Beyond the clouds
There is a light
Gentle and strong
The promise
Of the end of night.
It shimmers
With the sound of
Children's laughter.
The hint of
A happily ever after.
Or maybe just
Okay for now,
But we'll make it
Through this storm
Somehow.

This is the flower
Which you lay upon,
And this is the vase
Which I put it in,
These are my thoughts for tomorrow,
Here are your clothes,
Take them.

This is the tree
Of the winter leaf,
And this the train
That won't stand still,
These are my fingers bitterly cold,
Here is your heart,
Thankyou.

This is the castle,
And this the rock,
This is the river
That can't be crossed,
This is a jar and there are the tears,
Here is a clock
To count the years.

This is a picture,
And there's the sun,
This is a pillow
To pray upon,
These are the stones that cross the sea,
There is your future,
Leave.

You move everything which
Is most intimate in me,
Without touching,
You hold up candles
But I stumble in their light,
Without thinking,
You cut deep chasms in my mind,
Without knowing, you test me.

And I love to play servant
Under your stubborn gaze,
You trick me then laugh,
But a piece of my heart
Leaps over backwards.
You make me the hero
Which my mind then adores,
You make me strong like the river,
You make me.

Our two minds are touching
Outside of this world,
I have known you completely,
When you were the gold coin
I was its beggar,
When you were the wind......

You move like a panther
Escaped from its cage,
I meet you on corners and freeze,
My mind like a compass
On top of a magnet,
My legs like a tree.

You hollow my eyes
And fill them with wax,
Your wick always burns
But you never go bang,
For me. I wait by your fire
But you never give heat,
I swallow your swords
But you stay in your seat,
I give you flowers
But you want weeds.

I love you.

You cannot touch her,
Tread quietly,
As she overlooks you with her straightened jaw.

Her proud eyes,
Waiting for the moment when your strength gives in,
And opened up,
She plunges into your depths.

Yes - She has seen you before,
As she carries back out of your darkness,
The little light,
And the moisture that was your love.

She laughs,
Dropping them onto the floor, and
With her own,
More delicate hand,
Reframes herself on the wall.

My Muse takes me to peaceful cool pools,
Under suns and moons.
Exuding stillness through picture-view tunes,
Beneath the sky’s fine glittering crown jewels.

A poem is a statement, a speech or a song,
From twittering birds to the crash of a gong.
Some are short and some are long,
They sound like The Beatles and Louis Armstrong.

A song, a song, we can’t go wrong.
Let it play amongst the throng.
A hit that goes to number one,
To serenade the fit and young.

Those harmonies are with me now.
All I can say is Wow, Wow, Wow.
Songs of Love and chants of Hate,
Words of Hope and tunes of Fate.

Come on you’ve pulled, let’s have a date.
Time for dancing, I just can’t wait.

Paul Butters

Take a few steps to make a high leap
Fall many a time but get up and continue
Hop a bit, stroll a bit, run a bit
It's not the method that is important
However tired and shabby it becomes
Life is a quest to learn new things
Each time you fall and get excited
When new chapters are written
But in this infinity path the little and the great trials matters
As each polish and mould every thought we take
While still making evident the wonderful and diverse pleasures of the world
To be perfect is an utopia but to strive to experience variety is a quest a longing that stretches and pushes us towards the meaning of life.

Where are you, perfect piece of writing?
I read of you when I was a boy, long ago,
Naked youngsters on horseback, waiting,
Hidden in shadows at the meadow’s edge,
Then they go, aware of danger, scared,
Moonlight dancing upon their skin, cool,
Nightjars and bats swoop low, hunting moths,
And the youngsters ride, he observing her,
So beautiful to describe, and yet, you are gone,
Long ago, lost in my mind, yet I remember,
And I wonder, what you are, if you are,
And will I ever read you again, savour you?
Where are you, perfect piece of writing?

©Paul M Chafer 2016