The shires bask serenely in the summer sun.
Streams flow smoothly down the green hillsides.
All is well with the world
As apple blossoms bloom.

Such peaceful scenes are soothing to the soul.
Spiritually uplifting: a sensual seduction
Of sight, sound and aromatic smells.

Snakes may hiss and stoats may snarl,
But nothing reduces this sense of peace and calm.
Assonance and sibilance flows as I scribe
My idle dreams upon this page.

It’s good to let your imagination loose
To planets out there amongst the stars
Or simply let it roam over the slumbering countryside.
Good to escape the struggles and strife
Of daily life.
Good to sleep easy
After meditating at our leisure
Refreshing ourselves with Mother Nature’s
Soothing Love.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\1\2022.

Science suggests that when we die
We become no more than skeletons and dust.
But The Bible says we will end up
With God in Heaven.
Others believe in Reincarnation:
That we promptly return
As another being –
A person, animal or whatever.

But what if God lives in each of us
One at a time
For Eternity?
What if He or She (or Whatever) foregoes those “Super Powers”
To experience Mortal living
In these frail bodies of ours?
Over and Over
Without End.

Which raises the possibility –
A reminder of “Matrix”
And just a fleeting thought
That right now I could be “The One”:
I could be God.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\1\2022.

I am The King of All Existence.
Only I can Live this Life of mine.
So I have to be King.

Yet I choose to treat Everyone as an Equal.
That includes Kings and Queens and Presidents of State
Animals and Humans,
Rich and Poor.
Anyone Sentient.

I would like to be treated as an Equal in return
But know that could be
A Big Ask.

All I can do
Is work on People
To try to get them to be like me:
Assertively dealing with everyone else
As Equals.

We have to Work Together
As a Team
For The Common Good
The Wellbeing of All.

Is this too much to ask?
We will see.

Paul Butters

PB 1\1\2022.

On the eve of twenty-twenty-two
We are ready to celebrate
Another New Year.

But throughout The Milky Way,
Eighty five percent of stars are red dwarves
Which nestle worlds that are tidally locked.

Such planets have no days or seasons
Nothing to show the passage of Time.
Half of each world faces its sun,
And the other half remains in eternal night.
For anyone on the ground
The sun never moves across the sky.
It stays perfectly still.
Always midday, twilight or whatever.

Here there is no New Year.
Or Christmas
Or Winter or Summer Solstice
Or Seasons.
Not even a single Day.
Imagine living like that.

Time happens
But the measurement of Time
Is manufactured
By Mankind.
Let’s not forget that
As we celebrate
And as we navigate
Our Days throughout The Year.

Paul Butters

© PB 31\12\2021.

Some insist they do not want to read about Space,
One of my favourite things.
They would rather I spoke
About what’s going down on Terra firma.

But to them I say
That there are billions of galaxies,
Stars and planets out there.
So the odds are that
There are countless worlds just like Earth.

Right now,
On such an “Earth”
There may well be
People just like us.
They might look different
But still be sentient beings
Eating and drinking
Even going to the pub,
Watching soaps and sport on their version of TV
Squabbling over who will tidy up today...
Or debating issues on Social Media.

They might be worried about global warming,
Or suffering some Pandemic,
Even waging interminable wars,
Just like us.

For, when all is said and done,
Our very own Earth is just like the rest:
A little blue world
Lost in the blackness of Space.

Indeed, we too are out “In Deep Space”
Every bit as much
As all those other Earths.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\12\2021.

For single, retired folk like me
Christmas and Bank Holidays are a bind.
Everything is closed,
No buses running,
Friends, like me, are staying home.

No pub for me today.
No squeezing through hordes
Of once a year drinkers
To get to the bar.
I’d rather enjoy my armchair
At home.

But the peace is pleasant,
A nice winter break.
Right now it’s all about
That baby in a manger
Being visited by three wise men.

I have a Christmas Dinner
Ready to microwave
And stocks of beer, whisky
Plus crisps
To keep me going.

Plenty of time to reflect
On another year gone
As seventy looms large for me.
Another year of Coronavirus Variants
As we work our way through
The Greek Alphabet.

Another year of stops and starts
Having to adapt
To whatever monster rears
Its ugly head.

I’ve kept playing table tennis
When the hall’s open
And walked to pub or café
When they’re not closed.
Doing well for a veteran
Can’t complain.

It’s peaceful at Christmas
That’s my refrain.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\12\2021.

Whenever people criticise me
They usually don’t know that
I am my Biggest Critic,
Beating myself up
Like Tyson Fury.

It’s how I spur myself on,
Hopefully to better things.
But what things?
I still don’t know.

Oh to have blind faith
And sense of Vocation
As many others do.
A solid set of Values.
A script to follow
Opinions to declare.

Instead I dither
Undecided
Lost in an ocean of ifs and buts.
Too bright and open-minded
For my own good.

Worse still, I’m oh so eager to please.
I think myself incorruptibly honest,
Yet the truth is,
I only tell people what I think
They want to know.
It’s how I was brought up.

But then again
Am I willing to fight
For what I stand for?
Should I really be Devil’s Advocate
Just to “stick up” for my views?

Better methinks to hold my counsel
Or be diplomatic
Which may be okay
So long as I actually decide
What I think and feel
Within myself.

And there’s the rub.
What do I stand for?
Do I really think for myself?
Like so many others,
Am I dragged along:
Brainwashed by Media hoo ha
And hype?
Superficial sound bytes
And rallying calls.

I need to search my soul
And find my true feelings
And beliefs.
I know that I Love Life
In most of its forms.
I’m all for Wellbeing
And The Common Good.

I need to focus
On these things:
On making the most of
This Paradise World
We seem bent on ruining.

In short
I must stoke those fires of Love
And enlighten others
To do the same.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\12\2021.