We seek The Purpose of Life,
Or just some Meaning;
A Philosophy,
As we stare through the formless mists of time.
Yet Existence simply Is,
As is Life:
Wondrous phenomenon
That happens.

We are taught to give each thing a function:
The wheel that rolls us on,
A pen which writes.
But Life is Life
Nothing more.
Generations take turns to live,
Passing on the baton.

Trying to breed ever greater Minds,
We yearn to be Immortal.
Studying those regenerating jellyfish,
The search is on
For The Fountain of Youth.

Yet maybe it’s time to stop trying
To make sense of it all.
Perhaps it’s time to spring into action,
And Get On With It.

Paul Butters

As I said this time last year,
We likely get just one taste of life.
So why do we spend so many hours
Watching daytime TV,
Engaging in petty feuds,
Following football and other trivial things
(In my particular case).
Money worries and relationships,
Celebrity and “news”,
Such preoccupation with the mundane.

So I must turn my mind to higher peaks,
Wherever or whatever they may be.
Puzzle the Purpose
Find The Way,
Give life meaning.
Overcome that Seasonal Affective Disorder,
To brighten every day.

As we head towards The Spring,
Think on what joys that’s going to bring.

Paul Butters

Back in the twenty first century
The world was in chaos.
There was no World Gov.
Democracy was limited to certain “Nations”
As such territories were called.
(We were so territorial then).

Millions died of malnutrition
In places called “Asia”, “Africa” and elsewhere.
Factions fought for land, resources
And “Religious” beliefs
That I will describe to you later.

In those days people were persecuted
For their race, gender
And any way in which they differed from “the norm”.

Anyone who spoke up against injustice
And countless other wrongs
Was branded “Un-PC”
Humiliated
Before his (or her) peers.

Those were troubled times,
Back in those “frontier days”.
Be thankful we are now civilised:
United Human Race,
Worldwide Democracy,
People Loving,
Compassionate
For the Good of All.

Welcome to my history class.
Let us learn from our mistakes,
And never repeat them.

Paul Butters

Sun streaming
Brightly beaming
Into my lounge.

Golden dawning
Lovely morning
I’m still alive!

My heart sings
My soul has wings
Happy day.

Streams of photons light may be
Scientists tell us factually
Still beautiful to see.

Meerkats gather in early sun
Gazing in awe at the powerful one
Knowing the day has just begun.

Time to walk down to the pub
Ready for some lovely grub
And still the sun is shining.

Paul Butters

Trees are inevitable,
For something must grow higher than the rest.
Grass is inevitable too:
To carpet the world.
So are fish, to swim the seas,
Birds to fly the skies
And human beings to walk the plains.

All Life is inevitable
Springing from a chemical formula or two.
The Universe has Rules
Which make it so.

So, is God inevitable?
I have to ask.
Is there bound to be an Overlord
Responsible for All?
Or is it all an Accident?
Chance Happening?
A spin of some Super-Galactic Wheel?

It’s Logical to have some Being
Who’s Omnipresent, Omnipotent, Omniscient –
However many Omnis there may be.
Or even a Race of Gods
As the Greeks and Romans surmised.

Some say that We invented God
And that is very possible.
Some claim there simply is No God,
Which is quite possible too.

All I know is that I’m here right now,
Living in the Hope
That somehow I’ll survive
My Final Demise
A certain thing that is
For all
Inevitable.

Paul Butters

I say again
That from my perspective
When I Die
The whole World will cease to Exist
Including You.
And it will be the same for you
When you go too.

So we are Lucky now
Having the Internet
To speed our Education,
Bringing knowledge and experience to us
As our mobility declines.

It’s as though Someone has catered for our needs,
Ensuring we Learn as much as we can
Before we go.

Lucky too we are to have our radio and TV.
And some of us are lucky enough
To live in relative Safety.

Some day, if we are lucky, we might even learn
What all this Learning’s for.
Someone may even let us know.

Paul Butters

A poem can be a statement,
A poem can be a song.
It can be a piece of music,
Playing all night long.

First we have to go up,
Then we must go down.
Then we have to go all around
To find this ****** town.

