He was love’s fool
A drop of rain
In a downpour of seasonal shame
A farthing in the fountain
Spent on wishes
Glistening in the fenlands
Of unreplenished riches

A plea, among the rustling
In a vast forest of variegated leaves
Sorrow among garrulous winds gusting
A path through
His wooded pathos
Blazed with love and lusting

Then a tear finds wing
On a falling leaf
Snapped from the limbs
by currents of heat
rockabye'd into halcyon
so misery and his companion
Forge a new coin

Thrown and flipping along an arc
A pinwheel casting solar sparks
Purling hope in a tumbling fall
promises anything can happen
To anyone
Anytime
at all

streetlights ignite
the darkness after nightfall
setting the shadows ablaze
and, all the while,
remain endlessly
unprecedented unattractive unappreciated and unnoticed
despite their best intentions
and unaltered loyalty to illuminate our nights

without them, nighttime wanderers
would be absorbed by the night
and not be seen til morning
they are the only guides left
when twilight swallows the adventurous whole

so this is a thank you
to the undervalued streetlights

Your smile is free
But never undervalued

daydreaming is getting stronger
one of the unsung heroes
in every ones life

I think of you
the same way
modern society thinks of hygiene.
You are severely undervalued by most
and eternally needed.

The value's not dictated,
by how hard it is for me?

I think finally i get it.
I think finally i see.

Just because I find it easy,
doesn't make it less.

Just means that its a skill,
with which I have been blessed.

For the longest time I struggled,
to know the worth of things I do.

But now I see the value lies,
In how hard it is for you.

It’s something about the
way you say pathetic,
the words sting and burn

like the shots of a diabetic.
Overused and undervalued
by a simply judged fanatic.
The looks you cast,

as I slink past,
are all but few and
far between,
let alone sporadic.

take any society:
the most productive element
is women.
the most rewarded
is man.
(and the most annoying
is the one lamenting the state of affairs
who disrespects his mother.)

Running the gauntlet down Midchester Road,
A veritable suburb of Gleethorpes City,
You pass a line of house-castles
Of the well to do.

But don’t be fooled
By what you see,
For I know someone
Who lives there.

And he will tell you,
Of bountiful gardens
Stripped bare
And concreted over
So that families can park their fleets
Of expensive cars.

See those conservatory extensions
And widened pavements.
A lady poses,
Doing her best
To emulate the Kardashians.

Money attracts
No end of thugs
And dodgy dealers:
Swarming parasitic wasps
Around the honey ***.

Nights of drunken revellers
From the local pub:
Swaying from trees
And kicking cans about.
Boy racers tearing down the road,
Music systems booming
With a mindless
Moronic drumming.

“Where has reality gone?” asks
My despairing friend.
They have their money
Their riches,
Expensive toys
But few of them are Happy.

What happened to “Goodness” and virtue
And dreams of Utopia?
Where are the heroes
Inventors and creators?
Instead we have a world of celebrity,
In which true talent – even genius
Is ignored and undervalued.

“Where are we going?” my friend exclaims.
Things get worse and worse,
The world all in reverse.
For it’s “Unreal City”,
Far from pretty.

So have a think,
Don’t let yourself sink
Even further into the mire.
Just get real,
You know the deal,
It’s you I’m trying to inspire.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\8\2019

(with help from a bloke who lives in such a place. Same town as me).

You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.

I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.

You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.

Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.

Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.

Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.

Every time you write you get this sparkle in your eyes
A supreme gleam that is your dream to win the grand prize
Between the King and Queen, you're just the joker going nowhere
But you're my turtle and I am your hare
You finish first even when all odds are stacked against you
Undervalued and underestimated, no one understands, no one knows
Better when empty; the bottle spins and lands on eenie meenie miny Poe
No need for gin and tonic, you're iconic without the sin
Paper may be thin but the words on it crawl under my skin
Your pen may bleed through but only because you put your heart on the page
You may age but your poetry will not be caged by thyme or sage
People can try but no matter what you type up, it will never be as good as what comes from his rib cage

Today I met a man who didn't like surprises,
I met a women who didn't like consistency.
I saw a friend that undervalued himself.
Another that sold herself.

I've done pills before,
shared bottles and beds too,
I think it's called damage control,
Or a colorful past on my wall,
You can hear it, feel it with every step I take,
A concert of every foot fall and shake.

You can even hear the child's heart beating,
At least I think it's still alive.
You can hear the surprising rhythm it carries,
Not a single beat of consistency.
Its kind of like you,
You are ineffable, not un-f'-able.