Languid lakes levitate my soul.
Mists hang low upon those hills,
While mountains scratch the surface of the sky.

The world is whole,
So full of thrills.
No time to reason why.

Galaxies spiral, out of control,
Stars swirling in milky swills.
Scenes I hope will never die.

Yet time, I’m sure, will take its toll.
And do whatever our God wills.
Oh no! I hear you cry.

Yet look at coal, or any tree bole.
And look at fields of daffodils.
Life’s next cycle is always nigh.

Paul Butters

Life has beauty in her nooks
In woods that trill of feathered songs
Where fireflies dance at dusk  
And starlight blankets night till dawn
In the rhythm  of falling rain
And drops of dew that shine on leaves
On mountain tops that reach the sky
The mystic shades of coral reefs

And if you feel spirits sag
Heavy eyes with burdens stressed
Rest your eyes on hyacinths
And on the moon cradling a crest
Catch the starlight streaming down
See angels in clouds that pass
Lay your head on a flower bed
Run bare feet on the grass

Life has beauty in her arms
In kindness and the touch of  love
In promises of hope and strength
Like the warm sun from above
In bouquets of wishes of care
Hands that tuck a flower in
Near and dear those precious ones
That soothe and balm a broken skin

And if you feel spirits sag
Heavy eyes with burdens stressed
Rest your head on a shoulder kind
And His eyes that forever bless
Your own shoulder, a solace be
Hands clasp another tight
For other spirits sag too
Then-
Into the beauty of the night.

The beach sweeps to the horizon.
Black specks:
They’re people there!
Insignificant
In vastness.
Tiny dots
Enveloped
By sand and sea and cloud-flecked sky.

Paul Butters

Cats are cool,
They regally rule.
You think you own them,
But they own you.

Born as kittens they are so cute.
Before you know it, off they scoot.
Baby faces and big blue eyes,
Dopamine surges, what a surprise.

Pouncing on you as you walk through the door,
Kitty is lightning over that floor.
How we love to watch them play,
Brightening up an otherwise dull day.

The older cats look on with disdain:
They’d much rather use their brain.
More to the point cats love to sleep,
Waking only to take the odd peep.

So independent yet love a stroke:
Lots of purring you’ll invoke.
I’m not too sure of their table manners
But they’ve just got to be fans of canners.

I’m not too keen on them bringing a present,
Even though they might think that it’s a pheasant.
They can be cruel when they hunt,
But that’s their job, let’s be blunt.

Most popular pets, that’s for sure.
Feeling stressed? A cat is your cure.

Paul Butters