Poetry is music,
Singing us a song.
Any way you choose it,
Bing, bang, ****.

Assonant sounds assemble,
Alliteration lilts our lyres.
Raps and rhymes are pulsing,
Kindling all those fires.

An orchestra is playing
On this very page.
Letters and words are strumming:
It’s a Golden Age.

Choirs of Angels Singing,
Guitars with a twang.
Ear that piano playing,
This may or may not scan.

If a pawn’s the soul of chess,
As Philidor did say,
Then letters and the sounds they show
Are what brighten the poet’s day.

So get those letters running,
All along the page.
Those sounds are our chess pieces,
Ready to engage.

Paul Butters

Let me introduce myself,
I’m Paul B.
P to the A to the U to the L to the B.
You say Paul,
I say B.
You say Paul,
I say…

I used to teach English, try to inspire.
Least you can say is, I was a trier.
Love this rapping: it gets my feet tapping,
Even though I ought to be napping.

I write poems like a word ejector,
Keep away you Grammar Inspector!
Jay-Z writes in iambic pentameters,
Making out he’s got no parameters.

Honey G just copies off him,
Oh my God she really is dim.
Does her rap like Barbara Windsor,
Do you remember Needles and Pins-ah?

Me I’m copying off them both,
Though it’s only for a laugh.
Whoops a daisy that don’t quite rhyme,
Another case of Butters Rhyme Crime.

Rap is ******* I often say,
Though it rhymes the poetic way.
That leaves me with one thing to say:
You say Paul,
I say…

Paul Butters

© PB 17\10\2016.

I might have retired from employment
But I haven’t retired from Life.
Nature’s wonders are green for me,
So I still love to write.
For sure I wear those slippers
As I type another poem.
But no pipe for me
Or smoke to fill my home.
I strut the courts of table tennis,
And play the full game too.
Sometimes I’m quite the athlete
Though I always like a brew.

I’m not talking tea here,
I think you get my drift.
A pint or too of draught beer
Will always give me a lift.

I love a game of snooker,
And a night of indoor bowls.
I’m not much of a cooker,
That’s just not one of my roles.

Pub lunches are so yummy,
It’s good to have a chat.
I always fill my tummy,
What more can I say than that?

Yes, retirement is so peaceful,
And I am free from “Work”.
It may not suit all people,
But Life I’ll never shirk.

Paul Butters

I’m in a sleeping dream again:
Some bloke takes me into a nearby empty room
And asks me why I’ve done what I’ve done.
I’m so surprised.
A colleague says she had to tell him
What I’d done.
Another shock
Before I awake.

Now I see this dream is rooted in memory, real.
Yet how could my Id surprise me yet again?
Did I tap into a source
External?
Was it God
Or Aliens
Or someone or something
Else
Who sprang these shocks on me?

Am I two people
Rolled into one?
Or but a radio receiver
Picking up some telepathic waves?

I cannot help but ask these things.
For, when I die, will I
Fall
To
Deeper
Sleep
And Dream.

Paul Butters

Ease your way into the day.
Being Mindful is the way they say.
Focus on Now, we don’t have long.
Meditate or sing a song.
For ten long years it’s been pipe and slippers (without the pipe),
And Ages have passed since we were nippers.

Slowly we all fade away,
For time cannot be held at bay.
I wonder what it’s all about,
There has to be another way out.
We die like flowers according to science,
There is no alternative to our compliance.
We may or may not be ruled by God,
But so long as I live I don’t give a sod.

Easy days and a set routine.
Do my best to keep my house clean.
Nice pub lunches four days per week,
A peaceful living is all I seek.
You may say I’m set in my ways,
But I’m contented in my twilight days.

Paul Butters

Atmosphere pervades this place:
A subtle, spiritual background
So surreal.
Far from haunted manors
Or flashing disco halls.
Soundless surrounds ****** my soul
As I’m serenaded by serenity.
Peaceful plains becalmed:
Punctuated only by gently rustling trees
And the distant twittering of birds.
I cannot feel any force
Except some sublime emanation
Of peace and tranquility.
Satisfaction soothes my mood
As I make the most of these lingering moments.
So good to chill out in the snug
Of my local pub.

