No life or death
Pain or pleasure
Galaxy
Or Universe
No more beautiful dawns or dusks
No world of wonders
Or anything
Once we are gone.

So it’s Now Boys!
Attention!
As Huxley said
On “Island”.
Live for Now.
For this very moment.

Stop.
Let your mind go blank.
Listen to your body
And all that surrounds you.

Breathe in the oxygen
That gives us life.
Admire the sky
And all beneath it.

Join with nature:
Sapping grass and foliage
The song of birds
As Mummy Sparrow feeds her fluffy chick
Its beak open wide
Clamouring for food.

Enjoy it all
While it lasts.

Paul Butters

I kiss your lips and enter heaven:
Soft as sand and warm as Devon.

I’m taken out of my body
Down a long dark tunnel.
Your lips to me are lingering trunnels.
I go into a bright black hole,
Almost losing my soul:

Just wish this kiss
Would last for ever.
It’s something I
Don’t want to sever.

But there we’ve done.
Oh what a crime.
We’ll have to wait
Until next time.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\9\2017 (2nd poem of the day). 1st stanza split into two and slightly re-arranged 4\9.

Yell your head off
And shout, shout, shout.
Get in amongst them
And put it about.

We’re awake now, hear us cry!
Full of energy,
Watch us fly.

Out of our slumbers,
On the up.
Highly charged,
We’ll win The Cup.

We’re all full of motivation,
Hear our incantation.
Forward we go, bursting with pride.
Come with us, enjoy the ride.

We’re the greatest, we all know.
Ever ready to fight the foe.
We are winners through and through,
Even better than Doctor Who.

We will put the world to rights.
You will see incredible sights.
All together we unite,
So stay with us and
The future’s bright.

Paul Butters

Simon “Hurricane” Hudson prowls the snooker table
Like any good mixed metaphor would.
A modern day Pythagoras
He triangulates his shots.

Meanwhile his rival, lion-heart "Rocket" Richard,
Not to be confused with Lionel Richie,
Is on his mobile Googling
How to play the perfect “snooker”.
And the two Perfect Pauls
Discuss the latest football,
While “Whirlwind” Wendy sits in judgement,
Knitting the night away.

At long last Simon plays a stroke!!!
And rattles those unrelenting jaws
Of that elusive pocket yet again.

The game rolls on.
But where the hell is Simon?
The clock on the electricity is running down
But where is Simon?
Where is he?
He’s at the bar
Telling barman Nick how Rochdale
Will win The Cup one day.

Hurray, he’s back to play again.
Cascading planets collide into new orbits
As they did in the Primeval Solar System.

We play on,
Safely keeping those precious *****
Away from those black holes
They call the “pockets”.
We try to pick our shots
(At those pockets lol)
But all we keep potting
Is that white one.
Maybe we should switch to Billiards,
Or *** some plants instead.

Paul Butters

I get sent socks at Christmas,
So I can have safe walks.
When I tell my friends about this,
Everybody talks.

There is no innuendo,
Nothing to confess.
Without those cushioning blankets
My feet would be a mess.

I know a friend who knits socks,
In many different hues.
So long as she keeps knitting,
Our feet won’t have the blues.

So Wendy sock it to ‘em:
All that stitch and purl.
Make them good and roomy,
So our toes don’t have to curl.

No chance of any frostbite,
With these things on our feet.
For comfort on a cushion,
These socks just can’t be beat.

Paul Butters

Let’s go to an antimatter universe
Where hot ice solidifies
Under the black light of the freezing sun.
A world where short giraffes hide beneath
The tall grass, amongst low trees.
See those high plains, watery deserts and low mountains.
Slow flies crawl over red skies
As turtles and tortoises speed around.
Here, hot sun is an oxymoron
And everything is downside up.

Or if you prefer we could visit a realm
Like on “Red Dwarf”
Where time flies backwards:
People formed from dusty death
To live and grow youthful
On the way to an inevitable birth
And death again
When parental **** parts from *****.

Paul Butters