Every home has a Mother
Waiting with open arms at the door.
And a Dad in his armchair,
As the tradition goes.

Welcome to the lounge
Where we can huddle by the fire.
TV in the corner
And - if you have them –
Dogs and cats to stroke.

Then there’s Sunday Lunch
And those daily aromas of baking.
Memories of scooping out the bowl
And eating most of the peas you shelled.

Home – a place of refuge
Where you can bring all your troubles
And have them resolved.

Our Mum kept a beautiful garden,
Resplendent with colourful flowers.
An oasis on a council estate.

As Dorothy Gale of Oz fame said before me:
There’s no place like Home.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\11\2017.

Association Footballer Ronaldo,
The new Wizard Waldo.
Oh what a fandango,
You bet he can tango.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\11\2017.

“Who let you in?” jokes Henry the Doorman,
Waving the signing-in book
Like a wanton dervish,
With a glint in his eye.

But in you go,
Into a dimly lit room,
Filled with smoke in yesteryears.
Men in huddles
Hatching plots
Or just playing cards
Or Dominoes.

In the corner those darts are flying,
While blokes stand chatting
At the bar.

Next door you find The Snooker Room,
Where all is silent
As “World League Championships” are underway.
Snooker and billiards to be precise.
Men so serious
Some sitting sternly
Worrying about their match.
The odd breakout of conversation
Over some dispute or debate.

Back at the bar
All is well.
No need to be PC here.
You can say whatever you want.

We drink and drink,
Until the bar closes
At whatever time.
The chat gets louder
As the ***** loosens our tongues.
Then home we roll together.
Every Club.
A place I love.

Paul Butters

© PB 15\11\2017.

The Cosmic Dance
Sends me into a trance.
I do love space
It’s really ace.

What more can I say?
I need more pay!
Speckled stars
Form The Milky Way.

Star Trekking I’d love to do.
Talk about a room with a view.
All those planets, all those stars,
From exoplanets to sandy Mars.

Space they call the final frontier,
Others would rather stay right here.
Sunny Earth is the place to be,
Roaming widely, running free.

See those palm trees,
On those shores.
In that soft breeze
The great outdoors.

Grasp the day,
That’s the thing to do.
Make it pay,
It’s down to you.

Paul Butters

© PB 24\10\2017 (poem 2) – First two lines written 1.20 AM in my paper diary.

There probably IS a “God”:
Some supreme power and intellect
Who rules the Realms.
Define your God, if you will.

There may be many gods around
Throughout the vastness of the universe
For us to pray to too.

Did God Create our Universe?
Who knows?

But what do I care?
All I want to know
Is what’s in it for me?
Will I get but a pittance
Of a few decades of Life?
Or will I live on in some afterlife,
Reincarnation or whatever?

This may sound selfish
But as I say,
I don’t care.

I resent the certainty of Death,
With every fibre of my soul.
Atheists give me no comfort here:
Only Religion gives some Hope,
Despite our history of “Holy Wars”.

So what can I Believe in now?
What Faith can sooth my soul?
Only Hope.

Paul Butters

Swirling worlds whirl around many stars,
Throughout the depths of space.
Rocky planets like Earth or Mars,
Put there by God’s Good Grace.

Stars born from cloudy nebulae – dust and gas.
Suns like grains of sand upon a beach.
Some many times our own Sun’s mass,
Further away than our minds can reach.

Our little Earth, so gloriously blue.
Teeming with life, it’s oh so true.
Planet Paradise we take for granted.
Why can’t we see that we’re enchanted?

Worlds like ours are very rare,
Though there may be others way out there.
The human race can be a parasite,
Draining the soil with technological might.

We have to fight against this destruction.
Conservation is my instruction.
Cherish All Life is what I say,
Loving Nature the only way.

Wellbeing for all must be our creed.
Don’t be tempted by ravenous greed.
We have one Life and just one World,
So there it is, my flag’s unfurled.

Paul Butters