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  Jun 2016 Paul Butters
Aniseed
I've always thought I loved storms;
Where the rain beats against my window,
Wind wailing, thunder rumbling,
Lightning painting streaks
Across the sky.
There's nothing like standing underneath
The angry clouds
And letting the cold rain
Wash all of your sins away.

I've always thought I was in love
With the sky;
The way it surprises me every day
In its spectrum of
Resplendent colors and soft greys.
Personified in my adoration
As maybe God himself,
If God even exists.
To this day, I'm not so sure,
But I know the sky and that's
Enough.

But as I wonder about these things,
These forces of nature,
I wonder about the circumstances
Surrounding my experiences with them.
I remember that, in the midst of storms,
I always have a home to run into
And a towel waiting for me to dry me off.
I remember that while the sky is
Ever changing,
It always remains there.

So maybe what I've always loved,
What I've always longed for,
Is comfort.

Is... stability.
For lack of a better title.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Iambic pentameters are quite old
As poetry fashions go now, I must say.
Tetrameters are sharper, yes,
But both are old I must confess.

Make any speech, with force, you’ll surely find
Iambic rhythms: the power of pulse.
Such things are found in common speech for sure.
And lines of ten syllables must endure.

Poetic structures set in stone are not
My way: variety is key I have
To say. Some use of rhyme is okay too.
So how you write, that’s up to you (my friend).

For I prefer to write free verse,
To steer away from doggerel’s curse.
Longer lines are languid, with gravitas.
Short ones clout,
It’s as simple as that.

Paul Butters
As requested by my friend Stephen Chapman. Retitled and stanza added 24\6\16.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Sun-blushed mugginess mothers us,
With the promise of a storm.
Swarms of bumble bees do buzz
Amongst Cotoneasters bathed in warm.

It’s proper summer,
That’s for sure.
No more ice and snow
For us to endure.

The Longest Day will soon be gone,
But here, right now, the sun has won.
Time to fiesta, how I love it.
More of this I truly covet.

Paul Butters
Midsummer again. Love it.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
The rain keeps pouring down,
Pounding on the ground.
The rain keeps falling down,
Those ******* clouds make us frown.
The rain keeps tumbling down,
It started with some drizzle.
The rain keeps scything down,
Striking like a chisel.
The rain keeps sleeting down,
Causing local flooding.
The rain keeps belting down,
Plants droop instead of budding.
The rain keeps showering down,
No time for any stanzas,
The rain keeps teeming down,
From Scotland down to Kansas.
The rain keeps arrowing down,
Whenever will it stop?
The rain keeps swirling down,
Yes, I’m hating every drop.

Paul Butters
Another one for Pat Jackson.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Feel free to mourn me when I’m gone,
When I will not be back again.
It’s natural to grieve at death
For those who miss you so, I know.

But don’t forget to celebrate my life
And all I’ve done on this fair earth.
Be full of joy about these things:
Immortalise me for my deeds.

I hope to live for many a long year:
If possible cheat Death immortally,
Perhaps by going somewhere safe
From the Grim Reaper’s deadly scythe.

I hope for many table tennis wins
And trending poems, before I leave this mortal coil.
Iambic rhythms throughout cyber space,
Free verse expressing a greater vision.

I’ve planned ahead by writing this,
And might have jumped the gun maybe.
But when you read this out perhaps,
I might by now be Free.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\6\2016.
My eulogy in advance!
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