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Paul Butters Mar 2019
You can’t beat that musical beat,
From tinkling triangles
To blaring horns.
A quick ditty
Or grand symphony.

Music can mould mountains,
Oceans and plains.
Make you feel any emotion
Or atmosphere.

When songs and poems marry,
Their offspring are awesome:
“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”
Mercury magic.

Those rhythms run like chugging trains.
They fight pitch battles
Within our brains.

Drums keep beating,
Guitars whine.
Ever repeating
All through time.

Chuck Berry with his rock and roll,
Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.
Elvis truly was the King,
Want some crooning?
Play some Bing.

Beatles, Queen or Stones,
Who really cares?
Roll over Beethoven
Bach or Lennon
On your dancing squares.

I know that rap can give you the blues,
But there’s so much music
You’ve got plenty to choose.

Musical memories adorn our minds,
Warm associations
Of nostalgic times.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2019. Last stanza added 6\3\19.
Let the band begin to play...
Paul Butters Oct 2016
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
Word Music!
Paul Butters May 2017
My brother is very lazy.
Every day he drives me crazy.
I love him to bits I'll have you know,
I'll defend him stoutly against any foe.

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

Paul Butters
Sibling Rivalry? lol
Paul Butters Jan 29
Deep within the labyrinthine recesses of my mind
Lies my Id.
Or Subconscious
Or whatever you will.
So when I sleep and dream
My Id presents me with scenes
Full of seemingly incredible detail:
Countless objects set before me
In a wonderfully vivid landscape.

How on Earth does my Id store and display
All these amazing things?
Or is it conning me somehow?

For my Id loves to taunt and tease me.
With dreams of finding myself undressed
In public.
Stressful nightmares of being given impossible mental
And practical challenges to complete.
Of being lost and unable to find my way
Home.
Endless journeys by train and bus
Travelling the country in my quest
To get back in the *****
Of my loving family.
Bee swarms and nasty infestations of bugs.

The Forbidden Planet had its “Monsters of the Id”
And on rare occasions I have woken to continued dreams
Of snakes and people who shouldn’t be there.
And that Giant Eye!
God forbid my sleeping dreams should invade reality,
In the Twilight Zone.

But on the plus side, my dreams can be filled
With seemingly original music
And pleasantries I’d better leave
To your imagination.
Wink, wink.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\1\2024.
Paul Butters Mar 2016
My Muse takes me to peaceful cool pools,
Under suns and moons.
Exuding stillness through picture-view tunes,
Beneath the sky’s fine glittering crown jewels.

A poem is a statement, a speech or a song,
From twittering birds to the crash of a gong.
Some are short and some are long,
They sound like The Beatles and Louis Armstrong.

A song, a song, we can’t go wrong.
Let it play amongst the throng.
A hit that goes to number one,
To serenade the fit and young.

Those harmonies are with me now.
All I can say is Wow, Wow, Wow.
Songs of Love and chants of Hate,
Words of Hope and tunes of Fate.

Come on you’ve pulled, let’s have a date.
Time for dancing, I just can’t wait.

Paul Butters
Playing with words again: musically.
Paul Butters Aug 2019
I walk to the pub or club,
Talk with folks,
Go play table tennis
Or shop.
But apart from all that chat,
Where do I get my “World View”?

How do I know what’s going on
Outside my little comfort zone?
I could even be another Jim Carrey
In some “Truman Show”,
Being filmed for some TV soap
That I’ve never seen
By Big Brother cameras everywhere;
Feeding off fake news
About the universe outside.

For everything we “know”
Comes from TV
And our mobiles
And PCs.

It could all be as false
As Trump says it is,
If he really exists!!!
Where is the Truth?

Will a No Deal Brexit be a catastrophe
Or a breeze in the park?
Are our “Enemies” really in the wrong?
Is the wider world anything like
It’s painted
On TV???

The con men, and women
Probably have us
In their pockets.
So all we can do
Is be as vigilant
As we can
And hope
That true Reality
Will be detected
At last.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\8\2019.
Reality where are you???
Paul Butters Mar 2022
Succulent, seductive floral displays please my senses no end.
Spring is here!
Promise of countless flowers
As Summer surrounds us with scorching sun.
Before long those Daffodil buds will trumpet out
And cherry blossoms will brighten each lengthening day.

