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.

My dearest reader, seconds ago, before your
Decision to turn the page, there was nothing.

These very words were hidden away and thus
Unseen, to all intents did not exist:
Just like the beauty of the Jovian Moons
'Til “Voyager” beamed those pictures back to Earth.

For you have brought this page to life - yes you and only you!
You bring along a wealth of memories of your own,
Your feelings, thoughts, regrets and sorrows, joys
And fears, your hopes and fantasies.

You have the mountains of your mind:
Your personal rivers, clouds and suns: flowers and gasometers!
Landscapes, dreams and nightmares of your very own.
And me, as you sit reading this, I might be dead and buried,
Or with you right now, or maybe miles away.

To you I give the role of God: to breathe your life upon this page.
Take you away, dear reader, and there’s nothing: formless void.
Yet now, together, you may join me, in a realm
Where Life, though challenged by evil,
Is warded by our Love.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 1997.

The high shining,
Dazzling from the sky.
Hurting the eye with that piercing glare.
Reflecting from sparkling seas
Which shimmer in the gentle breeze.

Reflecting and reflecting
From diamantine spires.
Echoed on the blackest night
By radiant cities
Lit by glimmering lights.

Our Gods hover over us,
Incandescent in their glory.
Their bright wings shimmer and shine,
Inspiring us to greater things.

Yet let us not forget
That all this blazing brilliance
Is everywhere:
Even in those shadow lands
Where ordinary people
Go about their daily grind.

Even though we sit in sheltered rooms
Bathed only by some television light
Or laptop luminescence,
If we but open our inner eyes
We can see
That the world is not as prosaic
As it seems.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\8\2018.

The Laws of Physics say
That Everyone Dies
And is Gone:
Every blade of grass, insect, man and woman.
Every sentient being.
From Big Bang to Big Whatever.
They all Die.

Yet is there more than this?
Something of the spirit.
More than ghosts
And poltergeists.
An afterlife
In Heaven.
Another Realm.

Some say that when you die
You re-join The One Being,
Let’s call it “God”.

Your individuality may be gone,
But you become part of that Super-Consciousness,
The One,
And thus Remain.

The logic of this is frightening:
It means that I am part of God,
Just going through a phase
We call Life,
In readiness for
For Ever.

You too are part of God
And logic dictates
That I am my own Mum and Dad,
My sister, friends and everyone else:
Mother Theresa, ******, Shakespeare
And Eddie The Eagle.

I am a wasp, a lion, a dolphin, a tree
Maybe even a germ.
Another poet
Commenting on my poems.
I’m even You.

Better get on with it then.
I’ve got plenty to do!

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

We love our balmy summer days
But you can have too much of a good thing.
The sun can ****
But even in England
It can get oppressive.

Until a storm last night
It was relentlessly hot
Humid and stuffy
Under a sultry sun.
Hard to breathe and
So difficult to sleep.

Now it starts again
As the cloud burns back
So the sun shines bright once more.

They say it won’t last this time
As Atlantic Weather sweeps in from The West.
They’d better be right
For enough is enough.

Paul Butters

© PB 28\8\2019.

You are right my friend:
The World is full of evil,
Full of inequality
Poverty, crime and fraud.

Of endless cruelty by inhuman humans
Fuelled or fed by drugs
And a lust for Money.

Radicalised robots rampage everywhere,
All brainwashed and conditioned
By social media.

They slump over their mobiles,
Looking for Pokemons
And their next fix.

We know there has to be a better way.
But how can we re-educate
These seething masses?

How can we snap them out
Of their reverie,
Filled by Celebrity
And sugar?

I call myself a Lifist
And Humanist,
As I cherish Life in all its forms – except wasps!
And I Love People
In spite of all their wicked ways.
Love’s Power lingers in my heart.

But how do we get this message across?
In the good olde days
Religions ruled
Through Fear of Hell
And worse.

For Science has changed all that.
People no longer Believe
In Anything
Except Money
And Power.

