There probably IS a “God”:
Some supreme power and intellect
Who rules the Realms.
Define your God, if you will.

There may be many gods around
Throughout the vastness of the universe
For us to pray to too.

Did God Create our Universe?
Who knows?

But what do I care?
All I want to know
Is what’s in it for me?
Will I get but a pittance
Of a few decades of Life?
Or will I live on in some afterlife,
Reincarnation or whatever?

This may sound selfish
But as I say,
I don’t care.

I resent the certainty of Death,
With every fibre of my soul.
Atheists give me no comfort here:
Only Religion gives some Hope,
Despite our history of “Holy Wars”.

So what can I Believe in now?
What Faith can sooth my soul?
Only Hope.

Paul Butters

Swirling worlds whirl around many stars,
Throughout the depths of space.
Rocky planets like Earth or Mars,
Put there by God’s Good Grace.

Stars born from cloudy nebulae – dust and gas.
Suns like grains of sand upon a beach.
Some many times our own Sun’s mass,
Further away than our minds can reach.

Our little Earth, so gloriously blue.
Teeming with life, it’s oh so true.
Planet Paradise we take for granted.
Why can’t we see that we’re enchanted?

Worlds like ours are very rare,
Though there may be others way out there.
The human race can be a parasite,
Draining the soil with technological might.

We have to fight against this destruction.
Conservation is my instruction.
Cherish All Life is what I say,
Loving Nature the only way.

Wellbeing for all must be our creed.
Don’t be tempted by ravenous greed.
We have one Life and just one World,
So there it is, my flag’s unfurled.

Paul Butters

Alliteration and assonance
Are what we need to make words dance.
Pretty poetic practices percolate the page,
As apples happily meet our approval and appreciation.
Words have music
As surely as the sun
Gives light.
And all these things
Are older than the hills.

Paul Butters

It’s the first ever meeting of the Interstellar Federation
In which the “Universal Translator” is employed.
The “Chairman” stands and asks
Each delegate to make introduction by race and planet.

The first being announces:
I am Human, from Planet Earth, in The Solar System.
So the second delegate adds:
We too are “Human” and our planet is called “Earth”.
Our “Earth” orbits round The Sun, which lies
In the centre of our Solar System.

And the third representative says:
I am Human too…
And the fourth…
And the fifth…
And the sixth….
And the seventh…

Paul Butters

I say again:
There may well be a Higher Power
Or Powers
Out there
Somewhere.
Even a Higher Intelligence.

If there is,
I have a Message
For Him, Her, Them, You:

SOS.

Paul Butters

Dawn breaks,
Awaking me to our universe:
Ever expanding,
Into infinite space.

Billions of stars,
Planet and moons.
Countless possibilities,
Multiverse or not.
Too vast to comprehend.

Together we are
But a leaf in the forest,
Drop in the ocean,
Grain of sand on the beach.
Lost in orderly chaos.
One sparkle in a firework display.

Logically there should be higher powers
And maybe one supreme being, ruling all.
Call it Gods or God
Whatever you like.
Feel free to choose your own.

Select from the maelstrom of energy and life
That is out there.
Choose from intelligences way beyond our reckoning.

For names are nothing but convenience
For we ants
As we look up at the stars.

Paul Butters

No life or death
Pain or pleasure
Galaxy
Or Universe
No more beautiful dawns or dusks
No world of wonders
Or anything
Once we are gone.

So it’s Now Boys!
Attention!
As Huxley said
On “Island”.
Live for Now.
For this very moment.

Stop.
Let your mind go blank.
Listen to your body
And all that surrounds you.

Breathe in the oxygen
That gives us life.
Admire the sky
And all beneath it.

Join with nature:
Sapping grass and foliage
The song of birds
As Mummy Sparrow feeds her fluffy chick
Its beak open wide
Clamouring for food.

Enjoy it all
While it lasts.

Paul Butters

I kiss your lips and enter heaven:
Soft as sand and warm as Devon.

I’m taken out of my body
Down a long dark tunnel.
Your lips to me are lingering trunnels.
I go into a bright black hole,
Almost losing my soul:

Just wish this kiss
Would last for ever.
It’s something I
Don’t want to sever.

