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The candles of the dead
will not be extinguished
floating like blossoms in the deep
cradled by spectral hands
never seen by the living
except in dreams
or art

Did you come this far
for the view?
Or was it a curious urge
to find forgiveness
in a time of grief?

I can grant you forgiveness.
I have the power
through time and the tides
my calloused hands
have held the sun like an egg
my feet have climbed
Mt. Olympus
and none the wiser

So come gently with me
leave your battered dreams
on the bedside table
drink a draught of this noble wine
stand upon this precipice
of uncertainty
and contemplate something
near to eternity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Butters
For my sister Joan Priestley and my friend Paulo Gomes, who both believe my words here very strongly.
One summer evening as light spoke its last
and covered with gold
opening rose-buds, a blackbird's late song
wrung the still air in passion
from nowhere as neatly strung cascades of
notes coated the gloaming
with soul which struck my heart in passing.

Delighted by listening were my ears dulled
by too much busyness
to hear crystal clear scales piercing twilight
with symphony as in my
childhood's countryside quiet where I then
heard magic in birdsong
and first felt need to describe the beautiful.

An inspiring muse to me was he once, he of
sweet trill which pleasured
my nights by writing his liquid lullaby into
rhyme, now again reminds
me to feel strength in his message, resurrect
the freedom of pen and try
to express thru' word his recital of self-hood.

Oh if only I could.
Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote


I read each one
as I write my own
in your love,
flame-roses,
seas of eternal summer,
the sweetest fires of
the heart.

in your love
clouds like sweeping rivers
dark caves of storm,
gold magics as bright as a lamp.

in your love
a wish to hold me forever
desire so strong
that i submit to your will.

in your love
more love than i can believe
emotions like the wildest seas
crazy desire
poetry that melts.

in your love
the winds of passion
burning
summer breezes
light as a rose,
me fainting
with pleasure.

in your love
a love that will last forever
joys, beautiful in their rose-paper
deaths,
seas so wild the wind blows.

in your love
your heart gold
my heart blue
emotions like dreams
so close the passion melts.
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