All You Need is Love
Is what John Lennon said.
So why are we waiting
For people to listen?

Such a simple message
That you know is right:
Love Life.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\4\2019.

How dare you treat me like this?
You must be taking the ****.
Have you no respect to pay?
Will you just send me
On my way?

The problem’s Yours my friend.
With you I can’t contend.
You are just me, me, me.
You’ve left me totally free.

I’m better off alone,
With no-one in my zone.

You’re such a bigot and a snob
And nothing but a ****
Who fobs me off
With drivel
From your gob.

Your haughty arrogance makes me mad
As you are nothing but a cad.
Okay so you have all the power,
And over me you sure do tower.
But don’t be thinking that I’ll cower:
I glower waiting for my hour,
For my dog’s day
When You I shall devour!

Paul Butters

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.

Above our Earth so high
The Hubble telescope now hangs
Beyond our vault-like sky:
An all embracing eye;
Now showing us the universe
In all her glory.
Those swirling galaxies give way to seemingly endless
Tracts of quasars, dust and gas.

Through Hubble we look back through time,
At remnants of the Big Bang:
The Birth, they tell us, of Creation,
That might be repeated,
Over and over again.

Yet, before this satellite was launched,
Or telescopes invented,
Just what did humans know?
What did the Aztecs know of England,
Or fourteenth century English folk know of America?
As technological advances have
Been swift, so our state of ignorance
Has been revealed for all to see.
For no-one knows The Purpose of Life.

     Why?
   Oh Why!
Do We Live
   To Die
     Why?

For we will Die
Not Knowing Why.

Ask Christ they say,
He’ll show The Way.
Ask God and He will too.
Ask Allah, Buddha,
Anyone you like;
And Me, I’ll tell you just to Hope,
For Love will see us through.

Rise up with passion,
Rise up with joy.
Rise up with Love
That can never cloy.

Keep rising
Way beyond the stars:
Much further than Venus,
Well past Mars.

For Life is a Wonder,
Only lived once.
Don’t ever waste it,
Don’t be a dunce.

Let inspiration guide you
Way beyond this realm
From the shortest grass
To the tallest elm.

So Love all Life
Is What I Say
Be kind to everyone:
Try to make their day.

Show every mercy
Whenever you can
Respect all others
Woman or man.

Every Life is a freak of chance,
So play the music,
Begin the dance.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\5\2018.

Some say that when I die
My soul will fly
Into some newborn life
Human or otherwise.

So that could mean that I myself
Am full of older souls
Who once were kings or queens
Knights, paupers, heroes or villains:
Anyone that will have lived
And died already.

But since our living numbers ever expand
It could even be
That I am a new soul
Totally free of the past.

And all this that I write right here,
Could equally apply to YOU
My friend.

I find some comfort in
These radical thoughts,
Though others prefer
Nirvana.
(Freedom from the cycle of life and death).

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

My Id creates my sleeping dreams,
Our Super-Id our World
Or Universe
Perhaps.

I think I’m alone with you,
But that’s not so.
For when I sleep, Something provides those dreams.
They say it’s the Subconscious, or the Id
But whatever it is,
I’m totally at its mercy.

They say that when you “lucid dream”
You realise you are dreaming
And can take control.
I’m not convinced!

Sure, when lucid you can steer that dream somewhat,
But once that horse decides to bolt
You are Lost.

I need to write some rules for dreams,
A code of conduct for myself and you:
When dreaming:
Never leave a room for it will vanish.

Lost your things?
Don’t go chasing them!
Wait for them to come to you.

Find yourself undressed?
Don’t worry,
You’ll soon be clothed again.

When you lose your way back home,
Don’t search,
Just stand and wait
For home to come find You.

Think driving
And you’ll maybe have a car
Around you!

Think friends
And soon they’ll all appear.

Oh yes my Id remains my boss for sure,
And heaven forbid I ever have “waking dreams” –
“Monsters from the Id” indeed!
A “Forbidden Planet” I’d hate to face.