Birdsong serenades us
In a twittering chorus.
Nature’s Jazz wakes me up
With every blushing dawn.

We live in Paradise
Yet keep our senses closed.
Immersed in mobiles and social media
The wealth of nature is ignored.

So open your eyes and listen with those ears.
Stop bombing neighbours
And robbing the poor.
Love Life
Embrace Mother Nature
And make the most
Of what Providence has provided
For us all.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2022.
Love Nature
Paul Butters Apr 2020
Life is a journey through an infinite universe.
Even before we die,
We pass the baton to the next generation,
For Them to continue the race.

Ages ago I read of a teacher
Who taught kids to write free verse.
I cannot find the book he wrote on this,
But he let them express themselves
And play with words,
Completely free.

Since then I’ve written free verse
Myself,
Though from time to time
I like a rhyme,
Iambic verses too.

Or a Clerihew.
What a to do!
May the verses run
So we have some fun.

You want to write?
It is your right.
No need for perfection,
Just build a collection.

I write each piece
For my great nephew and niece.
They may not be poems
Bringing in coins,
But I have the gift,
You get my drift.

Thanks to Mum and Dad
I ain’t all bad.
It’s so exciting
To keep on writing.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\4\20. (New 4th line suggested by Norman Stevens).

(From an idea that came to me while taking a bath).

This poem is dedicated to Jacob and Rosie Gamble.
Yep - thought of this in the bath.
Paul Butters Sep 2012
We seek another Mother Earth,
Another Planet Plenty:
A World within a Goldilocks Zone,
Snuggled up
Where everything’s just right.

Out there we gaze,
High in the sky,
Up amongst those swirling nebulae.
See those galaxies twirl,
As gas-clouds spawn new stars.
Supernovae die
To be reborn
As clouds of suns
And Planets.

Countless Billions of Worlds
All waiting
To be explored.

**Paul Butters
Written in response to a space-poem by writer Momofplenty
Paul Butters Jul 2016
Here’s a new form of Clerihew,
For Andy Murray who
Won twice at Wimbledon:
The fun has only just begun.

Paul Butters
Celebrating Andy's 3rd Grand Slam Victory out of 11 Finals!
Paul Butters Jan 2023
Vic Davies
That Davies bloke called Vic
He showed he isn't thick.
His table tennis can get bad,
Especially when he gets mad.

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters

© PB 6\1\23.
Paul Butters Mar 2017
Nicola Sturgeon
Needs no urging.
Scottish trouble,
Let’s burst her bubble.
She wants to split the UK
And make it rubble.
Theresa May thinks she’s the dregs.
The papers? They only ask,
(Nicola and Theresa) -
Who’s got the better legs?

Paul Butters
From a Suggestion by Norman Stevens, who perhaps recalled an old RAF song about sturgeons...
Paul Butters Dec 2015
I’m not sending festive wishes.
Well I have, but that’s not the point.
What good is being good at Christmas
And the New Year,
Only to be a *******
The rest of the time?

What use is a holiday peace
When your working day
Is spent killing…?

No
What I wish for you
Is Peace and Happiness all Year,
Every Year.
I wish for Peace and Prosperity
Set in stone for ever –
Nobody starving
No-one excluded
From Society’s camp-fire.

We need a Human Race
United
As One,
Respecting All
As Equals.

We need this all the time,
Not just in “The Season of Good Cheer”.
We need a Better Way
Forever.
Amen.

Paul Butters
Something I've thought many times!
Paul Butters Dec 2018
Good old Norman,
Thank goodness he’s normal.
Unlike many a friend,
He hasn’t gone round the bend.
Stevens is his surname:
He never plays the Blame Game.

Such a decent chap
And never utters *******.
Whoops, I had to miss that rhyme,
To avoid committing a bit of a crime.

Norm is quite the hero,
And something of a Shakespearo.
He’s maybe my biggest fan,
From England to Japan.

