It’s blue sky brightly sunny
As we await the Easter Bunny.
Still some clouds about
Rain might have a shout.

Remembering when Jesus died on the cross
Only to beat Death
So no longer a loss.

Let’s throw off our shackles too
Enjoy those Easter eggs,
Quaff a golden brew
And drain the barrel to the dregs.

It might be a crime to tire of rhyme
But give me a minute or two
Rhyme isn’t a favourite of mine
So I might not carry this through.

Forsythias, Daffies and now Mahonias
Gold flowers full of sun
Thinking of Begonias
Adding to the fun.

The Amaryllis must be out
Giving us a mighty shout
Other flowers too
What a lovely view.

**** and Robins are flitting around
Making lots of birdsong sound.
We’ve just sprung forward,
As you know,
So Nature is putting on
A bit of a show.

Symbolic eggs will soon be eaten
That chocky taste just can’t be beaten.
So enjoy Easter everyone.
Let’s hope we’ll be basking in the sun.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\3\2023.

I love to tell a story
Factual or made up.
And I love to type free verse,
Even the occasional rhyme
From time to time.

Love making conversation
Watching telly
Playing on Facebook
And surfing that ocean called The Worldwide Web.

In the nineteen sixties or seventies or whenever
I read a book in Pudsey Library
About a teacher who encouraged his students
To express themselves fully in free verse.

He wrote of short lines that
Shock!
And longer lines that linger in their elucidation of logical algorithms.
But otherwise there were no rules,
No doggerel-metres to follow,
Just freedom of expression.
So now I write this way myself.
Or rather, type.

And I keep typing.
Always typing.
One thing or another.
Constantly compelled to type
Something or other
Whether it’s a piece like this
Or not.

I keep on posting
And sharing
On the internet
Posting and sharing.
Hoping of course
That you will heed my words
And maybe have a go
Yourself.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\2\2023.

Vic Davies
That Davies bloke called Vic
He showed he isn't thick.
His table tennis can get bad,
Especially when he gets mad.

Liz Conolly
Mrs. Conolly, first name Liz,
Really, really is the biz.
Loves a seat at the front table,
Always gets there if she’s able.

**** Staples
Ah, here is **** Staples:
Loves his football from Grimsby to Naples.
Could be a pundit on the telly,
Always gives it plenty of welly.

Phil Sharpe
Mister Sharpe, first name Phil:
At table tennis he knows the drill.
Master of defensive ploys,
Wins his matches with lots of poise.

Ron Dawson (added 9\1\23)
Cider and Ale to Ron Dawson known as Rocket.
He has the whole World in his pocket.
Knows the routes of all the trains:
Lots of knowledge (on brewing and trains) fills his brains.

Paul Butters

© PB 6\1\23.

Steve Green (with extra verses)
Stephen Green
Who knows where he’s been?
Out on that bike
Sometimes taking a hike.
Loves Rugby League and ale
And Cider by the pale.

Ryan Jagger
Look at Ryan Jagger
Dancing with a swagger.
Full of jokes and taking the ****
Pours a beer-glass very quick.

Charles Lumley
Charles Lumley’s on full throttle:
He’s the owner of “Message in a Bottle”.
Stacks cans and bottles with precision
Never afraid to make a decision.

Jenny
You just can’t beat that lovely Jenny
She surely is worth every penny.
Hearing music, she has to dance
Enchanting with that cheeky glance.

Nigel
Doing his crossword, there is Nigel!
He knows everything from here to Rigel.
Need a proof-reader? He’s your man.
Want it in Latin? Nigel can.
Nuff Fer Now

Paul Butters

© PB 28\12\2022.

Right now bright sunshine blinds us to the sense
That we all live in a nebulous mist of uncertainty
Only knowing that eventually everyone Dies
After witnessing the miraculous wonder of Existence.

Eternal Infinity is impossible
Yet so too are finite boundaries
That only last for seconds.

There must be an Ultimate, All Powerful, Supremely Intelligent Being
Somewhere
We would think.
But is that possible in an Infinite Eternity?
And would any such being really be Omni Everything?

So we soldier on
Keeping ourselves amused.
Watching out for any clues
As to what this is all about.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\12\2022.

Legend says that during the last Ice Age
There was a worldwide civilisation
Quite advanced
Which built magnificent pyramids in Egypt,
South America and South East Asia
And great cities
Some deep underground.

But at the end of that Ice Age
There was a cataclysm
As snaking comet-shards showered on The Earth
So the ice sheets melted
Causing a Great Flood
And almost all was lost.

Which begs the question
How far back do we really go?
Were those mythical dragons
So bravely fought by noble knights
Actually Dinosaurs?

Have We been around for many millions of years?
Oh for a Time Machine
So we could go back
To discover The Truth.
Scientists insist there would be nothing to find
As their theories and constructs are all
They can see
Or wish to see.
But Intuition tells me otherwise
So the search for facts
Must go on.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\12\2022.

In teenage years I and others dreamt
Of hover cars,
Moving pavements
And endless star treks.

But what did we get?
People shuffling along with heads in mobiles.
All transfixed by a Virtual World.
A seemingly endless forest of digital pages
As they scroll down through a teeming waterfall
Of so-called comments, images and memes.

But in the real world
Buildings crumble
People freeze and starve
Because some computer says
They don’t have the “Money”
To maintain anything or
Even feed themselves
Or their children.

Where did that image of a glorious future go?
You don’t need telling that
We have war in Europe
As mighty Superpowers and International Corporations
Jostle with one another
To control our lives.
World ******* is what they seek.

Their factories pour clouds of black smoke
Into the sky
While they appease us with Climate Conferences
And blame Mister and Missus Everyone
For polluting the planet.

But as I say, you don’t need me to tell you this
Or sooth you with a Moon in June.
As the Americans say, Reality *****
Which is why
All those heads are stuck in all those phones.

Paul Butters

© PB 9\11\2022.