But there we’ve done.
Oh what a crime.
We’ll have to wait
Until next time.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\9\2017 (2nd poem of the day). 1st stanza split into two and slightly re-arranged 4\9.

Yell your head off
And shout, shout, shout.
Get in amongst them
And put it about.

We’re awake now, hear us cry!
Full of energy,
Watch us fly.

Out of our slumbers,
On the up.
Highly charged,
We’ll win The Cup.

We’re all full of motivation,
Hear our incantation.
Forward we go, bursting with pride.
Come with us, enjoy the ride.

We’re the greatest, we all know.
Ever ready to fight the foe.
We are winners through and through,
Even better than Doctor Who.

We will put the world to rights.
You will see incredible sights.
All together we unite,
So stay with us and
The future’s bright.

Paul Butters

Simon “Hurricane” Hudson prowls the snooker table
Like any good mixed metaphor would.
A modern day Pythagoras
He triangulates his shots.

Meanwhile his rival, lion-heart "Rocket" Richard,
Not to be confused with Lionel Richie,
Is on his mobile Googling
How to play the perfect “snooker”.
And the two Perfect Pauls
Discuss the latest football,
While “Whirlwind” Wendy sits in judgement,
Knitting the night away.

At long last Simon plays a stroke!!!
And rattles those unrelenting jaws
Of that elusive pocket yet again.

The game rolls on.
But where the hell is Simon?
The clock on the electricity is running down
But where is Simon?
Where is he?
He’s at the bar
Telling barman Nick how Rochdale
Will win The Cup one day.

Hurray, he’s back to play again.
Cascading planets collide into new orbits
As they did in the Primeval Solar System.

We play on,
Safely keeping those precious *****
Away from those black holes
They call the “pockets”.
We try to pick our shots
(At those pockets lol)
But all we keep potting
Is that white one.
Maybe we should switch to Billiards,
Or *** some plants instead.

Paul Butters

I get sent socks at Christmas,
So I can have safe walks.
When I tell my friends about this,
Everybody talks.

There is no innuendo,
Nothing to confess.
Without those cushioning blankets
My feet would be a mess.

I know a friend who knits socks,
In many different hues.
So long as she keeps knitting,
Our feet won’t have the blues.

So Wendy sock it to ‘em:
All that stitch and purl.
Make them good and roomy,
So our toes don’t have to curl.

No chance of any frostbite,
With these things on our feet.
For comfort on a cushion,
These socks just can’t be beat.

Paul Butters

Let’s go to an antimatter universe
Where hot ice solidifies
Under the black light of the freezing sun.
A world where short giraffes hide beneath
The tall grass, amongst low trees.
See those high plains, watery deserts and low mountains.
Slow flies crawl over red skies
As turtles and tortoises speed around.
Here, hot sun is an oxymoron
And everything is downside up.

Or if you prefer we could visit a realm
Like on “Red Dwarf”
Where time flies backwards:
People formed from dusty death
To live and grow youthful
On the way to an inevitable birth
And death again
When parental **** parts from *****.

Paul Butters

Step outside of space and time
Then look back In
And you will see that everyone you know
Is both alive and dead
At once.
For all has happened
Happens
And continues to happen.

The very universe is both alive and dead,
Winking in and out of existence
Like a sub-atomic particle.
Big Bangs
Big Cools
Perhaps a constant re-Creation
Endlessly repeating.

Maybe indeed we’ve lived our lives
Are living our lives
An infinite number of times
Each time slightly different
As we learn and learn
Time after time
Relentlessly
Into Eternity –
An endless cycle.

Paul Butters

I peer into the depths of forest:
A seeming infinity of trees
And undergrowth.
Gnarled branches adorned
By countless butterfly wings.
A sea of green
Above those black-hole shadows.

Who knows what lies beyond those lines?
What friends or foes might well be met
In there.
Monsters may lurk,
Or fairies frolic around mushroom rings.