Reading poems from me,
Right there on his Smart TV.
So Norman enjoy your beer,
As I will always be here.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\12\2018.
My weekday drinking chum.
Paul Butters Nov 2015
Norman Stevens
Always gets evens:
Reads my stuff on his smart telly.
Go on Norman, give it some welly.

There you have it, a Clerihew,
Oh what an how to do,
Very silly, very true.
Why I love them, I haven’t a clue.
Time now for another brew.

As I’ve said before:
Write a Clerihew:
It’s easy to do.
Two rhyming couplets of any length:
Short and simple, that’s its strength.

Paul Butters
For my *****'s pub drinking-mate Norman.
Paul Butters Nov 2015
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.

In *****’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of *****’s beer.

He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.

Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.

They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***,
But THAT I’m not repeating.

Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.

Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.

Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters

(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
As I say, it's Norman's poem - was handwritten by him and embellished by me.
Paul Butters Dec 2015
Nothing is Impossible
Because there is always Something
And always a Way
For Something
To happen.

Paul Butters
Contemplating Death again...but maybe seeing a way forward...Minimalist.......
Paul Butters Jul 2016
“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
Nothingness....MMMMMM........
Paul Butters Jul 2017
Nothingness:
Nothing,
Non-Existence,
Infinite, Eternal black space stretching out
Beyond imagination.

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters
A follow-up to my "Nothing" and "Existence" poems.
Now
Paul Butters Sep 2012
Now
Just take your mind beyond our time and space
Continuum.

All things have happened, whatever they are.
The Universe has died, or been reborn
Again and Again,
In God’s Embrace.

You and I were born and passed away.
Andromeda and the Milky Way were merged.
Our Earth was roasted when the Sun ballooned into a Red Giant.
The Human Race had its day
And learnt its fate.

And I wrote this.
It all has happened, as I say,
Yet still is happening
Now.

Paul Butters
Went for an afternoon nap but came up with This!
Paul Butters May 2021
The sea sweeps to the far horizon:
Infinity’s edge,
As endless waves lap onto the shore.
Above us gulls wheel and scream
Hunting for prosaic fish and chips.
They ****** them
From hapless humans
Down below.

And the breakers keep breaking.
Elsewhere the ocean rages,
Storming the cliffs
With spraying cascades of water
And thrashing rain.

Here today, though, it is calm and clear.
Up above we see an even greater ocean:
That of blue sky
And nightly black space.

Up there we truly look
To infinity
Eternity too.
Vastness
Beyond our comprehension.

We people are but tiny specks
On island beaches
Insignificant particles
Of humanity
Lost in a universe
That knows no bounds.
Yet here to enjoy
Those golden dawns and dusks,
Fanned by freshening breezes –
Much gentler versions of gales and hurricanes.

Never forget that the sea is mighty.
Just love it
When it’s in a peaceful mood:
Soak up the spirit of surf
As you watch those endless waves.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\5\2021.
I live by the sea....
Paul Butters Aug 2015
Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.

Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.

Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.

Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!

Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.

Paul Butters
Homage to John Keats.
Paul Butters Jan 2019
Oh Brexit!
Where is the Exit?
You can’t make your money
You Tory Grandees,
Nor can you
Remainer MPs.

We’re running right into a very hard cliff;
Before we get out we’ll all be so stiff.
There’s no majority for any option
And Theresa May’s deal is but a concoction.

Vote after vote and endless debate.
March twenty ninth is the Closing Date.
Can we escape?
I really don’t know.
The media are loving this pantomime show.

This sorry charade is filling the news,
We’re all sick of hearing everyone’s views.
Please get me out of here
I hear you say
Surely, surely there must be some way!

So come on politicians
Get your fingers out
And show these Europeans
We still have some clout.

If we can’t do that then just pack it in
And throw the whole thing right into the bin.
Whatever we do I’m just past caring
But I hope you’ll tell me thanks for sharing.

Get on with it!
That’s the yell.
For until we resolve this
We are in Hell.

Paul Butters

© 30\1\2019 (Written in the early hours!).
Brexit, Brexit, Brexit.......
Paul Butters May 2018
Oh God, whoever and wherever you are,
Do you really want me
To sit and wait for your son Jesus to save me?
Do you want me to just bow down
Before You
In supplication
And leave everything to you?
I think not.

