How many times can I say
I don’t want to die
Or extol the bountifulness of Mother Nature.
And how many times can I gasp
At the wonder of our ever-expanding universe?
It is what it is
As I’ve said on many occasions before.

Yet that mysterious aura of spirituality still surrounds us.
Perhaps my Muse is having an early Autumn break.
We still are but tiny ants
Looking up and dreaming
About what lies beyond
Our star speckled night-skies.

It took us ages to find that we all come from Africa
That The Earth is not the centre of The Cosmos
And that really we know next to nothing
About anything.

We were so easily ravaged by a tiny virus called Covid
And still struggle against the excesses of Global Warming.
So much more still needs to be done.

It’s The Anniversary of Nine Eleven,
Queen Elizabeth II is dead.
King Charles III has taken the throne.
The kids are back at school now
And in the blink of an eye
It will be Christmas.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\9\2022.

Heat from the street beneath my feet keeps hitting me.
The sun above relentlessly shows no mercy,
Baking everything with its fiery stare.
Sultry mugginess smothers us in a sauna of sweat
As even the breeze burns my reddening face.

Global warming turns us into another Venus
As record-high temperatures
Scorch us into submission.
Even some Sun Lovers are hiding now,
While others insist it’s just Summer.
In heat like this there’s only one solution…

Time for a beer.

Paul Butters

© PB 17\7\2022.

Britain is a battle ground for global weather.
Sometimes four seasons per hour!
An endless variety of cloud formations
But occasionally clear blue skies.

I love all those clouds.
Seeing faces, castles and who knows what
In all those shapes.
Gloriously colourful dawns and sunsets
That make life worth living.
Oh those reds, oranges, yellows, blacks and blues!
You can’t beat a sunset.

Hate the wind
And the snow.
But snow does look pretty.
Those crystalline flakes
Gently floating to the ground.

But then we have thunderstorms too!
Lashing lightning, striking from black sky.
Rumbling thunder exploding all around.

Such endless variety.
Rain and hail pounding down the chimney stack.
Relentless sun scorching crack-ridden earth.
Every extreme.
All manner of disturbance
And beauty.
An accompaniment to being Alive.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\6\2022

Don’t read this.
Scroll down from it like you usually do.
Well, most of you.
Unless you are one of the faithful few.

But the words keep coming.
My Voice will not be stilled.
Free verse keeps pouring
A persistent stream.

Now, though, I am haunted by this thought:
That nearing seventy I have but twenty years to live,
Thirty if I’m lucky,
God willing.

And like everyone else I hide in distraction,
Eating and drinking,
Finding entertainment,
Indulging in meaningless competition
Pointless projects
And generally playing out time.

Others do likewise,
Building great empires
Or just idling away
Those passing hours.

Yet my mind reaches out
Beyond the Time-Space Continuum
To a place where everything has already happened
Our lives have already been and gone.
The Universe as such has lived and died.

And when my brain returns
Back into this Realm
It encounters the sheer Science
Of an endless Cosmos
Endless in all dimensions
All directions
All times.

The mind is boggled
By Existence
Bringing substance, time, infinity and eternity
All impossible
Yet inevitable
Once something happens to Be.

Wherever you go
There is something further
Always a here and there.
Always a past, present and future.

Indeed, all impossible.
But I have to concede
There must be some Ultimate Intelligence somewhere
Even Sentience
That we might call God.

And maybe what The Ancients called “God”
Was but the nearest “god” we know of!

Yet don’t expect Him or Her or It
To come running
To our aid
Especially as
There may be no such thing
As an “Ultimate”
And no way to escape
From the Space-Time Continuum.

We are lost in the impossible,
So maybe all we can do
After all,
Is make the most
Of what we’ve got.

Paul Butters

© PB 12\4\2022.

An app for this
An app for that
An app even,
To feed your cat.

Mesmerised by mobiles
All these zombies shuffle along
Nearly getting run over
So internet throng.

Scanning with their debit cards
No time for cash
But I don’t trust these things
With their laser flash.

All this social media
Where is it going?
So much information
Toing and froing.

Good to keep in touch
And so easy to Google
Want to make a noise?
It’s better than a bugle.

Better check in on Facebook
So you all know where I am
Time to check my emails
To bin the latest scam.

But whatever happened to talking?
It’s now a forgotten art!
The cyber revolution:
This is just the start.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\3\22.

Succulent, seductive floral displays please my senses no end.
Spring is here!
Promise of countless flowers
As Summer surrounds us with scorching sun.
Before long those Daffodil buds will trumpet out
And cherry blossoms will brighten each lengthening day.

Birdsong serenades us
In a twittering chorus.
Nature’s Jazz wakes me up
With every blushing dawn.

We live in Paradise
Yet keep our senses closed.
Immersed in mobiles and social media
The wealth of nature is ignored.

So open your eyes and listen with those ears.
Stop bombing neighbours
And robbing the poor.
Love Life
Embrace Mother Nature
And make the most
Of what Providence has provided
For us all.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2022.

A gigantic, great giraffe thrusts his head
With that incredibly long neck,
Up into the high trees
To kiss the canopy.

He nibbles at those leaves,
Swirling them into his mouth
With that enormous tongue.

With his mottled, mosaic-patterned hide
He looks like a leopard on stilts
As he towers over all he surveys.

He’s not the most stylish of runners
With those spindly legs
But with that ever so long neck
This Giraffe is the king of the sky.

Only birds like Eagles can look down
On the Giraffe.
He is the highest mammal around
Tall and proud
Seemingly miles above the ground.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\2\2022.