But with some late-night meditation,
Maybe I can manage,
My crazy sleeping dreams
A little bit.

As for that “Super Id”,
Well that’s another story.

Paul Butters

I say again: the fifties film “Forbidden Planet”
Brought us “Monsters from the Id”
Where your worst nightmares
Were brought to life
From the deepest recesses
Of your subconscious mind.

The Id is such a frightful thing.
It can create the greatest pleasure
Or the most horrific monster.
Even God may have an Id.
Maybe that Id created this heavenly hell
We call Earth.

Does anyone anywhere have any control
Of The Id?
Probably not.
Those mountains of our mind
No man fathomed.
Gloomy jungles infested by crocodiles.
Endless depths.

The Id holds all the cards,
Letting us have a memory
Now and then.
Imagine if our dreams
Could truly come to life!

Bad enough that the alligator within us
Swishes with fear
And anger
The moment we feel threatened
When really we are safe
As “Mindfulness” shows.

Yes, the Id is King of the brain,
No democracy here
And all we can do
Is play along
As best we can.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\2\18.

If I were God
I would give the gift of Everlasting Life to Everyone
Without Condition.
Knowing full well that I exist
I would not need a single other soul
To believe in Me.

I’d never say you may have eternal life
Provided you Believe.
For I would feel Unconditional Love
For every living thing.

Yes, I’d cherish every living thing:
Be a Lifist if you will.
Yet I suspect that God:
He, She or It
Thinks just the same as Me.

It’s our interpretation of The Lord
That is at fault.
He…She… has a Plan
And waits
Like a mother hen
To wrap us All
In Her…
Bright outstretched wings.

Paul Butters

I inwardly weep to see
We experience existence but once
And not for very long.
But what can we do?
Only our Best
While we Can.

Paul Butters

© PB 17\2\2021.

When The Great Bard wrote his epic plays
America was the new frontier
A widening world of wonder.
But now we look with eagle-eyed telescopes
Out into the depths of space
Beyond the beyond
Back through countless miles and aeons
To Thirteen point eight billion years ago
When our universe appeared.

Send your minds-eye through swirling sandstorm fogs,
Each grain a galaxy
Each galaxy a beach
Of stars.

Most stars are circled
By endless varieties
Of worlds.
There must be Earths out there,
Again too many to number
Making our own a single speck
In that endless night.

The saddest thing, of course,
Is that all these worlds are out of reach,
Unless we find a wormhole
Or that fiction “Star Trek” comes to pass.

Without some warp drive
We are marooned on this island
We call Earth.
Yet we can look
And think:
Imagine what it’s like out there
On sister Earths
In jungles,
Up mountains
And on sky-blue seas.

Paul Butters

How can anyone live for Eternity
When Eternity never ends?
It’s an objective that cannot be achieved
For it’s immeasurable.
Year after year might pass
But we never get there.

Space is the same:
Fly through a galaxy cluster
And you find more space
Then maybe another galaxy cluster,
Another after another, after another
Into Infinity.

Infinite Eternity:
Skies with no end
Never Ending
Teeming with countless stars.
Impossible
Yet here we are
Incredibly marvelling that we can think
That we even exist
To see, hear and feel
A world
That’s nothing short
Of a miracle.
Paul Butters

© PB 16\3\2020.

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

You pose and pout,
Seduction by superficial sauciness.
You tell me of your day
With that simpering voice,
Raising each last word
Long and loud.

You show me your flash cars,
Your sumptuous wardrobe
And who knows what else?

You and your kin call yourselves “Influencers” –
A great word,
But all you do is make people:
People who have grafted long and hard
For a little spare cash,
Go buy things they
Do not really need.

Right Said Fred was Right:
The global catwalk
Is a sham.

I too would love to be an “Influencer”,
Such a fine word,
But I would be one to encourage folk
To Love others,
Stop all this Conflict
Between polar opposites and extremes,
Fight only for the Common Good,
And make the world a better place
For All.