For We are your infantry
If you will
And we are here
To kick the a* of Evil
And make things work
Throughout this Creation of yours.

I’m sure you want us
To be self-reliant
Creative and inventive.
For You have Delegated much
Of Your Work
To Us.
Which is why
We were Created.

So to sit back
And wait for Salvation
From You
Is not
What You
Are looking for.
I’m sure of that.

So let us Believe
In Ourselves
To Achieve
Whatever is required
To make the world
A better place.

We can make God
So proud of us
As His creation
If only we get up
Off our backsides
And show Him – or Her – or Both
What We can do.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\5\2018.
Been thinking this for a long time.
Paul Butters Sep 2018
My short term mem
My short
My
M

Paul Butters

© PB 10\9\2018.
What poem? ;)
Paul Butters Aug 2017
Step outside of space and time
Then look back In
And you will see that everyone you know
Is both alive and dead
At once.
For all has happened
Happens
And continues to happen.

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

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

Paul Butters
I woke up early today and by 5.55 AM I had written this.
Paul Butters Apr 2020
Maybe there must be Existence
For Non-Existence to exist,
Life for Death,
Death for Life,
Finiteness for Infinity,
You can work out the rest.

Love and hate, pain and pleasure,
All a continuum,
All inevitable.

Existence cannot be denied
Even if we live in a virtual world:
A fantasy penned
By who knows who?
For thinking is being,
We all know that.

So enjoy while you can
Before you get written
Out of the script.
Spring turns to summer now
In a seemingly endless circle
Even a globe.
Make the most of it
And party on
As best you can
In your own unique way.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\4\2020.
I just took a break and...
Paul Butters Oct 2017
Swirling worlds whirl around many stars,
Throughout the depths of space.
Rocky planets like Earth or Mars,
Put there by God’s Good Grace.

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters
Wrote the first 4 lines just before midnight last night - came to me as I lay in bed...
Paul Butters Apr 2015
Can stories be poetic? I think so? What do you reckon? Read on...

The giant red globe of the sun hung over young Omega’s head. That great orb filled nearly a quarter of the sky. Omega found it hard to believe that the sun was a “red dwarf star”. Yet who was he to argue with his elders?

A chill wind blew along the desolate beach. In the distance, some giant ***** were on patrol, looking for a meal. Above the *****, some rowdy gulls were waiting to scavenge anything the ***** might leave.

Not much to report here. The usual dismal scene. Nothing here to reflect the importance of these moments. Omega had seen moving pictures of other planets, on which they had things called “days”. This particular “Earth” here was “tidally locked” so that the same side faced the sun at all times. The sun was always there, solidly positioned above Omega’s head.  Here on the equator, they “enjoyed” maximum warmth: yet it was not too much above the freezing point of water!

Mother appeared.

Mother: “We will be ready to start in ten Lunons, Omega. I will call you then.”

Omega nodded. He gulped, nervously and mentally reviewed why this ritual was necessary. What had the elders said?

Oh yes. The Universe began 110 trillion standard years ago with the “Big Bang”. It had expanded at an incredible rate. In those early days the universe had teemed with stars like the sun. Most of those stars had travelled together in great wheels and clouds called “galaxies”. Those galaxies had been full of light and heat, and life!

Yet all that abundance had been before the “Degenerate Era”, when the universe had thinned out so much that no new stars were formed. The remaining stars had died and died. So now the sun above Omega was the last known star.

They were about to enter the “Black Hole Era”, when the universe would be dominated by Black Holes of course. After that would be the “Dark Era”. Finally, about 500 trillion years after the Big Bang, the universe would undergo “Heat Death”. Well, that was what Omega recalled from his lessons.

What was bothering The Elders was the state of the sun. It was foundering. Soon it would just blink into darkness. Before then, the world would just get colder. A bleak prospect.

Mum reappeared. She ushered Omega to “The Circle”. The children were joining with the adults and Elders now. That central obelisk, encircled by the populace, was brightly lit. They all formed an unbroken chain.

