volleys of thunder*
rolled across eve's dark sky
*announcing rain's call

Trees are inevitable,
For something must grow higher than the rest.
Grass is inevitable too:
To carpet the world.
So are fish, to swim the seas,
Birds to fly the skies
And human beings to walk the plains.

All Life is inevitable
Springing from a chemical formula or two.
The Universe has Rules
Which make it so.

So, is God inevitable?
I have to ask.
Is there bound to be an Overlord
Responsible for All?
Or is it all an Accident?
Chance Happening?
A spin of some Super-Galactic Wheel?

It’s Logical to have some Being
Who’s Omnipresent, Omnipotent, Omniscient –
However many Omnis there may be.
Or even a Race of Gods
As the Greeks and Romans surmised.

Some say that We invented God
And that is very possible.
Some claim there simply is No God,
Which is quite possible too.

All I know is that I’m here right now,
Living in the Hope
That somehow I’ll survive
My Final Demise
A certain thing that is
For all
Inevitable.

Paul Butters

I say again
That from my perspective
When I Die
The whole World will cease to Exist
Including You.
And it will be the same for you
When you go too.

So we are Lucky now
Having the Internet
To speed our Education,
Bringing knowledge and experience to us
As our mobility declines.

It’s as though Someone has catered for our needs,
Ensuring we Learn as much as we can
Before we go.

Lucky too we are to have our radio and TV.
And some of us are lucky enough
To live in relative Safety.

Some day, if we are lucky, we might even learn
What all this Learning’s for.
Someone may even let us know.

Paul Butters

in their formative years*
these stars burnt bright
movie theatres took them
on a stratospheric flight

they became famous
for being kids of talented nerve
the rolling camera's
showing their dynamic verve

yet the tinsel clad images
weren't portraying the true self
child actors were a studio's
road to greedy pelf

when reaching the teenage
period of their existence
drugs and alcohol plagued them
with much persistence

something was absent
as they grew to adulthood
little or no care given by
pushy parents in their childhood

tiny stars that once twinkled
did fall ******* the ground
their careers in dream flicks
bought them all unbound

Hollywood's picture factory
wasn't substantive in its part
which left many juveniles
*to feel so aggrieved of heart

A poem can be a statement,
A poem can be a song.
It can be a piece of music,
Playing all night long.

First we have to go up,
Then we must go down.
Then we have to go all around
To find this ****** town.

Poetry is music,
Singing us a song.
Any way you choose it,
Bing, bang, ****.

Assonant sounds assemble,
Alliteration lilts our lyres.
Raps and rhymes are pulsing,
Kindling all those fires.

An orchestra is playing
On this very page.
Letters and words are strumming:
It’s a Golden Age.

Choirs of Angels Singing,
Guitars with a twang.
Ear that piano playing,
This may or may not scan.

If a pawn’s the soul of chess,
As Philidor did say,
Then letters and the sounds they show
Are what brighten the poet’s day.

So get those letters running,
All along the page.
Those sounds are our chess pieces,
Ready to engage.

Paul Butters

Let me introduce myself,
I’m Paul B.
P to the A to the U to the L to the B.
You say Paul,
I say B.
You say Paul,
I say…

I used to teach English, try to inspire.
Least you can say is, I was a trier.
Love this rapping: it gets my feet tapping,
Even though I ought to be napping.

I write poems like a word ejector,
Keep away you Grammar Inspector!
Jay-Z writes in iambic pentameters,
Making out he’s got no parameters.

Honey G just copies off him,
Oh my God she really is dim.
Does her rap like Barbara Windsor,
Do you remember Needles and Pins-ah?

Me I’m copying off them both,
Though it’s only for a laugh.
Whoops a daisy that don’t quite rhyme,
Another case of Butters Rhyme Crime.

Rap is ******* I often say,
Though it rhymes the poetic way.
That leaves me with one thing to say:
You say Paul,
I say…

Paul Butters

© PB 17\10\2016.