Yes, an infinity of sheer delight
Or hell.
Maybe I’ll find you a cottage in those woods,
With a garden path to lead you down for more.

I stare
And wonder.
Then I put away my mobile
(And the mayhem is gone again).
LOL.

Paul Butters

This is not poetry.
No embracing the wonders of the universe
Or deafening you with rhetoric.
No apple blossom aromas
Or vistas wide and clear.
No Romance or wisdom,
Just a pint of beer.

My small talent for words
Came from Mum and Dad,
And I take no credit for that.
If only I had read more,
Instead of being a brat.

My ego is exploding,
I’m ever the bighead.
Couldn’t care less about my critics
And sleep easy in my bed.

For once I’ve started rhyming,
That’s a change for me.
Prefer to be unshackled,
My verse just running free.

It’s time to hit the pub now.
I’m only here for beer.
But I’ll be back again to type,
Never have a fear.

Paul Butters

Shall I compare you (being modern)
To a summers day?
Or to a galaxy full of stars?
No I will not
For I know full well
That you will never fall
For any of my corny chat-up lines.

Paul Butters

I bought myself a new modern mobile
With Internet and all.
***
Such a leap into the stars
After my “Lappy” Laptop
And old Nokia.

Where do I begin?
Either here or on the phone?
At sixty five I need some kid
To show me.

All this feather-light touching and sweeping,
“Apps” and “Data” and battery preservation.
A bewildering jungle of meaningless symbols
That lead you into chaos.

It can be great:
Taking and sharing lovely vistas
For all your Facebook Friends.
Speaking to Google and getting a nice sounding
Lady reply.

Very handy indeed
Until it all goes wrong
And World War Three breaks out
Or else you are Stuck
As surely
As a Prisoner.

But hey, I can be a Fast Learn
Getting there
As at long last I enter
The Twenty First Century.

Paul Butters

I am king of the world, universe and everywhere,
But I have only a hint of power.
So all I can give you is attitude.
Just pointing out injustice
Where I see it.

Classes and castes and religious divides
I see as evils
To be opposed
With all my might.

For sure I’ve little might
Of course,
But I still have the right
To say that it’s all wrong.

Classless society is what we want:
Well anyone who’s worth his, or her salt wants that.
Religious discrimination is another thing
We need to remove
From our way of life.

There are many more evils in our world,
So we must do
All we can
To obliterate them
At every opportunity.

I can’t put this any other way,
Poetic or not,
We have to stand
And fight
Against all that we see
As bad.
For the Common Good.

Paul Butters

Nothingness:
Nothing,
Non-Existence,
Infinite, Eternal black space stretching out
Beyond imagination.

Yet even Nothing is a Something
That Exists.
Even Nothing could create
The Big Bang.

Everywhere we look
Subatomic particles wink and blink
Into Being
Then vanish
To reappear.

We are never stable
Ever changing
In tune
With mathematical equations.

The wonder of it all.
Force, energy, matter
Incredible piles of rock
And clouds of gas.
Supersuns and bottomless black holes.
All indifferent to the fact of their own existence
Until Life appears
Perhaps inevitably
With minds to witness
These incredible happenings
That happen
Until the end of time
If time can end.

Paul Butters

Existence
That’s The Thing
Not The Universe:
A mere detail,
If somewhat huge!

Logic dictates that Existence
Just came into Existence!
Or always Existed.
Eternal Existence.
I cannot see how a sophisticated God
Could exist
Before Existence.

You may call this an Accident
But what’s in a name?
Existence either sprang into Existence
Or Existed
Always.

Does God exist?
Irrelevant.
What matters is that Existence
Exists.

And for me
What matters
Is that I Exist.
For only I can live my life.
And only my life is what I know
To be so.
Even the Queen, or Putin or Trump cannot
Know what it is
To live my life.
Only I can know that,
Which makes me The King
Of Existence.

Paul Butters

Come with me,
Along this path:
Through the forest,
Towering over us on either side.
Smell the greenery
All around.
Orchestral accompaniment
From countless birds.

Hope you feel engaged
As we stroll along.
And now the pathway branches out!
Six new paths,
Six choices.
Let’s take one.
Off we go.