Omega felt a great glowing from within. It was happening! Warmer and warmer. Brighter and brighter. All of them shone and flowed and coalesced. Then they each broke free and flew apart!

It was done! Every one of them had transformed into a spirit energy being! Each was now a shining orb. So alive, and free from what would have been a slow freezing death under the last dying sun.

Such joy. Eternal life achieved at last. None of them had heard of our Earth. None of them was human. There were similarities with us, but they were quite alien. Who cares. They were sentient beings who had escaped the death of the last star, and ultimately the universe.

Paul Butters
Can stories be poetic? Yes, surely. Any good? Inspired by the ending to "The Time Machine" by HG Wells.
Paul Butters Apr 2015
Thanks people for liking a poetic Story for a change. Here is the follow-up.

In Part One we visited the universe one hundred and ten trillion years after the Big Bang. Our hero Omega and his people escaped the last known dying red sun by becoming living spirits. Now they must embark on a remarkable journey... (By popular request)!

Omega and his associates flew faster than light. Up ahead there appeared a white pin-*****.

“A star!” exclaimed Omega.

“Not a star,” corrected Father, “It’s another universe!”

That tiny white gem grew into a globe, until it filled most of the “sky”.

Father: “Omega, you have a choice now. Most of our people are going on to that universe. To a new life. But some of us are going further first. We are going to take full advantage of this spirit form, and travel out as far as we can. We are going to try to discover the truth about Existence.”

Omega: “But how will you find your way back, Dad?”

Father: “We have established an unbreakable link with our people. When we have completed our quest we will follow that thread and return home. Are you up for it?”

Omega: “Of course. You only get a chance like this the once.”

Father: “Good. Let’s go.”

All the goodbyes were made and the two parties went their separate ways. For Omega, his odyssey began.

This time, they seemed to fly away even faster! Another “star” appeared. Then another, and another, until the whole “sky” was filled with a myriad of them.

Father: “Yes, son, you guessed: these are not stars but universes. We are somewhere in the middle of a Multiverse. And we are heading out!”

At some point Omega became aware that there was a “boundary” to the multiverse. That the multiverse was some vast globe of universes! Soon they were leaving that globe. Before long they were looking back at that circle his father called “The Multiverse”.

Then Omega became aware of another globe in the distance. As they moved away, this second globe looked much larger than the first. Like a sun and earth. But then other small spheres appeared: until there were eight of them orbiting that “sun”. Omega’s multiverse was the third of those eight from the “star”.

Father: “It’s an Oxygen atom, son!”

Omega: “What?”

Father: “That sun thing is the nucleus and its, er, planets are electrons. Two in the inner shell and six in the outer. Classic Oxygen.”

Omega: “Wow!”

They kept going. Soon they encountered more oxygen atoms as they sped away from their own “atom”. They also encountered countless Hydrogen “atoms”.

Father: “Water! We are in water! Lots of impurities though.”

Their pace seemed to multiply. Nevertheless it took ages. Eventually, however, they left what turned out to be a stream of water. Falling to some unknown ground. Slowly but surely, though, a “figure” materialised above them.

The realisation hit them all at once. Frozen in “time” before them was, a little lad having a *** behind some bushes! And both their old and "new" universes were somewhere within that stream of *****.

Father: “I think it’s time for us to return home, son.”

Paul Butters
Again influenced by HG Wells...
Paul Butters Dec 2020
Out of blackest space
The starship “Discovery” emerges from the abyss
To orbit around a beautiful blue world
Just like Earth.
Its captain decides to land
And the view gets better as it descends.

Continents and oceans are plain to see,
But so much more:
Futuristic cities –
Great civilisations –
The crew cannot wait for that moment
Of First Contact.

And so it happens:
The captain and his officers
Stand at last before an emissary
Of a planet light years away from Earth.

Before them is an alien
Humanoid indeed
Though with Leaves of all things
Decorating its head.
It’s neither male or female
As far as they can tell
And has a long tail
With of all things
A plant *** at the end.
Yes, a tail stuck in a plant ***!

The alien swishes its tail to bring
The plant *** into its leafy hands.