Paul Butters

Languid lakes levitate my soul.
Mists hang low upon those hills,
While mountains scratch the surface of the sky.

The world is whole,
So full of thrills.
No time to reason why.

Galaxies spiral, out of control,
Stars swirling in milky swills.
Scenes I hope will never die.

Yet time, I’m sure, will take its toll.
And do whatever our God wills.
Oh no! I hear you cry.

Yet look at coal, or any tree bole.
And look at fields of daffodils.
Life’s next cycle is always nigh.

Paul Butters

The beach sweeps to the horizon.
Black specks:
They’re people there!
Insignificant
In vastness.
Tiny dots
Enveloped
By sand and sea and cloud-flecked sky.

Paul Butters

Cats are cool,
They regally rule.
You think you own them,
But they own you.

Born as kittens they are so cute.
Before you know it, off they scoot.
Baby faces and big blue eyes,
Dopamine surges, what a surprise.

Pouncing on you as you walk through the door,
Kitty is lightning over that floor.
How we love to watch them play,
Brightening up an otherwise dull day.

The older cats look on with disdain:
They’d much rather use their brain.
More to the point cats love to sleep,
Waking only to take the odd peep.

So independent yet love a stroke:
Lots of purring you’ll invoke.
I’m not too sure of their table manners
But they’ve just got to be fans of canners.

I’m not too keen on them bringing a present,
Even though they might think that it’s a pheasant.
They can be cruel when they hunt,
But that’s their job, let’s be blunt.

Most popular pets, that’s for sure.
Feeling stressed? A cat is your cure.

Paul Butters

Dream on, my friend,
Like me.
Of a future Heaven on Earth,
Or even just a Heaven.

Peace to all Men,
And Women.
Nor more starvation,
Disease
Or Death.

A Paradise in full bloom.
Endless forest, savannas and parklands
Ringed by towering mounts.
Habitats for countless species:
Humanity united with Mother Nature.

Trivial pleasures too.
Leeds United World Champions.
British wins at Wimbledon.
Another World Cup win.

Girls Aloud joining me,
For a fish and chip tea.
More medals in Rio,
Than we got in twenty twelve.

Crank up that warp drive,
Or better still,
Open up that Uniscape
So we can go
Into a parallel universe
Of our choice.

A realm where fiction becomes fact.
Where Captain Kirk is real
And Shatner just a character
On TV.

Where Telletubbies really watch us,
And Father Christmas truly shows his face.
Golden pavements are mere trifles,
And God gives us his grace.

We have to keep on dreaming.
Our hopes must never die.
Just simply keep on dreaming,
No need to reason why.

Paul Butters

© Paul Butters 27\10\2012 (2) in Yorkshire.

Assonance was ensconced in my bonce once.
It puts me in the mood for a muse.
Love those cool peaceful pools under a Moon in June.
Or to croon about dunes and oasis blooms.
Such a lovely tune,
It’ll make you swoon.

Enjoy my runes,
No matter how crude.
I can be a goon
Or even a loon.
Sometimes a fool.
Poems strewn with clichés
For want of a better phrase.

Words hewn before noon,
To give you a boon.

Bad days may loom,
Injustices done.
Cruelty that’s is fuel for a duel and may ruin a life.
We may be doomed.

But I must stay upbeat,
Give you a treat
And make you fall at my feet.
Quite a feat!

Every dog has his day,
Another cliché you’ll say.
But I don’t get any pay,
So soon be on my way.

Love to play with words,
Writing songs for the birds.
These words are a tool
For making me cool.

We’re back to those pools:
They are shimmering jewels.

Paul Butters

On the East Coast of England there’s a small resort
Called Cleethorpes, where I happen to reside.
And out towards the Pleasure Park
A short way from the shore
There is The Boating Lake.

I love to go there on a still, sundowning evening
When the parking is free.
To walk those walkways around the lake,
Dreaming I’m on Starfleet Academy Campus.
Walkways flanked by lawned hillocks and shrubs.

