Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
Let’s have a really great show.
Let’s fly just like an arrow,
Faster than a sparrow.

We know we are the best.
Let’s put it to the test.
Prove we are worthy champions
From The South Pole to the Grampians.

Just see our motivation:
Our hope is our foundation.
We’re full of self belief
And going to cause some grief.

We know we are so great.
To play we cannot wait.
Once more unto the breach:
A win’s within our reach.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\1\2020. From a diary jotting 7\1.

Let’s make history, you and me.
Yeh, let’s make history, you and me.
Bringing Peace to the world of the free.
Spreading Love all round the globe,
From greatest whale to tiniest microbe.

Let’s make history you and me.
Ain’t no time for a cuppa tea.
But later we’ll have a jamboree.

Let’s make history you and me.
The world’s in a mess, everyone can see.
So many people, so much hate.
We gotta give ‘em a better fate.

Forget religion, forget your race.
Forget your nation, accept God’s Grace.
Come up and join us, let’s have a ball,
With or without some Alcohol.

The Beatles tried this, yes we know,
But that don’t mean we gotta give in.
You can always say I told you so,
Until that Goodness overcomes Sin.

We must keep trying, that’s all we say.
So let’s make history on this fine day.

Paul Butters

They drop from branch to branch
Of my Cotoneasters:
An extended family of lickle spuggy sparrows.
Their aerial scouts are flitting
From shrub to shrub
While the main party flies up and down
Up and down.

For they have spotted the wild bird seed
That I have scattered
All along the bottom of my back lawn.
So now they make their way
In regimented fashion,
Up and down,
In and out,
Ever wary of those murderous cats.

Now and then they are joined by **** or robins
Or other lickle birds unknown
To this city suburb lubber from Leeds.
Not forgetting those massive fat pigeons
And delicate doves
Who all join in the frenzied feeding
Without a care in the world.

Meanwhile a couple of blackbirds
Patrol their territories
Ignoring the seed
In preference for some scraps of meat or fish.

Later on the foxes will spring forth,
Sneaking around the streets.
So all we need is a commentary
From Sir David Attenborough
With his “Dominant Males”
And “Courting Rituals”
For all to be complete.

Mother Nature loves our little seaside town,
Patrolled by gulls
And guarded by our dogs.
I must get walking in the Spring
When the flowers reappear.
Look forward to that.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\12\2018.

Have you ever woken up, got washed and dressed
Started you morning routine then…
Something’s not right!
Wrong place or feature
Or whatever.
You are still dreaming!
You shake yourself
And at last
You truly are awake!??

They say that Life as such
Is also but a dream.
So imagine, when you die
You find yourself on another bed
And remember the “Earth” in which you fell asleep.
A lifetime’s experience
All packed into a few hours of dreams
In a room that resides
At a higher level.
A higher level that too
Might be a dream within a dream.
An infinity of levels of dreams,
Life upon life.
Imagine that.
Boggle that mind of yours
With infinite dreams
For eternity.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\2\2018.

The sun shines into my lounge:
Golden reflection
Making me feel good.
I glimpse blue skies
Through front and back
Windows.

There is something beyond all this.
Something going on.
I sense an atmosphere,
Smell the aroma of
A universal force:
An energy
Subtle
Surreal.

An all pervading mist
That permeates my life:
A haunting sense
Of spirit.
Something beyond.

We are but tiny chicks,
Covered and warmed
By mother’s wings
Soothed by ethereal music
And songs from heavenly choirs.
Whispers winnowed through those windows
While a hazy sun shines through.

For now I bask
Under the glow
Of that warming orb.
High thin swirling clouds
Tempering the heat.
All is peaceful
And serene today
As life’s long mystery
Drifts on.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\9\2019.

A newborn calf totters on shaky legs
Trying to balance and focus all at once.
Then seconds after birth a big cat pounces
With searing jaws.
The calf’s whole experience of life
Captured on film.

Paul Butters

Is The Purpose of Life
Just to be the first
To beat or cheat Death?