Paul Butters

© PB 15\1\2021.

Inspire me to aspire.
To fulfil my every desire.
Come down you Muses.
Swoop low from Mount Olympus.
Fill me with your blazing fire.
Make me rise like a Phoenix,
Soaring aloft with burnished wings.

Give me a vision
Of Heavens paved with gold.
Let me see palaces
Carved from diamonds
Made in Neptune’s
Molten core.

Blind me with a light
So fearsome
I can barely look.
Show me infinity,
Eternal bliss.
Make me feel
A boundless Love.

Well,
What are you waiting for?

Paul Butters

Let me inspire you to go higher:
Lost among the stars.
Our universe glitters, spread across the sky.
The world keeps turning,
Resplendent with hills and mountains,
Dales and plains.
Continents surrounded with seas and oceans
And clothed by grass and trees.

Mother Earth is blessed with flora and fauna:
Sentient beings of every shape and size,
From mighty whales and elephants,
Through furry friends like dogs and cats,
Tall giraffes, slithery snails, right down
To scattering ants and pesky flies.

Smell that fresh sea breeze,
Hear those rolling waves,
Screams of gulls
And twittering sparrows.
Feel the warm moist air
Of an Indian Summer.

Be mindful of all that is around,
Yet let imagination wonder,
For out there
There is more
So much more.

Dark Monsters of The Id
Are out there too,
We all know that.

But Life in all its splendour
And determination
Is there for all to see.
Oh to live forever with such things.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\10\2018.

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

I told you so!
It must have been a blow
When she let you go.

I said from the start
She was a wicked ****
With an icy heart.

When will we learn?
Please don’t think I’m stern:
She should go to hell and burn.

It’s time to move on,
Sing a different song
Onto pastures new -
You know
What you have to do.

Right now you feel broken –
You know I ain’t joking.
Time will heal,
No matter how bad you feel.

Be more careful next time,
Don’t be the victim of crime.
Sure, you must risk being hurt
Before you can wear the shirt
Of someone loved so true
Just for being you.

Yes, I told you so,
But now you have to let go
And continue the show.

But please listen next time
We see any bad sign
And all should be fine.

Never give up –
You can drink from that cup.
She’s out there for you
And you know what to do.
Just do it.
As though you never blew it.
Rise as high as you can,
There’s a good man.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\6\2020.

It’s over, all over.
Our dreams have faded away.
Blackest January sadness blights July.
England beaten by Croatia
In The World Cup.

We reached the semi final
For the first time since 1990
Only to lose in extra-time:
Failing to see the danger
With our very youthful eyes.

So much to be proud of.
So much better than before.
We should have scored a hat-full,
But see the final score:
(One – two).

I really do hate losing
Whatever I watch or play.
It really will be ages
Before this pain fades away.

My defeats I long remember,
It’s from these things I learn.
Seeking to be a winner,
My inner passions burn.

We’re building to the Euros,
On in two year’s time.
Well ahead of schedule,
So losing’s not a crime.

The World Cup stays way out there,
Hopefully just on loan,
For in the hearts of England
Football has come home.

Paul Butters

© PB 12\7\2018.

I wish I could say something good
About growing old and dying.
For sixty years I had a great relationship
With Mum,
But then that demon Dementia brought her
Living Death.

She thought in the end I’d
Betrayed her,
“Allowing her to be put in a home”.
And then, to rub it in,
She was allegedly abused and badly bruised
By evil members of staff.
Mum passed away
Two months later.
The last time I saw her
She was waiting to be taken to the loo
As I was ushered out.

We all grow old,
Gradually fading away,
Tormented by Diabetes, hypertension
And strokes.
Full of arthritis
And gammy knees.

The list of ills goes on,
No proverbial light at the end
Of the tunnel.

So all I can say is live for
Now.

Make the most of our Share of Time.
Take comfort in passing on the baton
To the likes of Jacob
My great nephew.
Teach him and his peers
As well as we can
To take care of The Earth
A **** sight better
Than we have.