The lake is fringed by red-flowered reeds
And punctuated by ducks and geese.
Families and couples roam about
As I sit in meditation
Watching and listening
To the central fountain play.

Such a tranquil scene,
Far from the madding crowd.
Go over the bridge and cross the mini-railway line:
Before you reach the saltmarsh and the sea
You’ll find a stretch of shrubbery and trees
A haven for the birds
And for me,
As I walk my favourite path.

The lake is thus a prelude
To some splendid growth
As nature does its thing.

Serene and tranquil everything
A spiritual feeling
As I meditate
Beneath multi-layered clouds
Under endless sky.

Paul Butters

Rejoice at Morning’s Miracle,
For We are here again.
The Grim Reaper
Has let us live another day.

God’s Grandeur shines upon us
As, again, the clichéd golden sun
Pokes her head through the Eastern clouds.

An orchestra of chiming birds
Greets the day
As again I say
Rejoice!
I repeat: Rejoice.

Time to check the temperature outside
And scatter some wild birdseed.
Time for breakfast
And the early news.

Time to have a pub-lunch,
Then a game of tennis
Or table tennis
Or snooker.

Morning’s time to meet my Muse,
And listen to her lyrical tunes.
To get composing,
No more dozing:
Broadcasting words
Throughout The Milky Way.

Enjoying the day
I look forward to
Some cloudless skies
So I can sit
And watch the stars.

Paul Butters

Bruised and battered egos:
Retaliations –
Flaming tornadoes spiral up to stormy skies.
Mixed metaphors of caviar and custard
Maelstrom mightily around the mountains of Hell.

Trolling is appalling
And flaming burns.

Let go of that ego
Is my advice.

Be humble from the start.
No-one is great enough
To be beyond reproach
Or criticism.

Who cares how good or otherwise I am?
Who cares what anyone says
About my work?

I am what I am,
End of story.
To Describe what I am is fine:
See those metres, verses, rhymes
And metaphors.
Dismantle me if you wish,
But (please) put me back together.

No-one should stand in judgement,
Except maybe God,
With His bright wide wings.

So stop the abuse,
And sourceless insults.
Cease the condemnation,
Or stand to be IGNORED.

Paul Butters

There’s a group called “Madness”,
Play a thing called “Ska”.
Though their music’s jerky,
Suggsy is a star.
Started in the seventies,
Still are going strong.
Suggs is their lead singer,
They just can't go wrong.

Would you Adam and Eve it,
That they done so well.
If you do not like them,
You can go to Hell.

They had fifteen top tens,
In their fine career.
Cheer them on I tell you,
I’ll just have a beer.

This poem’s written in their style,
That you must have seen.
If you hadn’t noticed,
Just where have you been?

Saw them on the telly,
Just the other day.
Was a golden oldie,
Hip hip, hip, hurray!

Oh where is that policeman,
To make that cardiac arrest?
Oh I’d better not hurry,
Being peaceful is the best.

Paul Butters

An Irish couple buy some fertilised duck eggs and they hatch.
But then they’re missing!
The cat is licking her lips.
Oh No!
They follow the cat to her snug in the barn.
She too has given birth.
Snuggled beneath the cat’s protective paws
Are suckling kittens and DUCKLINGS!

Had those dear ducklings hatched an hour earlier
Or later
They would have been cat food.
But around the birthing time Missus Cat was only a Mother,
Mothering anything that moved.

Mother Nature breeds such Motherly instincts.
A thing of Wonder.
A story that happens to be True.

Since then those ducks grew up
But still followed their “Mother”
Everywhere she went (within reason).
An unshakeable bond,
Lasting for ever.

Paul Butters

When slapped by raving rants
Or flamed with insults.
When slurred by sarcastic sneers.
I know your blood will boil,
And someone will say,
“Are you going to stand for that?”

Ignore that person.
Calm yourself.
Smile (if face to face)
Or take up Poker Mode.
Show annoyance and the enemy has scored.
Do not respond with anger.

If appropriate, try to reason with him, her or them.
Should they not reason, say no more.
Turn it into a joke whenever you can,
Even belittling yourself in an ironic way.

