Earth – you little blue gem:
Oasis in a great black desert.
Perhaps Unique
With your single Moon –
Queen of The Tides
Or one of millions of Earths
Scattered throughout Space.
Who knows?

Sky blue seas
Draped in cloud curtains
Hints of brown and green
On continents
Teeming with Life.

Paradise Planet
Rich diversity
Of plants
And animals.

Taken for granted
I’m afraid
By people too busy
To appreciate
Her beauty.

All they do is rip down her forests
Bounty hunt for trophies
And make her a greenhouse
Heading towards a Hell
Like Venus.

I hope they soon see sense,
Close down those ugly factories
Allowing our Earth
To cool again.

Does all intelligent life destroy itself
In the end?
Is this why space is silent
When we should be deafened
By radio broadcasts
From other worlds?

I hope not.
The choice is ours.
But first we must open our eyes.
Open them to the sheer beauty
And Splendour
Of our Mother Earth.

Paul Butters

© PB 24\9\2020.

I gave everything I had
To something that would fail
Turned brightness and colour
Into something much more pale

"Don't worry it will all be ok."
"Nothing bad, will ever happen to you."
Were just some of the lies I told
It was all much worse, what happened to be true

I'm sorry I lost; the house, the car
Your mother's necklace that night
My lies became a tempest
Destroyed us like that kite

Remember the one with the yellow tail
I held the spool, and you held the line
A sudden gust, and off it went
Straight into that old white pine

The one we used to climb
We'd climb to the top
Sway with the breeze
I said I'd never stop

But I am a liar
Which now, you're well aware
Back then you weren't though
I acted like I didn't care

About myself, or others
I thought it protected me
It was that high pine perch
Too high for anyone to see

I'm trying to climb down
But I need a hand
I've been up there too long
Been so far from land

i will kiss you then make my way
to another boy’s house.
i will greet four pairs of lips in two days.
every single one of them will feel the same,
though each attached to a different name.
and when i go home
i will feel empty with only myself to blame.

My heart is healed, but my mind is shouting for help.
I look at everything like it’s a war, and the price is my life.
Wanting to be an adult but scared like a little kid.
Maybe it will get better, but what if perhaps it isn’t good enough.
I wish I was stronger.
Strong enough to live by my self, not needing help to survive.

No, I'm not ok.
It's amazing what a
smile can hide.

Monsters aren't under
your bed - they're in your head
And hard to ignore.

No one really knows
you until you show them your
internal, dark side.

There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.

And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.

This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.

I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.