lost
     Lost what you wish for
          Lost the courage to admit it

When you have been asleep in life
     You have hibernated your soul
Your passion and your moments
Your entire reason for being
Alive

I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
After I pay off my school loans
Whenever my banker pleases
To let me out of the contract
With its usurious interest fees
And I am sure I will get there
When I am down on my knees.

I’ll have my Republican Bible
With its verses edited wisely
To exempt all the white folk
From behaving quite nicely
And making sure welfare
Is only for rich white neighbors
The rest are not allowed in
Our society except as laborers.

I am sure that Republican Jesus
Will welcome me quite warmly
For supporting the death toll
Of our Christian Soldier army.
He will be so delighted that
We vilified ungodly abortions
And how we treated those awful
Poor mothers and their orphans.

He will have to be delighted
That we held back the riches
We gained from our warfare
Ignoring our soldiers in ditches
Or maimed in those battles
We know you wanted us to wage
In the name of Republican Jesus
Out of our holy sense of rage.

Republican Jesus surely will
See how cleverly we diverted
The money to the richest people
Not the soldiers we deserted.
And, how only the people who
Did not need help financially
Got all the extra wealth we had
And we made sure of it annually.

I’m going to Republican heaven,
Going to meet Republican Jesus
And I’m sure greed and bigotry
Will just tickle him to pieces
Because it says in the Bible
The only people who will get in
Are the people that look like me
And vote for all the same men.

of a sandwich a smoke a beer
at the end of a hard day
a word of praise
a smile from the world

cognizant of the real world
hardness and people's fears
worries
I sit and contemplate

why I feel so god ****** good
getting a Daily
when all I write is simple
heart and feelings and connecting

as much as I might to fellow
humans and their dreams
desires laugh
and try to cry with them

I got rewarded when you wrote back commented hearted
it's more than I deserve to be paraded as the Daily
but it was all of you who made it happen

and I won't forget or take it as my championing
it is ours our dream our sweetness our caring in full view now
the working man
the lone  poet

the songstress alone at her keyboard
a bit of song  a few hellos a heart a word here and there
not a popularity contest
each is equal to me
and deserving

this is your Daily, too
everyone
on HP!

They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.

True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.

His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.

He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.

He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.

So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.

Paul Butters