For The Grim Reaper stands supreme.
Some trees have endured
For nearly five thousand years.
And so-called immortal jellyfish
Can regenerate
Back to childhood
Sort of like Doctor Who.

But no-one has achieved mortality.
All we can do is pass the baton
Of Life
To the next generation.
On and on.

Smart science may yet allow us
To modify our genes
And make Regeneration
Real.
Or maybe transfer
Our Consciousness
Into some computer
Or Virtual World.
Who knows what our technology
Might do for us?

The Spiritual Way
Remains our only hope
Of Salvation from Death
Unless…

Paul Butters

© PB 23\10\2020 (2).

Even if we went beyond the bounds
Of space and time
We would see an infinite multiverse
Lasting forever.

For We are lost
So utterly lost
Amongst countless numbers
Of galaxies and stars.

Words cannot do justice
To this miraculous wonder.
Call it a cosmos
Or a universe
What you will
This black vastness
Is beyond human comprehension.

Our own little Earth
May well be replicated
Endless times:
Infinite numbers of rocky worlds
Orbiting their suns
In cosy Goldilocks zones.

Perhaps each universe explodes to life
Then fades
Like some Groundhog Super-Age
Lasting many trillions of years
Each Repeat.

But it matters not
As eternal infinity is time and space enough
For anything to happen.

And it matters not
Unless there is someone around
To witness and experience it all.
And that’s where We come in.
That’s our role.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2021.

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters

© PB 26\12\2022.

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

A bacteriophage virus
Sits snugly inside a germ
Which looks up
Not comprehending that
It lies on the surface
Of the eye of an ant
Who stands guard outside her nest,
A miniature citadel.

The ant looks up at the sky,
Not knowing that her home is hidden
In the garden of an observatory.

And here the astronomer looks up
Through her telescope
Trying to imagine what wonders
She might find.

Only aware
That beyond our universe
Is a multiverse,
A greater Realm,
Infinite possibilities acted out
Infinite times
With infinite variations.

And perhaps,
A spiritual world
That makes our realm
Look smaller than
A pea.

Heavens Above!

Paul Butters

I took her for some fish and chips,
We had a reight good time.
The two of us kept locking lips,
It really int a crime.

But then she saw this pilot bloke:
It really wasn’t fair.
Though I’m a super Trekkie clerk,
She saw me as a square.

What she saw in him I’ll never know,
There really was no reason.
But off she went with him, oh no!
It felt just like a treason.

Those fish and chips are getting cold,
With no-one there to eat ‘em.
Them mushy peas have gone to waste, be told,
But she prefers to cheat ‘em.

There are more fish in the sea they say,
And now I’m talking females.
Every dog will have his day,
I’d better watch my emails.

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

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

As I walk out of my door
A clichéd cacophony of birdsong
Surrounds me with beauty
And uplifts my soul.

Yet we humans too love to sing
And play those instruments:
Creating lullabies, arias, symphonies,
Serenades and rock and roll shows.
To name but a few.

Angelic choirs in lofty minsters,
Lifting us up to the stars,
Embracing God in Heaven.
Heavy metal bands
Thrashing out thunder
In stadia seething with singing fans.
Brass bands too: trumpeting and rumpeting
In a crescendo of sound.

Hear those trembling triangles and sublime wind chimes.
Feel those bouncing drums.
Twanging, sweeping, swooning
Plucking, soaring, crying
Guitar.
Tinkling pianos and weeping violins.
Whole orchestras of mind-blowing sound,
Welsh rugby crowds
And the Liverpool Kop.

Magical music:
From spiritually haunting
To simply getting laid.
Bringing out the animal in us:
Passion and desire
Raw emotion
Or else the supernatural
Ethereal skyscapes
Sometimes sheer dread
And horror.

Watch any good film:
The musical score is everything:
“Star Wars”, “Gone with the Wind”, “******”
“Battlestar Gallactica”, “Ben Hur”…
Beethoven, Mozart, The Beatles
The Stones, Queen, Genesis…
So much to love
Chuck Berry and Elvis
Rocking and rolling and reeling
And stealing our minds away.

