Ease your way into the day.
Don’t be in a rush.
Enjoy the sight of the sun’s bright ray
On the green of the grass so lush.

Let yourself so slowly awake,
In the early morning hush.
Be as cool as a languid lake,
As dawn begins with a blush.

There’s plenty of time to earn your pay,
So easy on that brush.
Hours of time for making hay
And your enemies to crush.

Hard work is over rated, I really have to say,
But intelligence is a must.
Using talent is the way
To earn yourself a crust.

So start out steady, as I said,
And don’t be rushing from your bed.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\2\2018.

Those eyes
So sad
So loving, loyal and true.
Who can resist that look
From a dog?

Best family member
Of the animal kind.
So devoted to his Mum and Dad
And even uncle.

No fickleness here:
Unflinchingly faithful.
Loving to run and fetch
For his master or mistress.
Even bring in the ‘paper.

See him jump for joy
As you grab the lead
That he’s brought you.
It’s “That time”…

If you let him,
He’ll lick you all over
Before rolling on his back
For a belly rub.
(And his Missus is just the same)!

But those eyes have it:
Bottomlessly sad
So you just have to give him
Strokes and cuddles.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\1\2018.

Enjoy your cuppa tea and coffee.
Sit back and relax.
The world is full of strife and corruption:
Untold Evil.
Yet it’s Paradise Earth.

We take for granted
Our timeless oceans,
Mountains and plains
Teeming with Life:
Forests and savannahs
Herds of Wildebeest
And prides of Lions.

Quaff that beer and lager,
Let your Whisky burn your breast.
See those panoramic views
On your television.
Get your mobile out
And check what’s going on
In Social Media Land.

Wallow in a bar of chocolate
And dream of stroking dogs and cats.
Indulge in Romantic Fantasy,
If you know what I mean,
And be mindful of everything
That gives you joy.

Make Life a Celebration:
Party Time,
Full of sporting
Laps of Honour
And harmonious choirs.

Smell that cooking:
Roasts, fries, breads and cakes.
Taste it in your mind.
To the sound of birdsong
And Eric Clapton.

After all,
You only live once.

Paul Butters

© PB 14\1\2018.

I wish I could say something good
About growing old and dying.
For sixty years I had a great relationship
With Mum,
But then that demon Dementia brought her
Living Death.

She thought in the end I’d
Betrayed her,
“Allowing her to be put in a home”.
And then, to rub it in,
She was allegedly abused and badly bruised
By evil members of staff.
Mum passed away
Two months later.
The last time I saw her
She was waiting to be taken to the loo
As I was ushered out.

We all grow old,
Gradually fading away,
Tormented by Diabetes, hypertension
And strokes.
Full of arthritis
And gammy knees.

The list of ills goes on,
No proverbial light at the end
Of the tunnel.

So all I can say is live for
Now.

Make the most of our Share of Time.
Take comfort in passing on the baton
To the likes of Jacob
My great nephew.
Teach him and his peers
As well as we can
To take care of The Earth
A **** sight better
Than we have.

Try to Improve ourselves,
Keep growing
Every single day.
Keep learning
Experiencing
Living
As long as we can.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\1\2018.

That faithful dog is waiting at your door,
Bursting with unconditional Love.
He (or she) is pining
For your arrival.
Whining and crying,
All ashake.

At last you are here!
Forward he leaps,
Almost losing balance with the shake
Of his tail.
Ready to lick you
Into oblivion.

So you ruffle his ears
And pat him on the head.
“Good Boy!”

Meanwhile The Cat sits
In haughty isolation
Watching coolly
Indifferent to all.

But you still go to her
As she rolls over
And bears her furry tummy
For you to scratch
And her to purr.

I love these pets
Or rather
Family Members.
While they are with us,
There is nothing better.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\1\2018.

Long after I’ve gone –
As if that wasn’t bad enough –
Billions of years from now
The Earth will be engulfed by the sun
Which by then will be a red giant.
If not swallowed, then badly scorched.
Hopefully “We” will escape before then
With all our “Goods”.

But Trillions of years later
There surely will be no escape
When The Universe falls apart completely.
For it will thin into almost Nothing:
Frozen emptiness.
All our history, art, literature
Forgotten.
Death of Deaths.

No more Shakespeare, Beethoven, Einstein, Curie.
No Britain, America, World.
No Human Race.
Is there any hope of salvation?
Nothing in the Material World it seems.
Only, perhaps, a “Spiritual Solution”.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\12\2017.

They crawl along the streets like zombies:
Heads cowed over Androids and iPhones.
Busily pressing buttons,
Risking life and limb
As they cross the road.

It reminds me of “Star Trek Next Generation”
When young Wesley and the rest
Were hypnotised
By some alien “game”.

Sometimes they sit in huddles,
Messaging one another
Or playing, yes,
An addictive game.

All lost in a dream world
On Facebook or Twitter-Chat Whatever.
Soon we will no longer “fall out” with anyone:
We will “Unfriend” or “Unfollow” them.

I still prefer my laptop.
But how long before I too
Succumb to this addiction?
How long before my “Facebook Morning Splurge”
Becomes a day-long trawl?

Before I know it I will be like the others:
Lost in panic –
Frantic
Because I forgot to bring
My mobile.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\12\2017.