Nows merged, and, seconds,minutes and hours
Days,months and years merged,
Life has become a dream!
A solid reality.

Comes to pass my picture of the Middle East
(one minute and twenty one seconds of television news,
          much less than I had thought)
is an inaccurate representation of people
and the individuality of their experience.

How does one measure the merit of
I am offended?

If all I know are snapshots, misdirecting
the issue, changing path to digest murdered cartoonists
killed with Allah in mind
          (another misdirection)
and I am not outraged.

Sadness manifests as thick fog
blocking artificial light, splitting the rays,
opening up and flexing, the truth as is,
the sole truth we must attain;
          we are slow, dying creatures.
Inborn freedoms dissolve.

Did Salman Rushdie beg forgiveness for
images of his head book-ending a spear,
or did he die a little in secret?

Suppose I am a rouser marching the streets of
New York City, a gold pendant of two
          falling towers adorning
my chest-cave, Je Suis etched into my forehead
(black felt-tip).

Do you defend me?
Relish in your torment of words?

Will you bury the fire in your belly
for sake of freedom?

The body I hold is hanging in the balance,
Each breath wracking through lifeless air.
The hollowness that expands from his lifeless eyes,
Burning when my eyes are shut.

As if untouched by the twine of fate,
Existing but not living breathing but not waking.
The icy thuds of an unnatural heart,
Making those softer sounds quaver into absence.

As if by sheer chance my strings are pulled,
my lips lower to touch those of the dead.
At contact time stands still,
The thudding stops.

The lips take on a rosey pink,
Mirroring the sentiment of every second.
As if aching to understand.
As if terrified to forget.

The fear awakens and the hurt rolls out,
Trembling down limp limbs and shoulders.
Hushing into a steady rock,
With promises that my strength won't give.

Purpose is gifted with a single kiss,
and like a rose I watch it grow.
In vibrance and strength the body will glow.
Till the day he finds his voice.

When words will tumble onto life,
and bind the solace and the strife.
Gift gold in band and my love for you,
with the simple promise to always cherish, love and hold you.

Film and television cameras:
Roving eyes for many of us.
But are We the cameras on the world
For an audience somewhere out there
Beyond the stars?

Our world: a studio for countless films.
The animal race a production crew
For programmes watched by spirit beings.

And who collects these reels of Life?
Where is The Director?
What Company employs us all?

Those with feelings of Déjà vu do ask:
Which Take are we doing now?
And Minds of Science claim
We can Forward Fast or Rewind.

It’s one great mystery of course:
The longest journey of them all.
A soap opera to beat all others:
This film called “Life”.

Paul Butters

i am a racing heart
i am a network of pain pumping veins
i am sweating palms and bruised collarbones
i am tired arms
i am battered limbs and swollen lips
i am scratches on hips
i  am the calm before the storm and the smell after it rains
i am the curl of your toes into the duvet
i am brittle bones and aching muscles
i am tired eyes and dry throat
i am arms around your waist and lips pressed to your neck
i am salty beads on slick skin
i am wobbly knees and tongue against cheek
i am unstable steps of insecurity
i am a slur ushered at 2 a.m when you forget you don't like girls like me
i am soft cries into pillows when i remember you don't like girls like me

e.s