The giraffe and the mouse lived in a big tall house.
The mouse asked giraffe "do I make you laugh?"
In response to the mouse, the giraffe said "no"
"How can I laugh when you're close to my toe?"
"Close to your toe?" Said the mouse "but why?
Giraffe looked down and began to cry.
"It's a long story mouse" giraffe cried in despair.
"I'm all ears" said mouse and he pulled up a chair.
"To cut a long story short I've got an in growing nail"
"Oh" said mouse with a flick of his tail.
"Leave it to me I'll be back in a minute"
He brought back a kit with some first aid in it.
"Lift up your foot" and mouse set to work.
Giraffe raised his leg trying not to ****.
Mouse fixed the nail in no time at all
Giraffe was impressed by mouse so small!
"How did you do it?" Asked  giraffe in disbelief
Mouse just wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
"While I'm down here giraffe is there anything I've missed?"
"After all...
                   I'm the one and only....

Qualified rodent chiropodist!"

Find constructed love
a piecemeal beauty
on those winding roads toward
Memphis
within rolling hills of
kudzu
the south, of red roads
black birds and white
in the swamp
a shock

cotton fields span
quiet, still the machines sleeping
the sun seeping
the car were in, **** covered
streaming

tall black and pastel along cars
friendly
I also saw a prison
carved in a hill side along a skinny
road, Mississippi
barb wire gem stone shine
white sign,
do not pick up hitch hikers

the humidity, heavy guilt
on dried clay
boiled peanuts
sightseeing in a
crime scene

Praise Them,

The Angels who lift the heads of the bowed

Who tread the oceans of fallen tears

To renew hope in the hearts of the broken    

Those who lead the lost home  

And remind us

That we are never alone...

You've been ******* put down,
I can ******* understand.
You don't know when to turn around,
and walk through the fires.

You feel like going insane,
I have to tell you it's not that bad.
You want to run away,
and forget your crazy self.

I've tried the same thing,
it doesn't work out very well.
I've sacrificed my ******* soul,
and gone through ******* hell.

I couldn't forget the ******* pain,
I couldn't come to accept what I was.
There was only darkness in my life,
that even demons couldn't get in the way.

I touched a little of  heaven,
and could stand looking in the mirror.
I lost the attempt to control everything,
and life became more clear.

I gave up hell,
and walked away from negativity.
You have to find your own path,
but it's better than the way it was.

we hear people say “it will get better” all the time and that when you are suicidal they say its an illusion. that you think it never gets better but it will. but i believe we use the excuse it gets better when we are older, when we have someone who loves us in a romantic sense, when you’re out of school. but it never does. i still have those poisonous thoughts sink in when I’m with my friends supposedly having the time of my life. i never experience the beauty in life. i know there are beautiful things and places i just have yet to find out how to get those beautiful things make me feel something.

The cold, unlike most people I find these days, does not make me shrivel up under countless layers of clothing and tremble in an unforbiding ache. It does not make me tired and want to stay at home, or even stay inside for that matter. It does not make me complain and wish for warmer weather.
       I love the cold. I admire it. It makes me feel alive. Sending small tingles through my spine, igniting an urge to run. An urge to go do something remarkable. The cold gives me inspiration, energy, and even comfort. Comfort that I am a part of something so much bigger than I am. A beautiful composition of a cycle that is beyond comprehension. And that makes me feel significant, with the contrary of a scarce absence of fear or worry.
       But most of all, the cold reminds me of him. Not of pain or bitterness, but of excitement. Of something intriguing I can never, but will always try, to figure out. The cold reminds me of him, and how much he loves that chilling sense of freedom, as I love him. And how he is so at peace with nature, as I find that same serenity in the frost. And how, we are at one with the cold.

When Rome fell down,
Don Newton with his flashing blade
Took over.

He marched the corridors of Table Tennis power
For more than fifty years.
And graced a multitude of committees with his
Presence.

As Mister NALGO, Don constructed
A glorious empire
Of countless teams
At many a venue:
Down Pasture Street,
In Weelsby, Yarra, Knoll,
Electric Club,
Saint James...
To name a few.

Amassing titles and cups
From every division
Of the Grimsby League:
A roll of honour too long to recall,
Now stretching to the horizon.

No fancy sponge, reversed rubber,
Or long-pimples for our Don.
Give him a plain old Barna bat,
Devoid of sponge, short-pimples out,
To give that ball a mighty clout.

The simple things in life
Were all he wished:
A pint of mild,
Or game of chess,
Would always go down well.

This table tennis granddad knows the score,
And takes his leisure now,
Contented as
The sun goes down.

Paul Butters