I was a little squirt
The nerd, on mission street, long hair
Seemed ungroomed, cleaned pants, guitar
Posters in my room.
The dead, the doors, the who, the stones.
Concert tickets to make me remember
What it was like high and gone.
So many years, to remember what I've gone through
Now nothing's old no more.
Societies cheapened down to the new.

I don't draw anymore
I have pencils on the floor and doodles on my door
Doodles of the past when I would push
Shoving the door shut as barricades turned to mush
I don't draw anymore
I used to sing for you on my bedroom floor
"Don't let them ruin my core"
Although you didn't respond
I'd still draw for you and sit by the pond
I don't draw anymore
Can passion derive from pain?
Even when you're considered "crazy" and I'm "sane"
I still think about when we would draw together
You weren't very good, but you assured me forever
I don't draw anymore
We couldn't afford oils but I was okay with pastels
On my birthday you could tell
I would use chalk
While you and I would talk
Scratching against the pavement

When I was eighteen I wrote “The Bedrock”
In which I said
The Priority is to Survive.
But I’m sixty three now,
And that’s not enough.
It’s not all about Me, so
It’s time to decide
What is Good.

Well, my friend
All Life is Good.
Every living thing.
From enormous whale
To spiteful wasp,
Bacteria
To Ecosystem.

Yet some beings must be extra-cherished:
Those that are conscious,
Sentient and smart.

Intelligence as such is there to be nurtured
And knowledge learnt.
So too wisdom,
But above all
Love.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you:
A great old saying.
Be a Humanist indeed,
But better still,
A Lifist
Who Loves Life.

All else follows on from what I’ve just said.
Go figure.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\9\2015 (2).

Summer days , exploring with laughter , reckless abandon followed by a breakfast for dinner , hot bath , tiger pajamas , a kiss goodnight , left to touch the moon , stars and all heavenly wonders with heavy eyelids and a boys anticipation for tomorrow ............

Lonely Apps
Socialization deleted
laughs, screams, talks

Now; texts, emails, tweets
eyes now dim
Puns of fun trapped behind lips

Plugged in
no uploads
to pull reality in

i have a right to speak ALOUD
ALLOWED to give my two CENTS
SENSE of freedom in opinions TOLD
TOLLED by thoughts that i dispense

i have a right to let them KNOW
NO others have walked my COURSE
COARSE visions from my own EYE
I write in blood from the source

A shrine to
Rock and roll
I'll make the guitar shiver
In it's clerical mode,

Zebrina Pendula
Now, get out of here
you're not invited
we don't want your wares

always the spreading
with arms out to here
your leaves always dying
I just vacuumed there  

You gather then grow
with your worship you care
but most of the time
nobody else cares  

from country to country
They're throwing you out
sometimes so quiet
sometimes with a shout  

Zebrina Pendula
with all your despair
I hope you like water
It's all I can spare  

Please quench your thirst
and take here a rest
Zebrina Pendula
now keep on your quest

A day begins for the ride
A steel horse by his side
Turn of the key the engine sings
A bird fluttering it's wings
The view ahead laid wide
His heart washed by sea tide
Away from city miles
Far to nature's smiles
Singing a new song
destination unknown and long
To uncharted roads far
Till the night  brings a star
Man and machine soul one to be
My wings my steel horse ride free