Never retaliate in kind.
Never feed the flamers and trolls,
Either online or in real life.

I see around me arguments go on
And on and on and on…
When will the listen?
Don’t feed the trolls!
How many times must folk be told?
When under attack
That old cliché applies:
Silence is Golden
(And so Powerful).

Paul Butters

Sunshine!
Life’s lingering flashlight.
Too bright to stare at the sun.
Don’t stay out in it too long.
Suffocating heat sometimes.
My porch gets like a baking oven.
Get burnt and it will peel your skin.

Visions of desert dunes,
Camel trails:
A searing sun that sends you delirious,
Mirage-seas shimmering hypnotically above the sands.

I love the sun.
My memories of buckets and spades,
Golden sandcastles along the esplanades.
Delicious ice-cream.
A cooling breeze.
Grass and pollen
Making you sneeze.

A mini-heatwave we have now,
But storms will come
Over that brow.

British weather I have to say:
Sunshine now
For which we’ll pay.

Paul Butters

“Nothing” is so hard to imagine,
For even empty space is something.
Nothing means “no thing”,
Which means it cannot exist
Without Existence.

There must be Something
For there to be a Nothing.
And then we have the anomaly
Of sub-atomic particles
Winking in and out of existence:
Something then nothing then something then…

We are partly made of such particles,
So we too are winking……

The wonder of it all, of course,
Is that I sit here
Scratching my head about “Nothing”,
A sentient being trying to make sense
Of the miracle that is Life.

Paul Butters

There’s nothing greater than the miracle of life,
No matter how fleeting it may be.
Energy and matter
Winking
Into Existence.
Chemical maelstroms and nuclear reactions,
Galaxy formations
Leading to countless worlds.
The formula for life is all around us,
Awaiting the inevitable hand of evolution.

See how we’re surrounded by sentient beings,
From tiny insects to massive whales.
Celebrate the very fact
That we can look in awe
And meditate
Upon the wonders of the world.

We take it all for granted,
Locked in our TV and mobile phones,
Our petty businesses and routines.
We seldom think that thinking is amazing,
As the universe expands:
A miracle indeed.

Paul Butters

It’s hard to intervene when people fight.
Recall being thumped for “bullying” a lad
Who’d harassed ME.
So hard to tell
Who’s right or wrong.
Who made the first jibe
Or struck the first blow?

The same with global conflicts too:
Irish Catholic or Protestant?
Israel or Palestine?
Communist Country or Capitalist?
The list goes on…

Best keep out of it if you can.
Do not make judgement,
Just mediate as best you can.
Preach fairness and conciliation:
Do your best to facilitate
Peace.

Paul Butters

Here’s a new form of Clerihew,
For Andy Murray who
Won twice at Wimbledon:
The fun has only just begun.

Paul Butters

Fountains of flowers, growing so fast.
Such a shame that none of them last.
Summer blossoms soon will wane,
They’ll be back next year again.
Bees await the autumn flowers,
Checking out the wooded bowers.
Twittering blackbirds guard their land:
Will their fights get out of hand?
Swallows swoop with arcing wings,
Ever returning for endless Springs.
It’s early July, just past midsummer,
Every green leaf is a newcomer.
Earlier dawn and longer light,
Durable daylight and shorter night.
British weather will still prevail:
Sunny spells and storms with hail.
Winter always is a ******,
I thank Goodness we have our Summer.

Paul Butters

World Peace!
Are you an idealist’s dream
Never to be achieved?
Were the Beatles’ Loving words
In vain?

Or can we get there?
Can we build a world
Where no-one Hates?

For that’s the first step:
Stop Hating!

Abandon your lust for land
Wealth and Power.
Learn to love those different from
Yourself.

We need a new approach.
We maybe need a Government of The World,
Democratically elected.
I’ve no idea who might set this up.
But we need it badly.

We need someone to share the world’s resources
So that no-one has to fight
Just to get a drink or bite to eat.

I search my soul,
To find that I myself am wanting.
Old hates still burn my brain.
I recall some people I would hurt
For what they did to me
In days gone by.

