in their bed of ash
lavender-grey and sultry

slowly reassemble into
a bed of coals
salmon and fuchsia

stretching
and
torching
the
morning
star


soulsurvivor
(C) 20/10/2015

in the filtered blue glow
of your favorite
late show
with the light
from the bathroom
left on

I can make out
your face
and it's hard
to erase
from my memory
although
you are gone.

In our silence
a sweetness
a comfort
it's true
needing less
to be said
meant much more

we lived well
in our day
and had so much
to say
but your smile
it just cut to
my core.

As we sat
side by side
on the sofa
'twas your hand
on my ankle
which said
I am here
you are there
theres no distance
I swear
you still whisper
sweet nothings
in bed.

So forgive me
for getting
all sappy
but the late show is on
and you're there
in the blue
of the den
I can't hear
Letterman
he's been muted
so music
can blare

Wondrous whirling worlds of words
Wander away.
Smooth musical tunes from the Muses melt my mind
And make my heart go boom.

Sunny sylvan scenes ****** my soul.
In a simmering silence
Broken only
By birdsong.

It starts with simple wordplay,
Toying with those letters
Until some magic kicks in.

Visions of versified viewscapes
Mess with my head.
Eureka moments marching across the mountains
Of my brain like screaming Banshees.

So thus a poem is born
From seemingly idle play.
Those words are worked again
And posted here
To brighten the reader’s day.

Paul Butters

Put your hand on mine
Wrap your arms around me
Our love need not hurry
Because love should be free and easy

We don't need to worry
Our love is always simple
There's no need for a change
It's simple as it should be