When I was eighteen I wrote “The Bedrock”
In which I said
The Priority is to Survive.
But I’m sixty three now,
And that’s not enough.
It’s not all about Me, so
It’s time to decide
What is Good.

Well, my friend
All Life is Good.
Every living thing.
From enormous whale
To spiteful wasp,
Bacteria
To Ecosystem.

Yet some beings must be extra-cherished:
Those that are conscious,
Sentient and smart.

Intelligence as such is there to be nurtured
And knowledge learnt.
So too wisdom,
But above all
Love.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you:
A great old saying.
Be a Humanist indeed,
But better still,
A Lifist
Who Loves Life.

All else follows on from what I’ve just said.
Go figure.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\9\2015 (2).

I ponder over the words then write.
It's flowing,  I'm glowing,  everything is right.
What use to be intimate memories now visible in sight.
Decide on sharing 'cause  I know I'm not the only one.
Turns out I am the only one tonight.

Loved to tell a joke ,  loved his Winston's , a pack always visible in a white dress shirt , cigarette in the corner of his mouth . Right eye quivered left eye open ,. seen him drunk once , alcohol on his breath every day ,  morning and afternoon ,. medals and commendations , not worth a cheeseburger at McDonalds , delivered the living , hauled back the dead , hosed chariot , back again , Purple Hearts and Silver Stars , another day at the office and Saigon bars ..A defeated man , No , a product of the sixties , American warrior with all its ambiguity , loved his comrades but cursed the ' system ' , face would palsy , voice growing deeper then silent , physically residing in Conley , emotionally in battle , at ease Major Jobe !

Summer days , exploring with laughter , reckless abandon followed by a breakfast for dinner , hot bath , tiger pajamas , a kiss goodnight , left to touch the moon , stars and all heavenly wonders with heavy eyelids and a boys anticipation for tomorrow ............