So I meditate,
Seeking to soothe my troubled soul.
For, if I can find some peace within myself,
Well, that’s a start.

Paul Butters

On the twenty third of June, anniversary of my father’s death,
The United Kingdom voted to LEAVE the European Union.
It was a close-run thing:
Fifty two percent to forty eight,
Though over a million votes between.

A result that will go down in the annals of history.
Another vote the pollsters and bookmakers got wrong.
I voted Leave, confidently expecting to Lose!!!
My friends were split in two
As Remainers became ReMOANers!

For I’m now branded a nationalist, bigoted racist
Who has made a massive mistake.
But I insist: Britain has Rejoined the World
And Our Commonwealth.

We are reborn
So sure there will be teething troubles.
We’ll have to learn to walk and talk again.

Cast off your gloom, Remainers!
Rejoice the brand new day.
Britain can be great again
As the dawn chorus resonates around the globe.
Opportunity smiles down on us.
It won’t be easy,
But when ever was it so???

The Phoenix rises,
Unfurling its golden wings…

Paul Butters

© PB 27\6\2016.

Please do not Leave Facebook, my friend,
These storms will soon subside.
ReMOANERS will get used to “Britain Out”.
They’ll grow tired of making you feel
A *****
For voting to jump the sinking Euro ship.

Don’t leave Facebook
For Google will crash,
Bebo and Myspace will return
And the BitPound will plummet.
Latin will become the default internet language
As hackers rule the web.

Be afraid, very afraid.
The consequences of Leaving would be dire.
But if you Stay here
In the ***** of the Facebook Family
You will be safe and secure
And eligible to claim
Your complimentary cuddly toy.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\6\2016.

Iambic pentameters are quite old
As poetry fashions go now, I must say.
Tetrameters are sharper, yes,
But both are old I must confess.

Make any speech, with force, you’ll surely find
Iambic rhythms: the power of pulse.
Such things are found in common speech for sure.
And lines of ten syllables must endure.

Poetic structures set in stone are not
My way: variety is key I have
To say. Some use of rhyme is okay too.
So how you write, that’s up to you (my friend).

For I prefer to write free verse,
To steer away from doggerel’s curse.
Longer lines are languid, with gravitas.
Short ones clout,
It’s as simple as that.

Paul Butters

Sun-blushed mugginess mothers us,
With the promise of a storm.
Swarms of bumble bees do buzz
Amongst Cotoneasters bathed in warm.

It’s proper summer,
That’s for sure.
No more ice and snow
For us to endure.

The Longest Day will soon be gone,
But here, right now, the sun has won.
Time to fiesta, how I love it.
More of this I truly covet.

Paul Butters

The rain keeps pouring down,
Pounding on the ground.
The rain keeps falling down,
Those ******* clouds make us frown.
The rain keeps tumbling down,
It started with some drizzle.
The rain keeps scything down,
Striking like a chisel.
The rain keeps sleeting down,
Causing local flooding.
The rain keeps belting down,
Plants droop instead of budding.
The rain keeps showering down,
No time for any stanzas,
The rain keeps teeming down,
From Scotland down to Kansas.
The rain keeps arrowing down,
Whenever will it stop?
The rain keeps swirling down,
Yes, I’m hating every drop.

Paul Butters

Feel free to mourn me when I’m gone,
When I will not be back again.
It’s natural to grieve at death
For those who miss you so, I know.

But don’t forget to celebrate my life
And all I’ve done on this fair earth.
Be full of joy about these things:
Immortalise me for my deeds.

I hope to live for many a long year:
If possible cheat Death immortally,
Perhaps by going somewhere safe
From the Grim Reaper’s deadly scythe.

I hope for many table tennis wins
And trending poems, before I leave this mortal coil.
Iambic rhythms throughout cyber space,
Free verse expressing a greater vision.

I’ve planned ahead by writing this,
And might have jumped the gun maybe.
But when you read this out perhaps,
I might by now be Free.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\6\2016.

Those eyes so sad
Watch your tail wag

Our Collie Labrador.
My loyal friend,
Love can never end:
We Love you more and more.

You have a mate,
A constant date,
She rolls all over the floor.

