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A devout spiritual
Birth and death
A mere passing
To closely watch this beautiful world
Temporary the presence
Learnings and memories
For the soul
Depth of this life
The fragrance of ancient soil
The mountains rock solid
And the journey of the *****
Under the luminous sky
Yet, a belief in the higher power
The divine, supreme being
Ever so deeply rooted
Beyond the cycle of life and death
Lord Shiva
To draw strength and endurance
Some wisdom
To walk the path of truth
Not through rituals
But being closely guided by the divine
In deep reverence
Ten thousand times
Om Namah Shivay
Uprooting the fears
Gently placing faith
In place
Belief in self
In the power of the divine

6th January 2021
Only, sharing  my experience 🙏🌿🌿
Paul Butters Jan 1
Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.

Running further than the rest,
Leeds United are the best.
Scything through the opposition,
Scoring goals our only mission.

Top flight teams are running scared,
Afraid of a team that’s uncompared:
Players drilled on “Murderball”,
Making them feel so very tall.

We’ve even Brazilians in our team.
Bielsa buys only the cream.
Brazil themselves are doing great deeds:
They say they’re playing just like Leeds.

Shame about those missing fans,
Still busy washing their hands.
Can’t wait for that Elland Road roar
Celebrating every score.

Before too long we’ll be World Champs,
Shining bright like electric lamps.
Bamford scoring all those goals,
Shutting the mouths of Keane and Scholes.

Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2021.
On Leeds United - the team where I was brought up.
Paul Butters Aug 2020
As a typer of what might be
I am a football manager
With WORDS as my players.

Words in a Deep W Formation –
Total free verse
Hopefully forming a diamond.
No buses parked here
As my words go winging
Down the page.

Not quite five three two
But maybe the odd Haiku
In syllables of five seven five –
For there are far more than eleven syllables
In Poetry.

All writers are the same:
Our words combining
To make meaning,
Passing our visions
Views and feelings
For a crowd of readers
All being well.

Words to be chanted
By crowds enchanted –
Songs for a stadium
That is our united mind.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\8\2020.
Nikos Kyriazis Feb 2019

Their voice rapped the portals
and from the dim smoke
a white pigeon sprung
and followed the trail downwards

The crests of the churches,
sharp shelters for the wounded
that come from above
and from below

Are the firmaments raining fire?
For my eyes have filled with tears of black
and my soul's purified

Is this your delivering message?
For lakes, mountains,
beasts and humans are waiting,
and we shall always do


Will the Theatre of Pain
be utterly empty one day?

We are actors that do not dare
to read the elder lines
Nomads amidst the sandstorm
in our sinful minds

Shall I drink my animal's blood?
For my people's thirsty for salvation
in this deserted land
and I only saw once a roaming scrap
from your royal garments

Faith is hanging from a thread
And only in the night-praying hours
the poetry's lines true shine

Do not be the actor
that turns his back
on the crowd's clapping


Everything is appointed
the prophets have spoken

Will, you always love
those who betray?
Spreading words of hope
to the humble with burned faces

The needy have already
flooded the empty rivers
and Pharaoh's wrath is not well locked

I know not how many
are living up there
but I do know how many
are building the realm of Hades

The flame shall kneel before you
and oceans will be divided into two
Once the ominous words
are heard inside your Temple again
This poem is influenced by the sacred music of Father Serafim and his chants from Georgia. I cite the link below
Hilla254 Jan 2019
by the window,
gazing on the crescent moon,
cold breezes tear through the room,
the night sky,
glistening monochrome picture,
the beauty reminds me of you,
goose bumps graze the skin,
reality fades away,
involuntarily end up on your world,
The first letter i wrote you,
lays on my hand,
i spilt my heart out for you,
asked to take you out too,
wind blows pieces of paper,
and there lies the fourth letter,
i wrote, it's a poem
scripted script less,
written from the edges of my thought's,
as words coined at will,
i think you would've liked it,
the ending, a cretan,
sends me to the second letter,
a rhyme, declaring
my love for you,
a lovely one,
but the brightest thought's,
bloom the darkest,
and then reality keeps up,
it haunt's you know,
knowing my heart harbors affection,
for you,but silence rule's my mouth,
knowing my brittle heart,
would easily fall for her charm's,
letters didn't see the mail man,
i once dropped it at your doorstep,
wore a cape to get the courage,
to knock,and i did,
but instead i woke up.
Scripted lamentations
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
Primordial chants
meditating in the soul of the black onyx beads.

Frozen drops of bliss nestling in the sinews,
soaking me in its sublime stillness,
leading me to its philharmonic depth,
yoking me to its cosmic vibes.

I sublimate
to become the chants
that pulsate in the soul
of the black onyx beads...
ConnectHook May 2018




          (Kiss your own ***)
Highbrow religion:
the New York Times Book Review
you progressive, you.
Nick Stiltner Mar 2018
Ancient words spoke in syllables unknown
vortex about me in forms of growing smoke.
Ghosts of times passed swirl about,
their eyes locked to mine and mouths wide,
tethered to me as a center point.

Life must be chosen once per day
but the reaper must only make one deft move.
The smoke continues to rise and tighten,
the spirits muted howls fade in and out,
and I cough.

I choke and cough as the smoke fills my lungs,
desperately trying to expel but I fall.
There I lay, wheezing and hacking,
A rejection, a fight, a resistance,
longing for the clean air that I
did not believe until it was gone.

My throat burns dry and bruised,
but the smoke does not stop its growth
and the chants grow louder still,
filling my mind and shaking my skull.

The smoke fills my lungs to capacity and
I call out but it comes as another cough
and another after, again and once more,
my eyes watering and hands gripping chest,
until at last I gasp one rattling inhale
and Fade to black.
Mary Frances Dec 2017
I took the seat across and breathe deeply
Trying to ignite the will to last the night to make it easy
Folios with galloping notes reflected my eyes
Ascribing them as you started rippling nice

Taking your place behind those keys
while I guard the front as it seems
You fiddled the catguts, and I learned their secrets
And as you edify, I got lost in the sequence

You exuded the decree to keep my valiance
I lodged around the shadows keeping my silence
Risking the chance that was left of me
As I chant the cadence with complexity

I ogled before you with such esteem
As my mind creeps alone towards glaucous dream
Wishing that in every thing written in the sky,
You will always be my Marshall and I am your Spy
Nylee Nov 2017
Her chants
dark and just
her voice
heavy and unheard
her strength
delicate but firm
her intent
illegal but valid
her brew
scented and light
she is calling out to
power and nature
in her dark lair.

She speaks native
with intricate melody
hand gesture
like a fiery dance
her movements precise
adding each elements
with fine cuts
preparing a concoction
in dark and fire
undisturbed and neat
she wore no fancy
nothing witchy
not a pointy hat
or that broom you'd think
no evil smirk
no mad cackle

she shakes the atmosphere
temperature goes north
earth trembles
things feel the wave
as this ritual
reaches a completion
she adds the last of
remaining ingredient
with the last mantra
she completes with thunder
and the cloud bursts
with white light
clearing the skies
so blinding energy
spreads over.

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