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Paul Butters Aug 2015
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
A humorous love poem!
loric Apr 2016
African Night

Blood moon, huge and slow
Winks at me with different face
Unhurried ascent

No man made light shouts
Stars without competition
The show is theirs whole

Off in the distance
The sound of heaven rings out
Sung by hutted friends

Loud and unfettered
Unaware of audience
Harmonies in full

To the creator
An offering lifted up
With full abandon

On the horizon
My eyes find burning camp fires
Of communal song

Standing next to me
I nudge the elbow of God
And whisper softly,

“Can you hear all that?
That ancient fragrant music?”
He waited a beat.

The songs still in full
A smile colored his voice
“I know,” he replied.

“With the joy of life
They offer this every night,
And I’m always here.

Tonight, I share it.”
My wet tears of gratitude
Became one with earth.

My ears overwhelmed,
I yearned for another sense
To engage it more:

To taste or smell it
And have it be part of me
Attached forever.

So God and I stood
With the stillness of listening
Aware of glory

I don’t know how long;
Time tried its normal counting
But we hid from it

Standing still
And we drank it together.
Temba, his arms wide.
Nog net een trekkie
dan nip ek hom nou.
Ek belowe voor skemer
sal ek ook ophou.
Ophou wat?
Ophou bid?
Ophou smeek?
Ophou om die maan te krater
-te breek?

Nee man net nog ene
voor sy kom.
Die maan en haar blinkers
en haar pikgiet swart blom.
Die rokie streel my kolle
en strepe ,- my seer.
Dan kan ek lekker slaap.

Nog een tretjie voor
die nag my kom haal.
Nog net een tretjie
voor ek moet besin
oor die moeilike tye
en vir my sondes betaal.

Die nag wat ons almal op
die highway van die lewe kaap.
Nog 'n ou entjie
voor ek ook gaan slaap.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
you know why i can't be much of
                          an atheistic *******?
to be honest?
i - prefer the voice of
someone like black pigeon speaks
than someone with the pompousness
of someone like t. j. kirk,
i'm not a trekkie either!
but come on, the voice whether with,
or without the image...
i just find atheism boring,
esp. if it's the sort of atheism
that subverts free-will,
   what sort of atheism is the type
focusing on discussion,
but the blatant discard of the mark of cain?
why leave the murderer from
your ranks?
                   i'm not an atheist akin
to witch-chard dork-ings citing
a liking for christmas carols...
     me? i prefer the chant of the templars...
salve regina types...
   i'm just bored of atheists...
they're boring me to the death i wished
instilled by islamic terrorists...
          atheism becomes boring
when it finds itself fathomable
within the confines of poetics,
esp. among the ones critical of cubism,
who also make gain by criticism of
the current "status" of poetry...
atheism seems to leisure,
rather than make critical claims...
i just find it so insolent...
that it almost resembles islam in the kindest
stratum of worthwhile discard...
whether poetry, or whether song,
both are to be avoided by
the guiding principle of the caliphate...
mind you: i'd rather make amends
with the shia muslims of iran,
than these berbers of morocco...
   half the casket filled with decapitated heads...
at least the shia knew the concern
of image, knew the bounty of poetry,
of the persian, came prior to the tusken arab
with their barbaric "leisures"
crafting "law"...
      i cite worth the shia above the sun-amun-ní,
and that's how the matter rests...
i will not care to budge a revisionist fable...
atheism bores me...
  it bores me to ensure i make
my bone into an ashen crude fathom
of form, "relieved" by an epitaph...
mark the pilgrim his
            expected tattoo of the haj...
coming from iran,
  mark him with the gesture,
                     of being a welcome guest!
mark him, or forever serve the "peace"
of convening the wake of
            your supposed istishhad;
i say, mark him!
        make peace among the two:
to better see the one,
  minding you avoid the poly-schism
of christianity...
       mark him!
       lever toward a peace among you!
do not suppose you are freed from
a monotheism, than can suddenly
turn into a polytheism of a poly-schismatic
distaste of arguments, akin to christianity...
mark your shia brother!
          mark him! tell him!
tell him: this is as far as our argument
settles to dust, within the perpetuated falter
of argument's invited...
   mark him! tell him!
      you will not allow a third party schism!
tell him! mark him!
     you will not allow a third party islam,
no islam, beyond the already debatable
shia & sunni... no third party!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
oh, i'm **** sure there's
a reason behind them..
but then there's a reason,
why, there's "no reason"
behind them, either!

                    it's one of those...
the emperor's throne room
musical events...

         a *******
fetish,
akin to a star trek...
Trekkie...
                whatever the **** it
originally was...
  when it comes to music?
    what nerds?!
nerds?!
when it comes to
the appreciation of music?
you're kidding me, right?!
what are you
the feminist Lego
brigade?!

       what sort of illegal
drugs are you on?!

are only women allowed
to listen to music?!

   you sure you're not
medicated?!
are you sure?!
  can i be honest?
well... if we're all
wearing socks rather than
footwear...
   i'm pretty
sure that your opinion
is an, opinion,
on the pills!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
then keeping up with "the truth"
also implies:
no history... prior to: the angry trekkie...
the obvious atheists -
the secular bypass -
banjo banjo fiddle-fiddle and
an orangutan named Steve...
the lesser Stephen...
             "said" the crying rose
death-stink and not being clued-in...
                  myth, history...
journalism...
   > > >...
                    somehow...
there is no consolidation: of a rite of rites...
death becomes a pardon...
because... all these arguments...
             are.. oh so much...
insufferable.

— The End —