A lab and beagle partnership,
Bonnie and Clyde I quip:
Max and Promise at the door.

I take them for long walks,
And Max, he almost talks,
They know the score.

They’re on their way,
They’re here to stay,
They’ll never bore.

Promise prances,
And Max dances
All over that floor.

They lick my face,
Tongue-curled embrace:
That’s just what dogs are for.

Paul Butters

A Giraffe, with its
Long
Long
Long
Long
Long
Neck is looking down on me.
See him stretchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh up to those high-tree leaves
And grasp them with his massive tongue.

Two males are having a fight
To decide who will mate today.
They swing their necks at one another
Madly
Until one of them falls.
A battle captured all on video film.
The loser seems quite dead
But then comes round
And totters to his feet.

Magnificent creatures,
All mottle-flanked,
With tiny horns
And telescopic legs.
Giraffes!

Paul Butters

A swish carpet of summer flowers sweeps across the plains.
Blossoms deck the mountains all around.
My skin is swathed in humid southern air
As aromas of fresh-cut grass and lavender
Lounge around the lazy gardens.
Flowers of every hue
Are guarded by sentinel trees.
Red, white, orange, purple, pink….
Every nuance of colour represented here.
Taste that grass, that floating pollen.
**** that nectar under summer skies.
A blackbird twitters,
Those bees they buzz.
All birds are singing
Heavenly chorus,
From God above.

Paul Butters

He floated like a butterfly,
Stang like a bee –
The one and only
Muhammad Ali.
“I’m The Greatest”, he always said,
20th Century Sports Personality,
Put his rivals to bed.

Yes, he WAS the Greatest, that’s for sure.
Above the rest by a massive score.
Faster than a hummingbird,
Slicker than a snake,
Those quick hands of his
They made opponents quake.

He’d get into bed
Before the light went out.
Rarely a whisper,
Usually a shout.

Like a long-distance runner
Ali had the endurance.
Anyone who fought him
Needed lots of insurance.

Ali was great and didn’t he know it.
A witty speaker and amusing poet.
Some of his lines I’ve used right here:
They had his rivals shaking with fear.

No way would Ali fight the Viet Cong.
For that he merits a Nobel Gong.
He was the champion of the oppressed,
A hero with whom we all were blessed.

He had charisma, way beyond sport.
Ali influenced our every thought.
He’ll call into Hell on the way to Heaven,
To knock out Satan, in round seven.

Paul Butters

So many places closed,
And what’s open you can’t get to
For ****** tourists.

******* clouds are over:
A chill wind blows.
The workaday sun has gone.
Oh yes, it’s Bank Holiday.

The weather is foul
Yet everyone is out.
I can’t get parked.
The crowds slow down
My enforced march.

Our local chippy is closed.
A Doctor?
No chance!
January in May
And maybe in June.

Christmas is worse.
All those needless presents.
Gifts for the sake of it.
Keeping the retailers happy
At our expense.

I’m in a grumpy mood
But who can blame me?
I always try to be upbeat,
But not today.

Paul Butters

It doesn’t really matter to me
How the universe came to be
Or whether God even exists.
I care nothing about kings and queens
Or anyone “in power”.

For I’m “The One”
Who leads this Life.
No-one else but me.
However impressive you are
You still are not Myself.

All that counts are the people and things I Love,
Even Like.
So if you’ve got nothing to offer me
Get on your bike.

No man is an island, so they say.
Yes, I’m not independent in every way.
But I’m an individual who is true to my soul.
To remain unbrainwashed is always my goal.

They try to make us run with the crowd,
Like sheep or lemmings led into the cloud.
It’s Media Hypnosis
Through that gleaming TV.
Only by being ourselves
Will we ever be Free.

Paul Butters

People, you are pots of paint for my canvass.
With all your quirks and foibles,
And wonderful ways.
The world indeed is crowded
With many pots of paint:
Glorious views.

My brushes are all aquiver,
Inspired by everything.
From India to Iceland,
Russia to sunny Spain.
You folk, I love to paint you,
Though never your actual words.