We risk being lost.
What wonders
Or horrors (!)
Will we find?

The woods **** us in,
Further and further forward.
Punctuated by pesky gnats.
Expect itchy red spots
When you get home.

Onward and onward.
Bees and butterflies.
Sun streaming through the branches up above,
Trees topped by fleecy white clouds.

At last – a clearing!
Can I hear the sea or just a lake?
Or is there a stream nearby?
I see a golden parting of the ways,
A little land beyond forever.
But what do You see???

Paul Butters

I was a Communist kid back in the fifties
And a seventeen-year old Socialist.
The Americans made me laugh even then:
Afraid of “Commies”
When they really meant Soviets.

For me Socialism meant
Equal Shares
And humanitarian Christianity,
With the fall-back of a Welfare State.
All Good.

But as I’ve got older I’ve come to appreciate
The other side of the coin.
Not Fascism as such,
But with Socialism
Where is Aspiration?
Where is the Incentive to do more
And better?

We don’t want a society of clones,
Sitting on their backsides
Living on the dole.

But then again, what should we aspire to?
Should I have aimed to be a mega-rich dictator
Of some parasitic world empire?

I’m all for developing talent to the full,
Encouraging people to make a positive contribution
To the wellbeing of all.

And there’s the rub.
There doesn’t seem to be a political system – yet,
That is just and fair
Whilst helping us all to blossom.

Until we invent something better,
A bubbling cauldron of Socialism and Free Enterprise
Is the best we have to work with.
Unless you know better.

Paul Butters

Oh for a world without wars!
Free of terrorists.
Where each and every one of us
Can go about our daily lives
Without any fear.

But I read somewhere
That there may be a price to pay:
Loss of Freedom.

Think of the USSR, or better still, Yugoslavia.
Ruled by rods of iron
These counties showed us facades
Of calm.

But once those dictatorships disappeared then
Those underlying differences emerged.
The Balkan States were a case in point:
When Yugoslavia went
All hell broke out!

So when I suggested that
A benevolent world government
Might cure our ills,
A warning was shot across my bows:
“Be careful what you wish for!”

For what good is “Peace”
When no one dare speak out
Or act in a “different” way?
“1984” soon springs to mind:
Droves of mindless clones
Dumbed down by drugs
And Media driven hypnosis.
Totalitarianism at its worst.

What we really need is an end to violence
And every other form of Abuse.
Free thought
Married with respect and tolerance
To our fellow men
And women.

World Peace only comes free
When the people are free too.
Freedom of the individual
Based on mutual respect
And better still
On Love.

Paul Butters

Whisky, “The Water of Life”,
******* burning all down my chest.
Opening up my mind to endless imaginations
So I can put the world to rights
Like Superman in his pomp.

Feel that glow,
Spreading like a forest fire.
Feelgood Factor
Fathomless in its depth.

Who cares what peat, in what glens
Or valleys it came from.
Or what precipitation
Bathed those golden barley ears
On Celtic hillsides.

I’ll drink any Whisky,
Single or blend
White oak cask or not.
So long as it gives me that buzz
And blows my mind.
Inspiring the best
Or worst
In me.

Paul Butters

Smooth pools lull me to slumber.
Tinkling streams play musical tunes
Under sun or moon.
Red sunsets and dawns warm my soul
As birdsong accompanies that sweet
Smell of mowed-lawn grass.

No better time to Celebrate
The Joys of Life.
Let’s celebrate celestial sentience,
Whatever that might be.
Let’s party, laugh and smile.

Paul Butters

They say that before every step
You take in life,
You flick a mental coin
Then go left or right
Turn or keep straight on.

In your own universe you go left,
Pop into a café,
Go home and have a nap.
Then carry on those humdrum days.

But that was close!
So close that in an alternative realm
You go right,
Go into a shop,
Buy a lottery ticket
And Win Millions!

For every possibility, the scientists claim,
Is played out
In an Infinite Multiverse.

Somewhere you are King or Queen,
And somewhere else you are about to be shot!
Somewhere you are a fly
Or a bear.