Try to Improve ourselves,
Keep growing
Every single day.
Keep learning
Experiencing
Living
As long as we can.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\1\2018.

Oh what joy.
A little boy.
Jacob so happy.
A cheerful chappie.

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

He lounges in his armchair
******* on a ***
And quaffing beer.
His eyes are glued to the telly,
Watching Corrie
Then footie
Before heading off to the pub.

He feels he’s earned his basic pleasures
As he checks his mobile
For emails and Tweets
And Facebook posts.

Comforts earned by slaving away
All day
For some faceless bureaucrat
Hidden away in his company’s
Ivory tower.

For this is Joe Public.
Ignore him at your peril.
He has lots and lots of mates.
And he is fed up of the “Nanny State”
With it’s, “You shouldn’t do this”
And , “You shouldn’t (or should) do that”.

He’s fed up too with the PC Brigade
Having already escaped the “God Squad”.
But he’s ****** angry
At simply being ignored.

You can keep Joe happy
With Celebrity and Social Media
And sport
And even “Pointless Quizzes”.
He avoids Education
To maintain his “Street Cred”.
But there will come a point
When he’s had enough.
And once that happens
His festering grievances
Will surface
Like killer sharks.

And if he joins a mob of like-minded souls
Who knows where that may lead?
Perhaps to Revolution.

So think on, my friend.
Take care of Joe.
Indeed of Every Joe.
For Joe could be
The Most Important Person
In The World.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\11\2019.

Wispy wheat fields wave in the wind
As the train chugs through
Along the track of Life that circles
To bring you back where you began.

They say The Journey is the thing:
Meandering through river cut valleys
Between towering mountains.
Rivers running down to endless ocean
That drowns our globe
We call the Earth.

Kids wave from the windows of that train
A custom of love for fellow humankind.
All aboard are full of hopes and dreams
And fears
Anticipating all manner of things
At their destination for the day.

Many have gone to the seaside this way,
While others have travelled for work
Or even a new life.
Our ancients may have been nomads
And modern folk too must sometimes journey.
There’s no place like home,
But first you have to get there.
Go safely everyone.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\4\2024.

Rejoice and cheer!
We are here!
In golden sun,
We are number one.

Be grateful for what we’ve got,
Even though it’s not a lot.
Forget that stress,
You’re NOT in such a mess
As you think you are,
In fact you’re a star.

Think Positive I say,
Knowing it’s a cliché.
Yes, every dog has his day.

With special thanks to thee,
Readers of HP.
Thanks for all those Views and comments,
I love it when they come in torrents.
Like it when you like my stuff;
Without such feedback, life is tough.

Let’s celebrate all that we call ‘Good’.
Let Joy immerse us, in a flood.

Paul Butters

All these vultures hovering around their prey:
Three golden prizes
Who will get there first?
Cue David Attenborough on commentary!
Coupled and single lions
Prowling about
Waiting for the chance of food and drink.

That coffee takes ages.
Coffee?
Yes, for this is my local
And my pack and I
Are thoroughly enjoying our ale
With our lovely lunches
Served to us by beautiful barmaids.

Those golden prizes are the three front tables
From where you can see the golden sand:
On a beach
Dotted with distant tiny people
As some frolic in the estuary waves
On paddle boards,
Basking in the glorious sun.
Time for another pint.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\9\23.

K, so here’s the deal,
English will change,
Goi!
Gr8 eh?
Lol.
B4u know it, all changed.
Fyi some call it Textese or SMS Language.
But through will become thru
And though of course tho
Anyway.
Goi.
K so this poem might not trend,
But I’m way ahead of my time,
That’s my Msg.
N2u tho that may b.
That things must change,
That is.
8 it don’t u?
Such g9.
Scary Tbh.
4 me and 4u.
(Bm&y;).
(I prefer you as yu it's tru).
Just Gfi is wot I say.
Even when Prw!
Somy?
Sotmg.
Soz
Laters – Sbtsbc.
Ttfn and bfn.
Say.
Sit my friend.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\8\2015.

