He lounges in his armchair
******* on a ***
And quaffing beer.
His eyes are glued to the telly,
Watching Corrie
Then footie
Before heading off to the pub.

He feels he’s earned his basic pleasures
As he checks his mobile
For emails and Tweets
And Facebook posts.

Comforts earned by slaving away
All day
For some faceless bureaucrat
Hidden away in his company’s
Ivory tower.

For this is Joe Public.
Ignore him at your peril.
He has lots and lots of mates.
And he is fed up of the “Nanny State”
With it’s, “You shouldn’t do this”
And , “You shouldn’t (or should) do that”.

He’s fed up too with the PC Brigade
Having already escaped the “God Squad”.
But he’s ****** angry
At simply being ignored.

You can keep Joe happy
With Celebrity and Social Media
And sport
And even “Pointless Quizzes”.
He avoids Education
To maintain his “Street Cred”.
But there will come a point
When he’s had enough.
And once that happens
His festering grievances
Will surface
Like killer sharks.

And if he joins a mob of like-minded souls
Who knows where that may lead?
Perhaps to Revolution.

So think on, my friend.
Take care of Joe.
Indeed of Every Joe.
For Joe could be
The Most Important Person
In The World.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\11\2019.

Did The Universe exist
Before it was seen
By us?

Some say you Are the universe
Looking at itself.

Chicken or egg,
Egg or chicken?

That mystery
Called Consciousness.
Macrocosm in a Microcosm,
Solar System in an atom.

We imagine all
So everything exists
Within us.

Miraculous.

Paul Butters

© PB 6\11\2019.

Many take Faith in God
Or The Spiritual World
Or other Power.
It gives them Purpose
And makes them feel good.

I smile for them
In their Positive View
And wish them luck with that.

I hope they are right
In their beliefs
For I may benefit too.

But, let’s face it,
Science shows
That when we die,
Each one of us,
Our flame is totally
Extinguished.
No-one lives forever.
Everyone dies.

We are reduced to skeletons
Or scattered ashes
(Unless kept in an urn)
Or in some other form
Of “preservation”.

These are the facts
From which
We cannot escape.

All the more important then
That as the cliché goes
We make the most
Of what remains
Of our Life.

Important that we Love all living things
And do our best
To Achieve all that we can,
Aspire and Succeed
For a better world
And for The Common Good.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\11\2019.

(Two more lines added to 4th stanza 4\11).

Hello, Autistic Adam here again.
When I was a student
They taught me
That Autistic kids live
In a weird world of their own:
A place of mystery
Too strange to describe:
A bubble universe
Cut off from “normal” folk.

I couldn’t picture what Autism was
Until, to my surprise
I learnt that I myself
Am Autistic.

So hard to describe,
But I can’t read those social cues
Or innuendo.
Do you really like or love me?
Or are you being polite
Even two faced?
I cannot tell.
Does a coffee mean coffee?

Tell me to jump
And I probably will.
For I take things literally.
You say, “I’m in trouble!”
And I think you really are!
Be careful what you say.

I’m so full of fear, anxiety and anger
Yet cannot tell what words of mine
Might anger you.

I cannot understand women…
But oh, that’s normal!
Haha.
But seriously,
People are baffling.

I have no girlfriend
Because I cannot tell
Between (them showing) interest and “being polite”.
The Dating Game is way beyond
My comprehension.

I’ve never asked anyone out
As I wouldn’t know where to take them
Or how to behave whilst we’re there.
Relationships are way beyond me.
What on Earth is that about?
I need a Rule Book…
If she kisses me
Should I propose?
Just don’t get it.
Better get a dog
Or cat.

I am a fictional character
As you know.
But I’m sure I’m a typical “case”.
Even my creator
Has his own Autistic traits.
There’s much of him in me.
And no I’m not referring to God here,
But who knows?
Maybe S\He is Autistic too
To some extent.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\10\2019.

I’m Autistic Adam.
Sorry for not looking at you.
I cannot stand seeing stares.
Just cannot look.
Sorry too for playing my electric guitar
As you try to talk to me.
But if I didn’t like you
I would have the speaker switched on.

Please don’t talk too long,
As I must have my tea
At seventeen hundred hours:
That’s set in stone.

And then I must attend
To my collection
Of football cards
And memorabilia.

After that I’ll read my maps
And study facts
In peace.

No!
I will not change my schedule!
The mere thought of that
Fills me with dread
And terror.

Sorry.
I cannot come to the party
You have arranged for me.
Just don’t do parties
Or “social events”
Or people
Period.

I’m very much the lone wolf,
Which reminds me:
Dogs and other animals
I love
With a passion
And obsession.

Give me a walk with a dog
Any time,
Or a cat to stroke.
But never
Ever
Try to make me change
My day
In any way.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\9\2019 (2).

We have to talk,
Talk right now
While the time is ripe.

It will be difficult
For both of us,
But we have to grab
The bull by the proverbial horns.

We’ve let things drift,
You and I.
We’re in a rut,
I hear you sigh.

We keep our secrets,
Both of us;
From one another,
There’s the rub.

A relationship stuck
In the mud.
Your loyalty questionable
I have to say.

Sorry if I’m wrong
But I must declare
I’m pretty sure
Your eyes are elsewhere.

I don’t know where to go with this.
If only we could “kiss
And make up” as they say.
But it’s not as easy as that.

We must come clean
With one another,
For what’s a relationship
Without trust
And honesty.

So
My friend
Just what is going on
Between us?
Or have we reached
The End?

Paul Butters

NB this poem is pure fiction, from my imagination.

© PB 30\9\2019.

At five in a morning they scavenge about,
Punters at a car boot sale
Searching for bargains with torches.
Why the lights?
Because it’s still dark.
Why dark?
Because it’s SEPTEMBER.

September: the month when the kids go back
To school.
When bowls goes indoors,
Snooker starts;
Cricket draws to a close,
As bad light stops play.
Premiership football into its second month
And Rugby Superleague into the Playoffs.

Telly programmes that have run all summer
Grind to a halt
And Winter TV takes over.
“Question Time” is back
Along with parliament,
Though Boris soon closed it
This year!

The nights get longer,
Minute by minute
And soon those leaves will turn
That lovely golden hue:
Ironically the mark of Death.

Thoughts will soon be turned to Christmas
As we steel ourselves
For another Winter.
Halloween and Bonfire Night
Are coming soon.

This year we have “The Brexit Deadline”,
A new distraction
Drawing our eyes away
From the eternal passage
Of time.

Paul Butters

© PB 23\9\2019.