Somewhere my parents are still alive
And everyone is free of ill.
That tuneful Rainbow springs to mind.
Maybe there’s even a Universe
Where everyone is Immortal.
Where God calls in for a cup of tea.
And what we’ve read as fiction
Is all true.

These possibilities are endless and
My imagination strains to picture
All that might just happen.
Somewhere.
We can but Hope.

Paul Butters

Who needs terrorists?
They are redundant
When over 60 poor people
Can perish
In a raging inferno
Caused by their own council.

For years the resident action group
Were poo pooed by the authorities
With, “Don’t worry your pretty heads!”
When they warned about fire safety regulations
Being ignored
Just like them.

No sprinklers and only one fire escape
In a twenty four storey building.
Only last year the tower was refurbished
With cheap plastic cladding that’s
Banned in the USA.

Our prime minister has been accused
Of failing to show humanity
By only visiting the Emergency Services
To avoid the angry public.

All this has happened
Not in some God forsaken third world country
But in the fifth or sixth richest economy
In the world.

For sure, that all engulfing tower-fire
Has made the blood of the people
Boil.
Let’s hope this volcano does not erupt
Like the one that caused
The London Riots of 2011.
Let’s hope our administration
At all its levels
Learns something from this:
To Care for its People.

Paul Butters

Before the UK Election
Those Tory Trolls slagged off
The Labour Leader
Jeremy Corbyn
Unmercifully –
Dredging up his distant past,
Turning his heroic quest for Peace in Northern Ireland
Into an act of alleged “treason”
And much more.
They painted a grim grey scene.

But like King Arthur and his gallant knights,
Corbyn unsheathed his own Excalibur:
That mighty thing called “Hope”.
He offered us all a brighter future,
Except perhaps for the greedy rich,
To sweep through the enemy ranks
Upon his horse, “Momentum”.
Once more to the breach…

And as the opinion polls swing
More and more in his favour,
Victory for Labour
Is only a matter of time.

Paul Butters

I sit here again, my laptop on my knee,
Or rather, lay back in my armchair
Next to the lounge window.
Before me lies the clutter that is
My man cave.
If I just stare I see every little item
In glorious detail.

Yet even when asleep
I swear to you
I sometimes dream of scenes
Images of tables, cities or skies
Every bit as detailed as real life.

Which begs the question:
Where exactly IS this wonderful “Mind” of mine,
That can so accurately record and reproduce
Such multi-coloured panoramas?
Is it just “in my head”
As scientists assert,
Or is it located “somewhere out there”,
Even beyond the stars?

Am I merely squatting
In this body of mine
Until the day that I pass on?
And when I do pass over
Will my soul go whizzing down
Some spiritual “connection”
Back to where my mind is based?

I say again, we may all be but cameras,
Recording films and “programmes”
For other minds
Beyond this realm.
Even for Angels.
For it’s only through US
That this marvellous universe
Is brought to life.

Paul Butters

The UK General Election has run its course.
A “win” for the Conservative Tories
With most votes and seats
Though they lost their parliamentary Majority,
And can only govern
By doing a deal with the Northern Irish DUP
Who oppose the rights of gays and women
And want to bring back hanging.

Yet Labour too are celebrating a win:
Halving the gap between the Tories and themselves
And winning loads of votes and seats.
OK they finished fifty odd seats behind,
But hey!

And then the Libdems “won” four more seats.
Plus The Greens held Brighton by a merry mile.
The Scottish Nationalists still got thirty five seats,
In spite of Nicola Sturgeon calling for
Another referendum on independence.
Sinn Fein in Northern Ireland got more seats too.
And the Welsh limited their damage by Labour.

“Winners” all, except for UKIP.
That’s politics.
Until the next election.
Which might be fairly soon.

Paul Butters

Here shines the loyal light,
Reminding us of Boxer Manson.
Still standing guard o’er us in Doggy Heaven,
Keeping his family safe throughout the night.

Paul Butters

They say that honesty is the best policy.
Be assertive.
Say what you really think.
“I feel hurt by what you just said….”
Let The Truth be out.
I try my best on this…
Though maybe I’m ready
For another Assertiveness Course.

