In the final analysis
We are but colonies of bacteria
Swimming about in our own primordial soup.
Who knows what pacts and treaties
Have been made within our very bodies?

Aeons and aeons of evolution
Have led to this:
The human being.

So much mindless life,
Following instinct,
Building and building
To produce intelligence.

Natural Selection,
Seen by Darwin,
Such a beautiful thing –
Presented by Attenborough on a silver screen –
God’s Formula:
The mark of Genius.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\1\2019.

It has been said to me
That poetry
Is but Words
And Gobbledygook.

So how can I explain
What poetry is?
It’s something intangible,
An atmosphere,
A spiritual thing.

Poetry is essence,
Touching the soul.
A kind of Magic,
As Queen used to sing.

It makes you tingle
And shudder
And glow.

Much more than a shopping list
Or legal decree
Poetry flows from the heart,
Lyrically lancing
Through space and time
To create a universe
Of bountiful beauty,
Where even the ugliest monstrosity
Is transformed
Into heaven
On Earth.

It saddens me to think
That seemingly soulless people
Miss out
On this.

So all I can do
Is keep on singing,
Carry on writing
In the enduring hope
That one day
They will see the light.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\1\2019.

Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.

We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.

Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.

Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.

Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.

We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.

“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****.

It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2019.

Stand back outside space and time
And you will see
That we are dead
Through most of Eternity.

Our lives are twinkling little stars
Lost in the void
Of blackest space.

Look closer now
At any star
To be amazed
At a Solar System
Too much to put
Into words.

For every living thing
Creates a Universe
In its own right.
So every death
Extinguishes
A universe too.
And every birth
Creates
A universe anew.

I cannot express
How wondrous it is
That we can think and feel
The way we do.

All I can say
Right now
This day
Is
Let’s make the most of it.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\12\2018.

They drop from branch to branch
Of my Cotoneasters:
An extended family of lickle spuggy sparrows.
Their aerial scouts are flitting
From shrub to shrub
While the main party flies up and down
Up and down.

For they have spotted the wild bird seed
That I have scattered
All along the bottom of my back lawn.
So now they make their way
In regimented fashion,
Up and down,
In and out,
Ever wary of those murderous cats.

Now and then they are joined by **** or robins
Or other lickle birds unknown
To this city suburb lubber from Leeds.
Not forgetting those massive fat pigeons
And delicate doves
Who all join in the frenzied feeding
Without a care in the world.

Meanwhile a couple of blackbirds
Patrol their territories
Ignoring the seed
In preference for some scraps of meat or fish.

Later on the foxes will spring forth,
Sneaking around the streets.
So all we need is a commentary
From Sir David Attenborough
With his “Dominant Males”
And “Courting Rituals”
For all to be complete.

Mother Nature loves our little seaside town,
Patrolled by gulls
And guarded by our dogs.
I must get walking in the Spring
When the flowers reappear.
Look forward to that.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\12\2018.

What is left to say
About our humdrum daily lives?
Monday to Sunday all year round
In time manufactured by mankind.
Monotonous mazes of standardised building blocks.
Daytime TV all timetabled and scheduled
The Interweb
Media meditation
For brainwashed, mindless zombies:
Heads immersed in mobile phones
Or faces bathed in television light.

Crime ridden streets await us
When we venture forth
To pre-appointed places
In a world we call “Routine”.

Little wonder then
That Imagination soon takes over
At least for me.
Heading off to Planet Paul
For flights of fancy
Fuelled by Star Trek
And Battlestar Gallactica to name but two
Of my favourite shows.
For I love Space
And anything else that lies beyond
The dreariness
Of the Here and Now.

Why do you write?
They ask as if Confession is required.
I stumble on my words
Trying to explain
How I simply have to write.
For I never can stop dreaming
And once I dream
Then I simply have to share
Whatever I’ve dreamt
With all of you.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\12\2018.

Under a mocking Sun,
I may be The Only One.
Or very close to that.
Yes, here I am again,
Back on this theme.
For all I know is that
I feel and think right now.

As for others,
I can but surmise
From what I see and hear.

Yet who provides this World
In which I live:
A many splendoured Universe?
Human builders built these streets:
Residences flanked by cars.
But Someone must be Dreaming all this
And it can’t be little me.

They talk of Big Bang and Evolution,
Like is some form of Revolution.
But Who provided that First Spark,
Light created out of The Dark?

Who is Responsible
For tiny particles
Winking in and out
Of Existence?

My own Id gives me splendid dreams,
But these are nothing
Compared to what springs forth
From some Super Id
Out there somewhere
Or somewhen.

Evolution takes its course,
Following a formula
That transcends
Space and Time.

Many call The Author “God”
Of course,
And why not?
We each have our God,
Defined however we will.
Our Sun has been a “God”,
And maybe still is to some.

Whatever we believe in,
There are Powers around,
Way above our heads.
Whoever or whatever they are
We can but Hope
That they smile upon us
And keep us safe.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\12\2018.