So let’s get singing
And dancing
And banging those drums,
Flexing our plectrums
To make one helluva
Noise.
Let that magical music play
For Ever.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\4\2020.

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

Some insist they do not want to read about Space,
One of my favourite things.
They would rather I spoke
About what’s going down on Terra firma.

But to them I say
That there are billions of galaxies,
Stars and planets out there.
So the odds are that
There are countless worlds just like Earth.

Right now,
On such an “Earth”
There may well be
People just like us.
They might look different
But still be sentient beings
Eating and drinking
Even going to the pub,
Watching soaps and sport on their version of TV
Squabbling over who will tidy up today...
Or debating issues on Social Media.

They might be worried about global warming,
Or suffering some Pandemic,
Even waging interminable wars,
Just like us.

For, when all is said and done,
Our very own Earth is just like the rest:
A little blue world
Lost in the blackness of Space.

Indeed, we too are out “In Deep Space”
Every bit as much
As all those other Earths.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\12\2021.

He’s a material man
On a material planet.
Gobbles up money like a gannet.

Seeking status and promotion,
Upwardly mobile is his motion.
At his side is Madonna’s Girl,
In for a diamond, in for a pearl.

This poor creature has no soul,
Making a fortune his only goal.
Grandeur or Greatness is his God,
For the beauty of Nature he don’t give a sod.

This man doesn’t know what he is missing,
Life’s simple pleasures and Love’s real kissing.

Who really needs all those houses and cars,
Or getting seen in swanky bars?
What’s so fine about a designer label?
We seem to have built our Tower of Babel.

This man will be deaf to these words of mine.
The only mine HE wants, is a glittering Gold Mine.
Humanity divided into Rich and Poor,
Anyone sensible knows the score.

Nations chasing seas of oil,
While back at home the slaves they toil.
Waging wars for piles of money,
Everyone knows it isn’t funny.

Any hope for Material Man?
Unless he changes, he’s down the pan.
Please sir will you open your eyes?
Only Love is loved by the wise.

Paul Butters

Maybe Existence is wave after wave
Reaching out into infinity.
Perhaps We are All
The eyes, ears, skin and tongue
Of The One.
So that S\he may experience
Life
Existence
Consciousness.

Soul after soul is born
To carry on the torch:
Infinity of souls.
And no matter what happens to those souls
The One Remains
Into Eternity.

Our job is simple:
To see, hear, touch and taste
For the One
And learn as much as we can
Of what it’s all about.

Paul Butters

As far as I’m concerned I am The One.
Just like “The Matrix” I agree.
I hate to be so selfish saying this
But it’s the truth I have to say.

I never did find Love I must confess,
So egocentric I just have to be.
I love my parents and my sister too,
But in the end it’s me who faces all
That Life will throw my way.

And when I die, then you will too
As far as I’m concerned.

No suicide bombing for me my friend,
No martyrdom for me.
Survival Instinct is my god,
Self-preservation is my creed.

I offer no apology
Self-centred I may well just be.
The bigger picture holds no sway,
I’ll just keep living day by day.

Paul Butters

I’m The One,
But so are You.
It all depends
On your point of view.

I write,
You read.
I sow
The seed.

No love songs
You will get from me.
Nothing sentimental:
Bull-dropping free.

We share this world
You and I.
Together we can
Reach the sky.

Your imagination I will seek
To fire.
Whenever I can,
I will inspire.

Well, dear Viewer-Reader,
It’s time to go.
I hope you enjoyed
This “Poetry Show”.

Paul Butters

Where would I be
Without the Internet and Tellee?
Yes it’s telly I know,
With its glitzy glow.
They’ll be watching down there in Walthamstow.

X Factor, Big Brother and many a quiz,
They are the equivalent of ol’ Show Biz.
They say we are ruled by all this media,
That all those videos are a bad idea.
Without them though it would feel quite queer.

Newspapers now have become old hat,
There’s not a lot we can do about that.
I seem to live in Facebook Land,
But many say it ought to be banned.
They bury their heads in that golden sand.