But sometimes the truth seems too hard to give.
“Do I look all right in this?
No you look a mess”!!!
MMM No.
“You always look great, love”…
To tell a Mum she has lost a child –
Oh my.

I know some who lie through their back teeth
And even believe their own lies.
Annoying indeed.
But then again I cannot help myself
From sugar-coating the truth
With little white lies
Or simply keeping quiet.
Economical with the truth
To keep the peace.

For sometimes people make me feel naïve
For blurting out
What others will not utter.
And the PC brigade are always
On my case.

Mum brought me up to say
What people like to hear:
To fit in and
“Be normal”.
To be approved.
Always have the right coloured door
And keep up with the Joneses.

So the rights of this
Are obscured by mists.
And all I seek
Is some happy
Middle ground.

Paul Butters

Soldiers of Peace march on
Have no enemies
Just hearts and souls to win over.
See no divisions
Between race or creed
Or whatever.

Engage with people.
Listen and understand
Where they are coming from.

Unite us all:
The human race –
Life Forms everyone.

Have that discipline
Of the best army
In the world
But channel everything
Into peace
And Love.

Stand together
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

It’s just gone midnight,
And I’m full of whisky,
But I must Assert,
That I am Me.

The only one
Who lives THIS life.
Even The Queen cannot do that.
Nor Putin, Nor Trump
Or Whoever.

Only I count.
I’m The One.
Yes I’ve said this before.

When I Go
The World will end
As far as I’m concerned.
And that’s all that matters.

You may think this selfish.
It is.
My only defence is that
I revere All Life.
By choice.

I Loved my Mum
And Dad.
And I love all my relatives
And Friends.
Especially my Sister.

I wouldn’t **** a spider
Or a fly.
I love all animals
And Plants.

Caring is my middle name
In fact.

But in the end,
I’m the one
Who counts
Like I said.

I need no “recognition”
Or fame,
Or even money –
So long as I have enough
To get me by.

My teachers showed me I have some talent:
Lucky genes.
If only I’d done enough homework…
But I count my blessings.

I do not say all this out of aggression.
But rather, I am being Assertive:
Showing Self-Esteem
And saying No
As required.
Expressing what I feel
As me.

Yes it’s me, me, me.
You’ll just have to accept it.

Paul Butters

I was brought up in Western Leeds,
Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep.
In sprawling suburbs:
Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums.
We had our fields:
Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb
(Fireweed to the Americans)
On former demolition sites.
Our childhood spears were honed
From fireweed spears.

Our house was in a terrace
On “School Street”,
Where we took baths in the sink
And crept to outside toilets
In the dark of the “back yard”.

Those days were punctuated
By the “Yie Yie” blare
From the local factory siren.
A deafening sound.
And by endless hammering
From the scrapyard nearby.

But we loved our dripping and bread,
And our walks to the sweet shop.
Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags”
Along the sides of the cobbled street
Under old Victorian gas lamps
Straight from Narnia.

I recall crying on our return from the coast
At a dismal scene
Of soot shrouded trains
On tortured railway lines.

But I also feel nostalgia
For those heady days
Of childhood innocence.
Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit,
And running around
During a “New Year’s Revolution”.
Happy Days.

Paul Butters

They say that God is omnipotent,
Omniscient, omnipresent:
All the omnis.

An all-powerful, all seeing, all knowing
All place being.
No pressure then, Mr. or Mrs. God.

Paul Butters

This thing we call the universe reaches out
Beyond the beyond.
The sweeping sky seduces our senses
With shimmering stars.
A mere glimpse
At endless heavens.
Swirling galaxy clusters,
Travelling beyond the speed of light.

Like grains of sand on a surf-kissed beach,
These star-packed galaxies fly forth.
Meanwhile, at sub-atomic level,
Exotic particles wink in and out of existence.

Most stars are red dwarves.
Many harbouring exoplanets
In their Goldilocks Zones.
One-eyed worlds with the same side
Always facing the sun.

