What if it's not Groundhog Day but Groundhog Life?
Or, when I die, will I simply pass on God's baton to the next living thing?
Will I go to heaven?
Or find Nirvana.
Reincarnation or Renewal?
Or none of these?
Life is real
Or just an illusion.
False memories
And history
Supported by science
And Religion.
We may be Matrix
Or pure dust.
We may live forever,
Or end right here.
Who knows?

Paul Butters

Thirsty, a parched pale yellow
this milkweed, dandelion field
dried silky seeds blowing wild
hot cracking leaves
lightning trees afire
forests and burning meadows
with eyes that sting
I can but see, spectrally
the smokey sun
breathe a deathly air
that chokes the lungs
creatures gasp and run
in moments ever dire
they flee frightfully
amid falling trees
of fire.

A metaphor, the ultimate actor.
Let’s mix it into a Whisky blend.
To rhyme or not to rhyme,
That is the question.
Let’s go for no.
That metaphor –
A fusion of words and meanings.
Compound image.
Subtle synthesis of correlations coalesced.
Marriage of minds.
Beyond comparison.

The poet, weaver of words,
Composing symphonies
Of spoken sounds.
Mixing metaphors:
Chemical brews
Of nectar,
For all to savour
In the theatre
Of the written page.

Paul Butters

“Where am I?”

Have I been transferred to hospital during the night?

I raise my head. Before me is a seemingly endless row of cubicles, each containing a bed upon which some person lies. Each person wearing a helmet and wired and piped into the back wall.

To my right is the side-wall to my own cubicle. To my left an identical wall. Some male doctor is sitting next to me, to my right, and to my left there is a female nurse.

Doctor: “Welcome back Paul.”

Me: “Where am I?”

Doctor: “Reality Paul.”

Me: “Reality???”

Memories of “The Matrix” and comical “Red Dwarf” flash across my mind. MMM. Yes, I’ve still got a mind.

Nurse: “Relax Paul, everything will be all right.

Doctor: “Paul, you just died from old age, very old age, in your sleep. Best way to go.”

Me: “Really???”

Doctor: “That’s right. You really bought it didn’t you. I’m sorry, but that was not Reality! This is. And you have not really died at all. In fact, Paul you are very much alive.

Earth, The UK, London…they are all fabrications. All fiction. And all that history and science those experts told you, it was all wrong. Only this is real!”

He gestures at everything around us as he speaks. But now he reaches for a dial on a console next to my bed.

Doctor: “When we put you into ‘Earthworld’ Paul, all your memories of reality were temporarily erased. But now it’s time to debrief. Now it’s time for you to Remember The Truth…”

And he turns the dial…

Paul Butters