The Google answers my every question:
Lots of info for my digestion.
Facebook’s full of gossip and chat,
There’s every scope for acting the prat,
So if you don’t like it, just Take That.

I’m on the net most every morning.
Sad to say, it never gets boring.
(Though it still might carry a Government Health Warning)!
Near Noon I have to drag myself away,
But not too many kids are out to play,
It’s video games for them all day.

Any kids about, they’re on their mobile phones.
They’re starting to look like devoted clones.
They hardly look where they are walking,
Busy reading and occasionally talking.
The traffic they are always baulking.

To real life they pay no attention.
They all deserve to be in detention.
I have to wonder how brainwashed we are,
Let’s go on a show and become a pop star.
It’ll soon be empty in the bar.

Social Networking is what they call it,
So very easy to install it.
Instagramming is now the thing,
It’s all about the imaging.
There’s nothing like that internet ping.

So there you are, The Media Rules,
Thanks to all these technical tools.
Soon there’ll be no need for schools,
But will we make geniuses, or a flock of fools?

Paul Butters

© PB 5\9\2015.

Meh is what I say
When I feel that way.
It’s all in the expression:
That’s the lesson.
I ain’t a troll
‘Cos I say lol.
Our language is growing,
Toing and froing,
Ask old Mister Owen
(Our English Master back in the day).
I play these words
Along the page,
Hoping for a Golden Age
Of growth.
Not revolution, just evolution;
Some may say pollution
Even ablution.
The constitution
Of Progress.

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

Whatever you write, make it memorable.
Just as memorable as Ivan the Terrible.
No need to be incredible
Just make those words indelible
From that mind of yours
And also theirs of course.

I used to think that rap
Was not very good.
Haha.
But now I see
Those rhymes so right for me,
And even raps that scan.
Yeah Man!

There’s always time
For a rhyme
Sublime.
Just let them chime.

These rhymes they staple things to your brain
To help you remember every refrain.
Things passed on by word of mouth
From Arctic regions right down to The South.

Remember, remember
That month of November.
Something that sticks
With each dying ember.

Keep aware of the power of words,
As musical as a flock of birds.
Do give in to the urge to write,
To make our day so gloriously bright.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\1\2020 (2). From jottings of 7\1.

I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.

Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.

I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.

I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.

So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.

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

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

The World is ruled
By massive corporations
And nations.
By Trump, Putin and The Queen.

But I say again:
Only I have ownership of My Life.
For I am The King of My Mind
And, from my point of view,
When I die the Universe Ends.

It does not matter to me
That when I go,
Life goes on.
What use is that
If I’m not here
To see it?

Even now
What do I care
About what goes on
In Ivory Towers
And murky corridors of power?

Maybe it’s my Whisky
Or Autism
That informs me I am King.
And yes I’m being self-centred.
In my Matrix I’m “The One”.

But you’ll get no apology
From me.
Yes, I’ll be polite
And try (a bit) to comply
With rules of etiquette.
But don’t be fooled:
My self esteem keeps growing
As I shake off the shackles
Imposed by a society
That seeks to make most people
Little more than
Corporate slaves.

I may appear to be a “nice man”
But underneath that mask
Is a heart of steel.
For I am The King
Of My Life,
On Planet Paul.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\3\2019.

Summer sun surrounds us.
Those icy biting winds are long forgotten.
We’re smothered by sultry, moisture-laden air.
A cooling breeze
Cuts through the verdant smell of fresh-mown grass.
The kids are playing:
Shouting loud.
Flock birds twitter,
What a crowd!

Those early mists give way to sun,
And wispy high-clouds stain the blue.
A happy sky to oversee our fun,
With sun to highlight every hue.

The Summer Solstice has been and gone
And nights will soon be getting long.
But it’s still hot I hear you say,
Who cares if thunder’s on the way.

We pay for sun with thunderstorms:
In Britain the weather soon transforms.
Yet now it’s time to cease the day;
I’d better send you on your way.