What’s poetic about a foundry worker’s son,
Born and bred in Leeds, now idling my time away
In a rinky **** seaside town? What’s poetic
About sitting on my laptop reading Facebook
And pressing Like now and then? It’s got me typing
Like a modern poet, no rhyme or metre to be seen.
I’m going to (roughly) count the syllables then chop this
Into verses. Then post it on my favourite
Poetry sites, plus my blog.

Perhaps there’s poetry in me being a Working Class Boy made good.
In me being a Pro Careers Worker after failing
My Eleven Plus. Even got to Grammar School
For a couple of years. Taught English for six.

The Internet is my Salvation.
Television too.
Is that prosaic enough for you?
**** that rhymed! Knowledge and images,
That yet beget… and much more too.
No need to be there in person.
Just enjoy.

I will only do this once
Walk down Pudsey Hill late one night
Admiring the stars
After seeing friends.
Walk anywhere one specific time
Or admire a particular glorious sunset
Every one being unique
In its blend of beautiful reds, blues, purples
And other hues.

So we have to make the most of Now
Be mindful indeed,
For there will be a time
When we can sense no more.

Mortality is certain.
Even the very plants are living on soil
Made from the remains of their ancestors.
And we eat the plants
And eat eaters of the plants.
Ashes to ashes indeed.
You know the rest.

But green living things live on
Making oxygen
For those yet to germinate and grow
Or be born.
Winter is soon followed by Spring.
Destruction by Creation.
An almost endless cycle
In the ***** of Mother Earth.

Paul Butters

© PB 9\8\2023.

Just think of all that you’ve seen
And experienced
Even forgotten
Throughout your Life.

Not just the Big Things.
The tiny
Seemingly insignificant things too.
Those various TV quizzes
Soaps, sitcoms, adverts
What would Aliens think?

Remember the savoury smell of freshly cut grass
Baking bread
And toilets!
Coffee as well.

See every detail of your table –
Strewn with papers
Objects
Mobile, wallet, medications, books…

Count those leaves on that tree
Stalks of grass
Grains of sand on a beach
Stars in the sky.

Remember all the people
You have met
Or seen
Or heard or read about.
From the rowdy
To the silent ones.
From Good to Evil.
I could go on…
But.

Who knows what our Subconscious Id
Has stored away
In the caverns of our minds?

Things that are with us always
Right until we Die.
And what happens to them then?
A whole universe of things.
Do they vanish
In a “pool of tears”?
Or are they somehow resurrected
Somewhere in Heaven?
We can only Hope…

Paul Butters

© PB 28\5\2020.

Keep cool and calm,
Don’t do any harm
To others or yourself.
Even when rejected,
Don’t be affected.

Swim through the storm
Don’t even get warm.
Maintain self esteem
You know what I mean.
Control your emotion
In all the commotion.

Be Mister (or Missus) Cool
And don’t be a tool
For their challenging way –
You know it won’t pay.

People can be evil,
We all know that.
Almost primeval –
That’s a fact.

Feel good about yourself
Ignoring all barbs,
Keep up on that shelf
And deflect all those words.

If you can, smile and laugh,
Show you’re not bothered.
Like a giraffe
Don’t get smothered.

Beat them with wit:
Show them you’re mentally fit.
Use sarcasm too –
You know what to do.

If they then want to fight
Bring it on if you must,
But if outnumbered and outpowered
Get running -
Leaving a cloud of dust.

But first don’t react
Or do anything you can’t retract.
Keep your Cool
Don’t be the angry fool.

Assert yourself
And say what you want.
While doing your best
Not to affront.

What more can I say?
Being Cool is the way.
That’s my message
For today.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\6\2021.

We watch our mobiles and our tellies,
TV on the internet,
Internet on the TV,
On the mobile.