“Welcome to our world,” smiles the Alien,
“It is called Earth just like yours.
Just like countless other Earths
Around the Cosmos.
And yes
I am what you would call a ‘Plant’.
For most worlds of our universe did not
Evolve carnivores like you.
If I want a proper feed
I find some soil beds
And search for food with
My tap root.

But worry not,
You are what you are.
You cannot help the hand that Evolution
Has given you
No more than any of us can change
Whatever our ancestors did in historical times.
We welcome you in Peace and Love,
At least in the hope
That you don’t Eat Us.”

The captain and his crew hang their heads
In shame
Until the captain replies:
“Thank you for your welcome.
We too come in peace.
And rest assured
Our intentions are good:
Whatever happens
We will not eat you.”

“Good” says the alien, with a nod,
“That’s just as well,
For we have giant bees here,
And you wouldn’t want
To make them angry with you.
But come,
It’s time for you to see
Our enormous butterflies.”

And with that,
First Contact
Was concluded
And a new relationship
Began.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\12\2020.
Paul Butters May 2014
One day I found myself in Paradise,
Completely out the blue.
I don’t recall a warning:
From nothing I emerged.

Into a new dimensional realm
I sprang:
Into a world so lost in vastness
Of space and time.

Somewhere out there
In the outer reaches
Of an obscure universe.

A planet full of life,
Of sweeping oceans
And towering mounts.

A place so beautiful,
Beyond compare.

All peopled by
Multi-coloured multitudes
Of sentient beings.

To where had I escaped?
You may well ask.
The loveliest world of all,
Of course.
A heaven of the heavens:
Our planet Earth.
Enough with escapism!
Paul Butters Jan 2015
One day I found myself in Paradise,
Completely out the blue.
I don’t recall a warning:
From nothing I came through.

Into a new dimensional realm
I sprang:
Into a world so vast.

A planet out there somewhere,
In icy space so lost
A Universe not crossed.

A world so full of life,
Of sweeping seas
And towering trees.

A place so beautiful,
Beyond compare.
We stand and stare.

All peopled by
Multi-coloured multitudes.
From which the radiance of sentient life exudes.

To where had I escaped?
You may well ask.
So let’s unmask:

The loveliest world of all,
For what it’s worth.
A heaven of the heavens:
Our planet Earth.

Paul Butters
Have reworked my original to include more rhyme. Hope you all like it.
Paul Butters Jul 2017
Come with me,
Along this path:
Through the forest,
Towering over us on either side.
Smell the greenery
All around.
Orchestral accompaniment
From countless birds.

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters
Hope you all enjoy this.
Paul Butters Aug 2015
My lazy radar lets me down,
Sometimes I just look a clown.
They called me a lazy reader:
Well I think it was “reader”…

‘Fraid to say I’m very slow,
For learning that’s a deadly foe.
Marking books was very hard,
I was given a yellow card.

For every down, though, there’s an up,
Always a way to win The Cup.
I couldn’t skim, I had no choice,
But that’s what gave me my poetic Voice.

So if I’m slow to read your stuff,
Don’t forget I find it tough.
I’ll read your poem as soon as I can,
And if it’s good I’ll be your fan.

Paul Butters
That Voice is crucial, at a price...
Paul Butters Oct 2018
Donald Trump
Sure packs a thump.
For America First
He does his worst.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\10\2018.
hehe
Paul Butters Oct 2016
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.
What can I say??? LOL Better explain - this was "inpired" by the UK X Factor comedy singing act Honey G here in sunny England.
Paul Butters Nov 2015
Here is Paulo,
Always on the ball **!
He thinks he’s Ronaldo
Playing on Madeiran sand lo.

The Caistor Couple, Patricia and Paul,
They’re at *****’s to have a ball.
I’m not talking about playing sport,
More about beer and ***** and port.

Paul Butters
Just for a laugh with my drinking friends who, like me, attend the fine *****'s Pub on Cleethorpes Seafront on a Tuesday lunchtime.
Paul Butters Jan 2016
Despite assurances that his treatment would be gentle,
Thoughts of the grinding drill made him feel rather mental.
But soon his spirit returned to high
As the pretty assistant brushed against his thigh.
All was well until he got the bill
Which gave him such a horrible chill.