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

Mike Bee,
Wandering Free.
My *****’s Pub Sunday Luncheon mate,
With always plenty on his plate.

Then at The Crow’s there’s John and Keith,
Using Sam Smith’s to wash their teeth.
What they don’t know, isn’t worth knowing,
Lots of banter to keep me going.

They call Brian there, “Encyclopaedia”,
With lots of facts, he will feed ya.
He’s so bright cos he’s from Leeds,
And knows his I before E except after Cs.

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

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

Did The Universe exist
Before it was seen
By us?

Some say you Are the universe
Looking at itself.

Chicken or egg,
Egg or chicken?

That mystery
Called Consciousness.
Macrocosm in a Microcosm,
Solar System in an atom.

We imagine all
So everything exists
Within us.

Miraculous.

Paul Butters

© PB 6\11\2019.

Does a mirror show the truth?
I could be a girl for all I know,
Or look like one at least.
Might be so ugly,
Or very handsome.
A monster
Or Tom Cruise.

That mirror
Like a television
May have a life
Of its own.

So if that glare
Should ever be switched off
(For any reason)
Then my real image
May resurface:
A scabby, gargoyle horror
Mutated
From atomic war.
Or, some radiant beauty,
Freed from the mirror’s
Shining cell.

Mirrors!


Paul Butters

Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain
For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire.
Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled *****,
As my soul soars into the seething skies.

My wings are beating with breathless wonder,
My imagination sends me to a destination
Beyond discrimination, defying appellation,
But not exclamation, at this elevation.

Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs
That overhang the huddled houses
Of the hillside village
On the way to who knows where.

The mists are shifting, ever drifting
Hiding everything
Except the mountain tops.
A new dimension might await us
Always moving as
Our journey never stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters

© PB 9\11\2022.

When I'm in a bad mood
I'm not a poetic dude –
All I can be is rude.

But when I’m in a Good mood
Those blues get ******* –
And I might even get lewd.

For when I feel good
I walk into the wood
Where my dreams are stood.

I love to bring joy
That will never cloy
Oh boy.

I have the vision
No indecision
Or derision.

See all that beauty,
This might get fruity –
Quite a *****.

But now I must go,
It’s the end of this show,
Cue Cupid’s bow.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\6\2020.

Husken, Wendy:
Ever trendy,
Always knitting
Something fitting.

Hudson, Simon
Working on his rhyming.
Not got it right yet,
Graphics is a better bet.

A Littlefair called Gail,
Often goes beyond the pale.
A canny Glesga lass,
Always as bold as brass.

That massive hulk Chris Bygott
Would make a ****** good pirate.
But he loves table tennis and fishing:
For success he’s always wishing.
He hasn’t done too bad,
Done even better than Dad.

Paul Butters

© PB 9\4\2020.

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

A massive moth outside in the night
Flings itself at
My bathroom window.
Another Icarus
Sorely tempted by the electric light within
My house.

A swooping vulture
It tries again and again,
Fracturing its fragile wings:
Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God
And feels a failure in life,
Totally frustrated
At not being able to reach its imperative goal.
Not knowing
That had it succeeded
It would now be
Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.

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

The greatness of Nature cannot be denied.
Her grandeur is plain for all to see.
Such sheer determination can only be admired.
See that tiny ***** on yonder rock face:
Some miniature plant has taken hold
Where nothing else could live.

We know that Mother Nature rules the Earth.
But what about the stars?
Billions of exoplanets wave at me
In my mind’s eye.
For life right here can thrive in boiling acid
And solid sheets of ice.

What scope for life is there out there,
Amongst the swirling galaxies
And gassy nebulae?
I tell you now:
There’s almost ENDLESS Opportunity
For life to evolve
Around this Universe
Alone.

Yes, she’s much, much more than “Mother Earth”:
More “Mother Multiverse”.
Mother Nature multiplied a million, million times.
Imagine That.

Paul Butters

Mother Nature rules the World,
And probably
The whole Universe.

Our Earth, a planet blue,
Just teems with Life.

