Lucifer oh Lucifer
you've let me down to-day
as my fire isn't glowing
in its usual heating way

the wood won't catch
alight to make a flame
inside the firebox
activity is rather lame

Lucifer oh Lucifer
where's that tinder glow
that should be on
an orange coal show

something has gone amiss
with the torch's flare
the sound of sparks crackling
are truly rare

It’s just gone midnight,
And I’m full of whisky,
But I must Assert,
That I am Me.

The only one
Who lives THIS life.
Even The Queen cannot do that.
Nor Putin, Nor Trump
Or Whoever.

Only I count.
I’m The One.
Yes I’ve said this before.

When I Go
The World will end
As far as I’m concerned.
And that’s all that matters.

You may think this selfish.
It is.
My only defence is that
I revere All Life.
By choice.

I Loved my Mum
And Dad.
And I love all my relatives
And Friends.
Especially my Sister.

I wouldn’t **** a spider
Or a fly.
I love all animals
And Plants.

Caring is my middle name
In fact.

But in the end,
I’m the one
Who counts
Like I said.

I need no “recognition”
Or fame,
Or even money –
So long as I have enough
To get me by.

My teachers showed me I have some talent:
Lucky genes.
If only I’d done enough homework…
But I count my blessings.

I do not say all this out of aggression.
But rather, I am being Assertive:
Showing Self-Esteem
And saying No
As required.
Expressing what I feel
As me.

Yes it’s me, me, me.
You’ll just have to accept it.

Paul Butters

I was brought up in Western Leeds,
Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep.
In sprawling suburbs:
Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums.
We had our fields:
Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb
(Fireweed to the Americans)
On former demolition sites.
Our childhood spears were honed
From fireweed spears.

Our house was in a terrace
On “School Street”,
Where we took baths in the sink
And crept to outside toilets
In the dark of the “back yard”.

Those days were punctuated
By the “Yie Yie” blare
From the local factory siren.
A deafening sound.
And by endless hammering
From the scrapyard nearby.

But we loved our dripping and bread,
And our walks to the sweet shop.
Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags”
Along the sides of the cobbled street
Under old Victorian gas lamps
Straight from Narnia.

I recall crying on our return from the coast
At a dismal scene
Of soot shrouded trains
On tortured railway lines.

But I also feel nostalgia
For those heady days
Of childhood innocence.
Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit,
And running around
During a “New Year’s Revolution”.
Happy Days.

Paul Butters

They say that God is omnipotent,
Omniscient, omnipresent:
All the omnis.

An all-powerful, all seeing, all knowing
All place being.
No pressure then, Mr. or Mrs. God.

Paul Butters

This thing we call the universe reaches out
Beyond the beyond.
The sweeping sky seduces our senses
With shimmering stars.
A mere glimpse
At endless heavens.
Swirling galaxy clusters,
Travelling beyond the speed of light.

Like grains of sand on a surf-kissed beach,
These star-packed galaxies fly forth.
Meanwhile, at sub-atomic level,
Exotic particles wink in and out of existence.

Most stars are red dwarves.
Many harbouring exoplanets
In their Goldilocks Zones.
One-eyed worlds with the same side
Always facing the sun.

On such a world there’s no such thing
As a day.
It’s always the same time
If you stay the same place.
Hot day one side,
Frozen night on the other.
A bright side with black plants
Under a rose tinged white sky.

But there are plenty of golden stars
Just like our sun.
Stars surrounded by rocky earths like ours.

Is our Earth unique?
Does it take a planetary collision
To form an Earth and Moon
Supporting life?
Time may tell.
And if we’re lucky,
We might just live to see it.

Did God create this Universe of ours
Or is it all by chance?
Who knows?
Who cares?
Just enjoy.

Paul Butters