The Roamer roams on,
without thought or mind,
he is free and on his own,
but at what cost?

He roams in the day,
walking the streets,
shabbily dressed, and
confused for a vagrant.

He roams in the night
boots trampling the mud,
of a slick rain-struck sidewalk,
with no direction or guide.

He roams from city to city,
staying for just a few weeks,
then he's off again to
roam to another city.

He roams the woods,
when he gets bored
with the cities and lights,
and the noise and people.

He roams the fields,
observing the sights,
utterly alone with
his thoughts as company.

He roams the world,
roaming far and wide,
searching for something,
he just can't find.

He roams endlessly,
evermore for something
more, yet will he lose
himself in the process?

The Roamer is a nomad,
searching for a place,
for a people who he
can call his home.

Roamer on lithium-ion note,
human discourse has evolved
into the latest trend.

We play lithium powered lip lag,
kissing through the media.
Tip-tap tag, a touch here and there,
I slowly chisel away at you soul
with the sharpest, finest pointed words.
Are you in, or are you in?

I keep it simple, stupid.
I play Shakespeare and you play
the audience. I condense
words to their baresense.
The script looks refined,
doubled checked, sublime.

We KISS through the media,
taking turns in a game of finger freeze-
tag. You're it. And I'm the audience.
*r u n r r u n?

Right now I’m alive
For now.
How long will I thrive?
Don’t know.

For most of Eternity
I’ll be dead.
Such is Mortality
It’s said.

Let me meditate on that.
Let me contemplate the moment.
Sitting on my mat
Dreaming a romant.

Yes I’m alive
Of that I’ve no doubt.
But where’s my drive?
I must have a scout…

Been to Tenerife and Malta
Scotland and Wales.
Never Gibraltar,
Few travelling tales.

But I’m not a roamer,
Rather stay at home.
Yes ever the homer,
And often alone.

My laptop and telly
Are all that I need.
Give me Keats and Shelley
For a good read.

So it’s right in the Now
I really must stay
No why, who or how
To darken my day.

No thoughts of the past
Or dreams of the future.
Make each second last,
Turn off that computer.

This moment has gone,
Now that you’re reading.
Let’s have another one,
That’s where I’m leading.

For now never lasts,
That we all know.
It’s lost in our pasts,
No longer on show.

I try here to paint
What has been and gone.
An attempt to create
The eternal song.

Paul Butters

I live the life of a loner.

I'll pop over a friends house on my bike
for a couple hours, and it's cool
I really have a great assortment of friends

But everywhere I go
I wonder if those kids I'm looking for
Are right on the other side of that wall

How do I get there from here?
My eyes are flitting, ticking time bombs

I like my alone time, lone wolf adventures,
Plugged in, unplugged, cityscape, outbound, whatever.

But I need house shows and young punks.
Drunk nights (I may or may not be drunk) and water guns
filled with beer? that'd be interesting.

Be patient, give it time. You're not done yet,
You're still young. Get through the probation,
Show them you really mean it, actually try
And relax because you're good.

Watch it take hold

I don't click

I'm a healer when I get attached
But now I'll try to limit that

I love music from every era but the
Past is most comfortable to me

I make tributes to those whom I love
But I remove them when times change

My only love is brotherly

I remember you well
at the halfway hotel
dusty corduroy ragged
shambling shoes smiling
toothless and untethered.

You, shop door keeper
sidewalk sleeper
a torrent of tall tales
and misery sweet
You, invisible to those
who see beauty 
in possessions alone
while all you possess
hangs in blue plastic noose
from your weathered hand.

Me, the bearer of bread
hot soup for the soul
and soft blanket warmth.
We settle together
to watch the world wane
You tell me your story
hushed tones as sun sets
homeowner to street roamer
family man to castaway
as an eye blinked
and winter frosts left their bloom.

We shared our love of Cohen
as the stars forged the sky
you sang a little
with tobacco rough lungs
the sweetest sound
mixed with bitter tears
picking through all that remains
in the ashes of your life.

You thanked me for kindness
grateful for a chance at visibility
your gratitude reciprocated
by the impression left upon my heart
your face forever summoned
by Leonards finest song
I remember you well
at the halfway hotel...

Over the wintery forests,
Wind howls with no leaves to blow.
There are none so savage as the bear,
Fearsome, red in tooth and claw.
Coming forth from the frozen north to commune with nature and me.
The noble beast is best left in peace.
Strong like mountain, fearless like tiger,
The fire burns within the spirit.
Wise dark gaze, voice of quiet or roar.
He rises with purpose.
He is Powerful in body and mind.
Roamer,loaner he walks the forest floor.
The bear guides through dreams and dangers unseen.
He walks as an animal, he stands as a man,
He remains eternal he is the bear.

Written April 9th 2014

Now I was young and easy. Led
entranced under plum tree blossoms
drifting along the sloping drive
to white-washed walled Stud Farm.
This ecstasy of being cool pig-pink
sunk happy in a mud brown wallow.
    
Then I was bold and carefree,
working among the barns
busy about the happy yard
on the farm that was home.
Young once only, in my kingdom
as Time let me live my dreams.
    
It carried me over and over again
in daytime walking or running,
it was lovely, the sweet scents:
fragrant hay field’s cut grass
and herbage fully sun dried.

Or, I pedalled in evenings
led by bicycle-dynamo-beamed
light under the stars to sleep.
Above me the barn owls were
claiming skies of swallows clear.
Coppice hooting in preludes,
there bats about soon flitted
where  tiny glow worms flickered.

Then to dawn awake: the farm,
mist-shrouded as a roamer white
dew cloaked, returning to hear
****’s crowing from hen coops
black cawing crows in the trees.

Glimpsing the same clear sky
changed from yesterday
into today’s white and blue.
The same sun but born again.
The distant church bells ringing.

Nothing I cared for more
than pink piglets new born,
just meadow-birthed lambs
and black and white calves
that would take up my time:
to hold me to the farm forever
released from orphanage hold.

Oh! I was so young and easy.
In the mercy of its means,
Time held me as I was flying
while I threw off captive
chains - at last unshackled - free.

Tobias