Even deep beneath the ocean,
Amongst those geysers,
Oh so Hot,
You will find Life.

Lakes filled with acid,
Bone –dry deserts (look underground),
Solid sheets of ice:
They all are home-sweet-home
To bacteria
Or Viruses,
At the very least.

We bomb those cities to piles of rubble,
And poison the Earth with God knows what,
Yet always, given time,
Life will re-assert itself:
That sprig of couch-grass,
Those flowers.
Mother Nature never does give in.
Life springs eternal.

From amoeba to a dancing dolphin.
So utterly determined
To survive.
Clinging to existence
Like a limpet on a rock.
Invincible in Her tenacity.

Paul Butters

It’s a well-known thing
That I worship Mother Nature
Like many more.
For her works adorn the sweeping panorama
Of our world.

From the mountain tops
To unfathomable ocean floors,
Lush rain forests
To polar ice caps
And boiling hot geysers
Her empire almost has no bounds.

Yet our planet is but a blue speck
On an endless beach
That spans the universe
And maybe multiverse.

For Mother Nature began her work
Long before our “Earth” was born.
She began from Nothing:
Some “Singularity” expanding
To form our Universe.
Clusters of galaxies were formed,
Swathed in clouds of dust and gas
Nebulae nurseries, birthing stars.
Light stars lived and died
To reform as heavy stars
With planets and moons.

So now we have a realm of worlds,
Nestled in the Goldilocks Zones of their suns
Teeming with water
And possibly Life.

The formula is everywhere:
Worlds, water, warmth, minerals
Carbon, Oxygen perhaps
With other well known building blocks of life.
Of life almost inevitable.

So we see
That the realm of Mother Nature
May well be infinite
And eternal.
We must help her as best we can,
Guarding our own health first of all
Then always seeking
To make her garden grow.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\5\2020.

Mummy sparrow leads her chick
Into the garden.
A fluffy baby bird
Shivering
Vulnerable
Beak wide open
Demanding food.

So mother duly catches a grub
To drop it into
That wide open
Clamouring mouth.

Meanwhile, indoors, mamma dog suckles
A crowd of pups
All clambering at her belly,
Grabbing *******
And ******* like there’s no tomorrow.

And in another house
Mother cat is feeding her kittens.
Indeed all around the world
All sorts of animals
Are getting fed by Mum.

But ah, I must stop writing.
My own Mum has called me to lunch:
Glorious stew and dumplings –
Dumplings so soft
With a hint of crust on some.
Followed by her tasty sponge
And custard.
Gran has helped her too
And brought us sweets
For later.

Mums and grandmas:
You can’t beat them.

Paul Butters

© PB 23\10\2020.

Some say we all live in a “Multiverse” –
A myriad of universes
All parallel to one another
Invisible to us
Apart from our own universe
Wondrous as it is.

So in some other universe there is
Another version of yourself,
Where you turned right at some junction
Instead of left
And had a serious accident
Instead of winning the lottery.
Or nothing much happened
Or Everything.

Even my own fertile imagination
Is floored
By the endless possibilities here.
My mind is truly boggled
Fit to explode.

For every tiny insect in our universe
Might fly right
Or left
Or not at all
To thus create another universe.

I could write an epic poem on this.
To think that somewhere out there
I may be Immortal, or a King, or Rock Star
Or even about to be Executed
If not already dead.
And you might be these things too.

Versions of ourselves might live in universes
That echo those of fiction
In worlds such as Narnia, Middle Earth
And that of Star Trek, Star Wars
And Stargate SG One
To name but a few.

Oh to have a TV Remote
Like the fictional “Sliders”
To take us from this realm
To any other of our choice.
Or a “Uniscape”:
A machine like a Tardis
Which can take us to any place
Or time
Or universe
Or Other Multiverse???

My head is aching now.
My mind explodes
Like The Universe
And The Multiverse
Or Multiverse of Multiverses.
So I’d better stop
Before this becomes an epic
And my head explodes.

But, meanwhile, in another universe
I didn’t stop!!!

Paul Butters

© PB 18\9\2023.