On such a world there’s no such thing
As a day.
It’s always the same time
If you stay the same place.
Hot day one side,
Frozen night on the other.
A bright side with black plants
Under a rose tinged white sky.

But there are plenty of golden stars
Just like our sun.
Stars surrounded by rocky earths like ours.

Is our Earth unique?
Does it take a planetary collision
To form an Earth and Moon
Supporting life?
Time may tell.
And if we’re lucky,
We might just live to see it.

Did God create this Universe of ours
Or is it all by chance?
Who knows?
Who cares?
Just enjoy.

Paul Butters

My brother is very lazy.
Every day he drives me crazy.
I love him to bits I'll have you know,
I'll defend him stoutly against any foe.

I've never seen a man so stubborn,
His wife must find him hard to govern.
I still love him, for all his faults,
There's nothing like him
In any bank vaults.

Paul Butters

Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.

Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.

A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.

Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.

It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.

Nicola Sturgeon
Needs no urging.
Scottish trouble,
Let’s burst her bubble.
She wants to split the UK
And make it rubble.
Theresa May thinks she’s the dregs.
The papers? They only ask,
(Nicola and Theresa) -
Who’s got the better legs?

Paul Butters

They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.

True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.

His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.

He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.

He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.

So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.

Paul Butters

Let self-esteem make you beam.
Make thick-skin your fort.
Have Belief in every dream
And hold that Positive Thought.

Paul Butters

I’m a geographer who doesn’t much like to travel,
A writer who reads slow,
Artistic scientist,
With not a lot to show.

An enigmatic person
With strengths and foibles too.
For I am only human,
Very much like you.

A historian with a bad memory,
That just sums me up.
I have my limitations,
Yet still a half-full cup.

I may be self-effacing,
But have the strength to be honest.
I’ll get there in the end,
To fulfil what I’ve promised.

I know that isn’t a lot,
But I do have my talents.
When all is said and done,
My books do more or less balance.

I’m happy with myself I have to say,
So if you are a critic
Get on your way.

Paul Butters

Dilly dally ****
Ranieri has now gone.
Sacked by the Leicester board:
Watch them wield that deadly sword.

He won the league last year,
Then made Leicester disappear.
Should have been given a chance
To win the Relegation Dance.

Vardy grabs an away goal at Seville
Then next news the manager is nil.
It was a very nasty shock,
So early in the turning of the clock.

Ungrateful and disloyal too,
Those owners haven’t got a clue.
Hard-nosed business it may be,
Whatever happened to that word “We”?

They should have built a statue in Claudio’s name:
He’ll still be blessed with endless fame.
I’ll leave you with this sorry thought:
Football’s no longer a proper sport.

Paul Butters

Human skin pigment ranges from pale yellow, cream, pink to dark brown.
There is no black or white.
Some African tribes are charcoal grey, but not black.
There is but one race, the human race.
Beware anything that Divides us.
We must Unite for the Common Good.
Welcome to Planet Paul.

The fictional “Prisoner” of the sixties said,
“I am not a number, I am a person.”
He also claimed he was a “free man”.
He shouted defiantly that he would not be pushed,
Filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed
Or numbered.

I couldn’t agree more.
Nor will I be labelled or classified.
“My life is my own”.
I’m an individual human being.
Not Working or Middle Class,
Nor white nor religious nor atheist,
Nor racist, sexist, feminist, chauvinist
No Tory, Liberal. Labourite, Corbynista,
Remainer, Brexiteer, Remainiac, Remoaner
Or whatever.
I don’t do labels.

We are each born as single living entities,
Without asking to be who we are.
All in the same “boat”:
A tiny planet on the far edge
Of a spiral galaxy.

My bowels work like everyone else’s.
I belch and ****.
From time to time I’m ill
Or injured.
A man of many moods.
I’ll live and die like everyone else.
For the bottom line is,
We need to Unite,
As We are All the Same.