But soon he was back to his usual mood of cheer,
As he looked forward to
His next taste of *****’s Pub food
And beer.

NS 22\1\2016
Norman presented me with another piece of notepaper....!!!
Paul Butters Nov 2014
No more warring over God knows what.
No fretting over business matters.
Embrace the silence that precedes the dawn,
Or settles over a red-horizoned twilight.

Just chill on a slumbering beach licked
By a rippling ocean, as the sun sinks down.
Breathe deep and slowly and stay calm as you recline
On softening waves of slumbering sand.

Imbibe that smooth clear golden beer, its snowy head
Soothing your taste buds as it slithers down your throat.
Enjoy the glow of a chasing-whisky
As it spreads to parts that only it can reach.

Lay back and slumber down to dreaming
Peaceful scenes: remembering happy days
When all was well with the world in which you lived.

Sleep well, surrounded by peaceful people:
Miles of smiles from folk just loving life.

Paul Butters
It's time for Peace everyone.
Paul Butters Dec 2021
For single, retired folk like me
Christmas and Bank Holidays are a bind.
Everything is closed,
No buses running,
Friends, like me, are staying home.

No pub for me today.
No squeezing through hordes
Of once a year drinkers
To get to the bar.
I’d rather enjoy my armchair
At home.

But the peace is pleasant,
A nice winter break.
Right now it’s all about
That baby in a manger
Being visited by three wise men.

I have a Christmas Dinner
Ready to microwave
And stocks of beer, whisky
Plus crisps
To keep me going.

Plenty of time to reflect
On another year gone
As seventy looms large for me.
Another year of Coronavirus Variants
As we work our way through
The Greek Alphabet.

Another year of stops and starts
Having to adapt
To whatever monster rears
Its ugly head.

I’ve kept playing table tennis
When the hall’s open
And walked to pub or café
When they’re not closed.
Doing well for a veteran
Can’t complain.

It’s peaceful at Christmas
That’s my refrain.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\12\2021.
Christmas Day!
Paul Butters Mar 2018
Don’t cut all your food up before you eat it:
Slice as you go.
And don’t mix up your curry and rice first:
Take some curry, add some rice…
“But I can eat it all at once this way”.

Cut your box hedge only once or twice per year.
“That will let it grow six foot high instead of four though”.
Do all your shopping at once.
Plan ahead so you don’t have to nip out for things.
“Hate shopping. Rather buy as and when.”

Put your Geraniums in pots over winter.
“I’ll need hell of a lot of pots!
Will break the roots
Digging them out
Of that claggy soil.”

Your Artex could have Asbestos in it:
That could be dangerous.
“I’m not about to drill into it
And breathe in the dust am I?”

What you don’t know when your car MOT and tax are due?
“My garage knows and they look after me.
But I checked them on the internet now.
The garage is right.”

You didn’t know you’d paid off your mortgage
And you claimed for a moat?
“I’m a politician”.

Why do you put all that ******* on Facebook?
“Because my friends Love my posts and say so.”

You are supposed to…
You shouldn’t…
You should…
You mustn’t…
You Must!

"People!"

Paul Butters

© PB 26\3\2018.
A Slice of My Life indeed.
Paul Butters Aug 2021
Perhaps someone thought of an Existence:
A Cosmos so arranged
That its skies would be adorned with stars
Full of worlds
Where sentient life was
Inevitable.

Just an inkling of a thought,
A singularity
That dreamed of a singularity
From which Everything emerged.
All imaginable good and evil,
Making Pandora’s Box look trivial.
Evolving intelligence
From primordial slime.
Wonders everywhere that we
Will never see.

All from just a thought.
But better think on this:
We are that thought.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\8\2021.
Perhaps......
Paul Butters Jul 2020
You say that all poetry is gobbledygook:
That Art's a waste of time
Elvis was just a Showman
And Freddie Mercury…
(Yes the same first name as you!)
…I’d better not say.

Where is your soul, Philistine Fred?
So many like you around.
Your mind cluttered with clinical facts,
Everything measured
And boxed –
Fastidious and precise.
Emotion killed
By setsquares
Set by Pythagoras
On a geometrical day.

