Our so-called “Universe” is an erupting volcano
Spewing out gas and solid matter
To form a cosmic web
Of incandescent galaxies full of stars
Rushing away from us
Ever faster
Until we see them no more.

We tiny mice men gaze up at the sky
To make out next to nothing
Of the wider landscape
On which our universe-volcano
Sends out its plumes.

Us mice we sit, idly supping our pints of ale:
Taking a break from “shopping”
For the better half.
Blithely taking for granted
The wonder that lies above our heads.

A cosmos riddled with black holes –
Places where Time has stopped.
Where if you somehow survived
You would be frozen solid
With no knowledge that Time keeps moving
Out there beyond the Event Horizon.

If Time has stopped
How can anything exist?
How can Hawking Radiation seep out
When there simply isn’t time?

Even Brian *** doesn’t know,
As he sits and sups his pint.
None of us know.
And as my glass empties,
Just as the universe will eventually empty,
All I can say is
Let’s have another one.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\12\2021.

Perhaps someone thought of an Existence:
A Cosmos so arranged
That its skies would be adorned with stars
Full of worlds
Where sentient life was
Inevitable.

Just an inkling of a thought,
A singularity
That dreamed of a singularity
From which Everything emerged.
All imaginable good and evil,
Making Pandora’s Box look trivial.
Evolving intelligence
From primordial slime.
Wonders everywhere that we
Will never see.

All from just a thought.
But better think on this:
We are that thought.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\8\2021.

This little world is like most worlds
Throughout the Cosmos.
Here the sun never moves
From its place in the sky:
Seemingly endless morning or eve,
Take your choice.

No concept of time.
No seasons.
Nothing to show the passing of the years.
Just that sun.
Moons optional.

The plants are black
Under a dark red sky
All sombre
All still
Apart from the odd cold wind
From this planet’s “Dark Side”.

For, like most planets,
This world resides in the Goldilocks Zone
Of a Red Dwarf Star
A zone where water may flow
Under the glow of a star
Like the vast majority of stars
Throughout the universe.

This world’s residents might well look out
Into space
With envy at our golden sun
With its blue Earth
Adorned with a coat of green
And its seasons
And days and nights.

They may learn from us about time
About our freedom to roam a long way
Without meeting tropical desert
And eternal frost on the dark side.

They may gasp in wonder
At this Paradise of ours
As they ponder their black grass
And hide from solar flares.
No respite from that relentless red sun,
No sense of time
Apart from monotony.

And they might wonder at us,
As we fail to care
For our glorious world
As it basks in our golden sun.

Paul Butters

© PB 28\7\2001.

The miracle –
To see, to feel, to touch, to hear, to smell
To be
To know I’m me.

A miracle repeated centillions of times over:
From the tiniest bug to the tallest tree.
So many sentient beings
Brimming with thoughts and feelings
Powerful emotion
And boundless imagination.

Evolution is but a continuation
From some timeless beginning
That could have created time itself.

Particles still wink in and out of existence –
Endless miracles beyond our vision.
All animals are just like us,
Seeing, feeling, thinking, wondering.

We take all this for granted
Rushing about
With our petty concerns –
Seldom taking the time
To stop
And look
At the sheer wonder
That is
Now.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\7\2021.

A spiritual place.
Set amongst ancient mountains
All clothed with timelessly old trees.
Streams and waterfalls gurgling
Down to meandering rivers.

Countless ancestors buried
Or ashes scattered here.
Battered old castles
Haunted mansions
Even the odd old parsonage
Perched upon a bleak northern hill.

You can’t put your finger on it,
But there is something in the air:
More than the howling wind;
Still present even when the thunder
And lightning
Stops.

Ghosts of the past are amongst us
As surely as the aromas of flowers
And cut grass.

The ancient souls are still with us,
No doubt wondering
What the hell we are doing.
For here are civilisations that
Have basked in glory
For many generations
Only to fall and crumble.
Abandoned, lost cities,
Cultures and even languages
That have blossomed and thrived
Only to fade away.

Perhaps the same fate awaits us too.
All things must end.
For even the very universe
Will fade away
Into a misty sea of protons
Leaving no memory of anything
Or anyone.

All that will remain
Is this spiritual backdrop
Countless souls
Refusing to go away
Even in the blackest night.
Dry ice still creeping
Through the gloom,
Never surrendering.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\6\2021.

Keep cool and calm,
Don’t do any harm
To others or yourself.
Even when rejected,
Don’t be affected.

Swim through the storm
Don’t even get warm.
Maintain self esteem
You know what I mean.
Control your emotion
In all the commotion.

Be Mister (or Missus) Cool
And don’t be a tool
For their challenging way –
You know it won’t pay.

People can be evil,
We all know that.
Almost primeval –
That’s a fact.

Feel good about yourself
Ignoring all barbs,
Keep up on that shelf
And deflect all those words.

If you can, smile and laugh,
Show you’re not bothered.
Like a giraffe
Don’t get smothered.

Beat them with wit:
Show them you’re mentally fit.
Use sarcasm too –
You know what to do.

If they then want to fight
Bring it on if you must,
But if outnumbered and outpowered
Get running -
Leaving a cloud of dust.

But first don’t react
Or do anything you can’t retract.
Keep your Cool
Don’t be the angry fool.

Assert yourself
And say what you want.
While doing your best
Not to affront.

What more can I say?
Being Cool is the way.
That’s my message
For today.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\6\2021.

Garden aromas
Indescribable
Yet taken for granted
Amongst a spiritual haven
Of sacred trees
Resplendently coloured flowers
And glorious grass.

Aromas of blossoms and dew,
Cut savannahs
Rain and drought
Foxes and cats.
Doggy Paradise
Where they can sniff
And scuffle,
Dreaming of truffle.

A Summer retreat
You cannot beat,
Better for a pond
To strengthen that bond.
Just sit or stroll
And soak it all in.
There is plenty of time.
You can only win.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\5\2021.