Paul Butters

I wonder if I can write a poem with two voices?
Don’t know mate, maybe you can.
Who the hell are you?
I’m your second voice, you muppet.
Ah. But will they be able to tell?
Well, skim readers might miss it.
Oh.
But if they read “vocally” like you do,
It should be okay.
What, even when I go
Onto a new line?
Reckon so, just about. In any case,
Some websites will format it differently,
But we’ll get away with it.

Is it still poetry though?
Could be, mate.
Really?
Well, it depends on the wording I guess.
So we need some flowery language?
Yes, like the dogs of war are gathering,
As two adversaries square up,
For gladiatorial combat.

MMM. Well, I’d prefer to write things like:
The sun is streaming over snow-capped mountains,
To greet the summer
As we awaken from our wintry slumbers.
That’s okay too mate: it’s all poetry.

But should I really be seen,
Talking to myself?
They know you’re mad already, friend,
No worries there.
That’s okay then:
Let’s get this thing posted.
Yes, go ahead.

Paul Butters

The sea has gone to sleep:
Become a mirror of the sky.
Lapping onto the land
With subtle churnings.

It’s a brightly sunny day,
Uplifting the spirits.
Hardly a hint of breeze
As the tide creeps out.

I slumber in the languidness of *****’s beer.
All angst buried as I settle down to sleep.
That mighty, massive ocean is so still now.
Its monsters have been well and truly put to bed.

Blue sky
With lightly painted clouds upon the horizon.
My porch is warm today
In the golden sun.

Paul Butters

From nation to nation
All around the world
The Ruling Class
Though many times outnumbered
By the rest
Sit bathing in the sun
In their Ivory Towers:
Born to Richness
Whilst millions of Poor
Just starve to death.

Hordes and hordes of people,
Without clean water
Or food
Or a stable roof over their heads.
No medicine, or Education, or Anything
That Costs.

Governments give “Aid” to other governments
To “feed the poor”,
But we all know what happens…

What we need is a “Government of The World”,
Or some Benevolent Despot to Rule us all.
Anything must be better
Than the impotent UN
Or these shambolic “nations” –
Puppets of Globalisation.

Revolution threatens –
It often does –
Until the rulers appease us
With token concessions
And brainwash us
Though The Media,
So called “Education”
And Religious Dogma.

When will we learn?
Where is Democracy and Love?
But, bound by Political Correctness,
Woe betide if we Complain.
The Cold War continues,
So all we can do
Is soldier on
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

The generations rumble on,
I know no reason why.
We build our countless tower-blocks,
Reaching to the sky.

Jacob is our newest one.
He’s only two years old.
Who knows what things he’s going to see?
Great nephew who’ll have…great stories to be told.

We saw men land upon The Moon,
For him it will be Mars.
His kids may go much further,
Even to the Stars.

He’s such a cheery chappie,
Chapman his mum’s maiden name!
I hope he will stay cheerful,
Though Life’s a funny old game.

I hope the world gets better,
For him and all his peers.
I’m sure he’ll be a pacesetter,
And not too many tears.

So here’s to futures bright,
For Jacob and the rest.
May there always be plenty of light,
Let’s wish them all the best.

Paul Butters

Yesterday morning I woke at 4AM again
And once more my mind got churning.
I juggled with some words in my head,
Composing free verse on how I write my poems.

I wondered whether I should grab a pad
And write.
Or even get on my laptop.
But I made myself go back to sleep,
Forgetting it all.

So here I am,
A day later at 10.30AM,
Pouring out these verses:
A sort of Stream of Consciousness.

No thought of structure
Or metre
Or rhyme.
Just emphasising certain words and phrases
By giving them separate verses
Of their own.

Something I learnt once
When reading a book in Pudsey Library
About how to teach kids to write poetry
An easy way.

Unfettered by considerations of metre or form,
You can express yourself freely,
As deep as you wish.

Just let your emotion
Or Philosophy
Run free.
Let your words cascade
Over those shiny pebbles.
Babbling along through winding willows,
To crash over waterfalls
In a crescendo of sound.

A stream that sparkles in the light
Of sun or moon (and stars),
Wafted by scents of abundant flowers
And sappy cut grass.
God's Grandeur radiating all around.
Enjoy.

Paul Butters