The universe, a marvel,
Flying through the heavens.
Swirling spiral galaxies,
Pallets for my verse.

Paul Butters

I don’t mean to blaspheme,
So please don’t scream.
But if God supports marriage
Then why is He single?
Is having a wife
Just too much strife?
Imagine a Lady of Power
Waiting there
When he comes home at such a late hour!
“Sorry Love, I’ve been creating a universe,
A thing you just can’t miss.”
“No you haven’t” she says,
“You’ve just been on the ****!”

MMM So God is quite wise!
Yet He’s no time for guys “loving” guys.
Nor ******* girl –
That makes his toes curl.
And non-believers, they must go to Hell –
Well so the ancient scriptures tell.

Remember he’s a “jealous God”,
Who much prefers to be on His Tod.
No Zeus, Jupiter or Thor for Him,
And Satan’s prospects are very slim.
Can God be really so old fashioned?
So bad tempered and so impassioned?
A Super Intelligence He’s supposed to be,
Every Existence He can see.
Knowing all and blindingly smart,
Ultimate Master of Science and Art.

Could God be a Woman?
Now there’s a thought.
Yes that goes all against
Everything we’ve been taught.
The greatest Creator might well be a Mother.
If that is so, then adieu to Big Brother.

No matter what, God is Love –
Looking down on us from up above.
A mind that’s thinking on greater things,
While S\He protects us with bright white wings.

(Inspired by a conversation with **** Noble over a lunchtime beer).

Paul Butters

At long last summer is here,
Time to lounge in the garden
And then have a beer.

My porch is boiling,
Have opened my front door.
No more Winter toiling,
This sun I do adore.

The bees are busy buzzing,
They’ve got a lot to do.
Those flowers they still are budding,
And there’s a lazy-rhyme for you.

Ready for your mid-year hollies?
You bet I am, you say.
Ice cream and lollies,
You’ll soon be on your way.

The beach will sure get busy,
No parking on the prom.
Lemonade so fizzy,
Going down like a bomb.

Great time for walking,
Out in the countryside.
Lots of time for talking
Or going for a ride.

My favourite cove awaits me.
A time to really chill out.
It really will be stress-free,
Time to have a scout.

Yes I really love summer,
That’s all I have to say.
Time to be a newcomer:
I’m on my way.

Paul Butters

In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.

Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.

Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.

Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.

I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!

The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).

Paul Butters

They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!

Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.

Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.

Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.

So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.

Paul Butters

(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)

Some men want to be women,
And some women want to be men.
(Though some have no choice).
Brown girls want to be white,
But pale girls yen for a tan.
Short folk want to be tall,
Yet tall people wish they were short.
Atheists would love to believe,
But Believers yearn for freedom from guilt.
Introverts try to be outgoing,
While Extroverts try to calm down (and be quiet).

So why can’t each one of us
Esteem him or herself
For whatever s\he IS?
Be Proud of Yourself, as you are.
Grasp that Happy Attitude with a smile.
Amen.

Paul Butters

Being the softy that I am,
I feel sympathy for all those prisoners
On Death Row,
No matter what they’ve done.

But then I reflect that every one of us
Is also on Death Row.
Unless perhaps you are an ancient tree,
Or one of those jellyfish
Who regenerates like Doctor Who.

For Death is inevitable
The moment we are conceived.
I look for ways around this
And only see
An ocean
Of Religious and Spiritual
Speculation.

Paul Butters

When I’m in The Land of Nod
Why do I misunderstand the characters there?
How am I constantly surprised
By what they do?
And shocked at the things that happen?
For they are all creations of my own Subconscious Mind.

It seems the “Conscious” Me is at the mercy
Of the Subconscious Id.
But how can this be?
The Id is part of me
Supposedly.
Yet it’s as if The Id
Is another person
Residing within myself,
Toying with the Conscious Me.
(Is this why some get voices in their heads?).

So is this “waking” Life of ours
But a more orderly, clearer Dream?
A dream created by some Super Id
From which we will awaken soon,
To rise into an even clearer Realm
Called Heaven?

Reality is the strangest thing
When viewed this way.
Yet maybe some day
We’ll understand.

Paul Butters