Our lives are spent
Immersed in soaps
And reality TV.
Hours and hours
Of subsidised sport
And fake news.

Daily quizzes
And Jeremy Kyle
To keep us occupied
And Boredom at bay.

Like zombies we stare at our mobiles
Almost colliding
With people on the street.
Oh yes we chat
And message and text
With folk we’ve never met
Presuming they are real.

We play out time,
Betting and scheming:
Fantasy Leagues
And Facebook,
Snapchat and God knows what.

Occupying our addictive minds
Until the Grim Reaper comes.
“Comfortably numb” until the end.

Paul Butters

8\9\2018.

Skipper Kevin Sinfield
Rugby League man who’d never yield.
Inspiration to his team,
Leeds Rhinos: Living the Dream.

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.

Black hole kisses
******* me out of myself.
Kisses wrapped in hugs.
Intimate moments at intimate times.
Memories to treasure
On a cold winter night.

We once played a New Year Game
In which you kissed a girl
Then swopped her with another:
Twenty or so kisses
To compare.

One kiss so wide
I could hardly stretch
To meet it.
Ending up
Trust me,
With the big fat unresponsive one
Too drunk
To even know
She was being kissed.

Recall one time being coolly kissed
Politely:
A kiss that said
In no uncertain terms –
If you want passion
You’d better go elsewhere
My dear.

For kisses are like handshakes:
Some firm and friendly;
Others too hard
Or too limp.
The young don’t always get it:
Lettuce limp
With their customary hands.
Physical expression
A dying art
Like conversation
In this digital age
Of mobile phones
Snapchats
And Insta-Images.

Time to rekindle the past,
Go back to playing out –
And away!
Get mud ****** mucky
All gloves off.
Back to Basics,
That’s The Way.

Paul Butters

© PB 5\2\2019.

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

Ease your way
Into Sunday,
Monday’s here soon enough.
Friday’s best,
Time to rest,
The week was tough.

Boozeday Tuesday is okay
I must say
And Table Tennis Thursday ain’t bad too.
Wednesday’s fish and chips are yummy –
They fill my tummy,
Washed down with a brew.

I love Saturday sport,
Who would have thought
I’d get set in my ways?
Such is my week,
Hardly unique,
But on Sunday I laze.

Paul Butters

Leeds United on the attack
No sign of holding back
No matter what the score
We keep knocking on that door

Slicing through opposing lines
Creating chances many times
We really should score many more
That would bring us to the fore

Bamford bangs them in of course
Making us a formidable force
Get those shooting boots on, one and all
Let’s get past that defensive wall

Raphinha brings Brazilian magic
His silky skills are so fantastic
Kalvin runs the midfield show
Gives our team a rapid flow

Bielsa’s brain and dedication
Provides us with a firm foundation
He has us marking man for man
Keeping to the pressing plan

People hated us in the past
Now they love us, no more typecast
Strange to be so often praised
Enjoying having our profile raised

So here’s to Leeds, our beloved team
Hoping soon to be the cream
Keep going you men in white
Aiming for a future bright

Paul Butters

© PB 10\3\2021.

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.

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

Many take Faith in God
Or The Spiritual World
Or other Power.
It gives them Purpose
And makes them feel good.

I smile for them
In their Positive View
And wish them luck with that.

I hope they are right
In their beliefs
For I may benefit too.

But, let’s face it,
Science shows
That when we die,
Each one of us,
Our flame is totally
Extinguished.
No-one lives forever.
Everyone dies.

We are reduced to skeletons
Or scattered ashes
(Unless kept in an urn)
Or in some other form
Of “preservation”.

These are the facts
From which
We cannot escape.

All the more important then
That as the cliché goes
We make the most
Of what remains
Of our Life.

Important that we Love all living things
And do our best
To Achieve all that we can,
Aspire and Succeed
For a better world
And for The Common Good.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\11\2019.

(Two more lines added to 4th stanza 4\11).

Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.

We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.

Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.

Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.

Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.

We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.

“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****.

It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2019.