You hate historical dramas
And all things learned.
Admitting any Education
Loses any street cred earned.
Yet you watch hours and hours
Of soaps.

You love supporting football teams
From places you’ve never been near.
But at least you like your pubs
For a lovely pint of beer.

I guess I’ll have to keep trying
To get through to you and your kind.
Yet I know some things ain’t possible
And you may never change your mind.

But yes I’ll keep on trying:
Keep banging out my poems –
Knowing that my pockets
Will never be lined with coins.

I know that you won’t read this,
But I will carry on.
For there are people out there
Who will listen to my song.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\7\2020.
(Partly Inspired by “How Do You Sleep” (1971) song by John Lennon. Education, education, education. Soul, soul, soul.
Paul Butters Feb 2023
I love to tell a story
Factual or made up.
And I love to type free verse,
Even the occasional rhyme
From time to time.

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters

© PB 22\2\2023.
Free Verse!
Paul Butters Oct 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
The beat goes on...
Paul Butters Nov 2020
In bitter winds the little Pipistrelle bats
Flitter hither and thither
Into the hills,
Around tree-timber limbs
With brittle twigs.
They wing their way
In thrills
Of twists
And turns.

Meanwhile, deep down below
The cows moan,
Roaming through the range.
They moo while they chew the cud,
Ruminating their food
Grazed earlier from prairie meadows.

Through the long day
They are accompanied
By flocks of birds
Twittering and tweeting,
Much noisier than the bats.
A feather flung chorus
Singing operas and arias
Amongst the misty trees.

Word composers love these things:
Mother Nature wrapping us
In her arms
And filling the air
With sights and sounds
That sooth the soul,
Sending us soundly to sleep
While those bats
Come out to play.

Paul Butters

© PB 26\11\2020.
Musical words.
Paul Butters Nov 2015
People like that I speak plain.
They don’t like when poets are vain.
Hope they love this little refrain.
Think I’ll do it, again and again.

Flowery language isn’t always for me,
I keep my verses wandering free.
Simple words do hold the key,
So a sapling becomes a tree.

Paul Butters
A few nice rhymes.
Paul Butters May 2018
Deep within the spacial abyss that is my brain
There lies a little blue planet called “Paul”.
Hidden away from most of reality
This world is full of wondrous dreams.

Its drifting continents are full of sporting arenas,
Traditional pubs and inns
And swarms of gorgeous women.
Lofty mountains overlook sandy beaches
Fringed by sun kissed palms.
Endless vistas of hill and dale
Teeming with Life.

There is a Dark Side too:
I have my “Mordor” for sure
And my own Sauron.
Who doesn’t?
Lands full of man eating wasps
Fearful ghouls and witches
And torture chambers
Full of dental equipment.
Giant eyes
And Mirrors
Which take on a life
Of their own.

But let’s focus on the Brightness here:
The music and poetry
And even dance
And romance!
A place where we can “Get Around”
To Beach Boys harmonies,
Rock to Chuck Berry
And enjoy whatever delights Carlsberg can conjure up,
If not a pint of “*****’s Beer”
From Cleethorpes.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\5\2018.
Welcome to Planet Paul.
Paul Butters Apr 2018
Spoon me some soothing sounds.
Make me swoon though it’s not even June.
Croon beneath the moon
Amongst flowers in bloom.
For summer soon will loom.
Heat will hit us:
Boom!

No more gloom and doom.
See the Peacock’s plume.
Toast the bride and groom.
People passing from womb to tomb.
A Spring-cleaning broom
To clean the room.

What a boon.
A beach with many a dune,
Behind a cool lagoon.
Time to play another soothing tune.

Let dormant corms awaken
In the warm
Before the storm
While insects swarm.

Let babes be born
To fields of corn
In the early morn.

Blow your horn,
Your hair all shorn
Wearing nothing torn or worn.

Such fun to play with words like this.
For me it’s like a blissful kiss.
Not a thing to find remiss,
Or lightly dismiss,
Miss.

Well that’s the end of all my play.
So that will do,
At least for today.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\4\2018.
Wordplay.
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