we sit in our gray cubicle
(or corner office if you prefer)
use up days months years
even decades of life
to reach the dream
oh, that elusive dream
dangling about in the unknown
forever in the future
forever out of reach
forever a mirage

It's as though through letting ideas slip away into nothingness
I've died countless times:
unrealised, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.
Their last scream of agony devoid of substance,
reverberates through me,
Reminding me that
I've neglected to death that which could've filled me.

I sit alone quietly watching,

An ego of sand trickles down
each grain a like on a tweet, a seen video.
Aren't they really smart? The people who make these things?
Promised to make me golden,
And I am, indeed.
Just as cold and saleable as that.

NO no,

I keep trying to claw my way out.
It's taking too long, why isn't it working?
Hands getting weaker?
Nails dulling out?
Or maybe I've never had anything sharp on myself to begin with.

The worst is that I'm not alone in this
And most of you seem content.
Living being made to obey
With grains of dopamine being thrown around
as we dance to catch each in our mouths.
Not much different from these poor animals at the circus.

Let's cut this short.

Aim big and don't expect a praise or prize soon after you start.
People aren't brands and brands aren't people.
Let's learn to enjoy the ride more than the destination.
Good luck, I believe in me,
I believe in you.

Choose what you think
Will cause you best.
A thousand schemes
Will pay to rest
Their hands upon
This world of wonder,
So close your eyes,
Let your mind wander.
Imagine wings
And learn to fly,
And as you jump,
Fall into skies
Of other kinds,
Into the deep,
Low and behold
Your wrecked ship.

#1

I’m no good at merrymaking
I do it alone
I do it dark
And I go at it with rabid excess
I am fellow to it
Until morning
And I make the morning hurt
A mark is embed


#2

Amoungst great company
I am dog unwanted
In the comapany of one
I am villain bird
I am influence
I hit a drinking partner in the weak knees of weak truths
And things go madly south
But tonite I am alone
As I ought
And not sought out


#3

Astray from the fireside
Into the woods
In the territory
Where I fear to thread the pathways
I shall recover my work
In the graven woodland
I shall face myself down
And bed darkness
Where I am truely wed


#4

Thriving and well hausted
I strain and clamp upon the energy
I face my enemy
My power
I bide from his readings
I make ****** pleasings
Form verbal greeting
And extend a hand
For this
The first of many a meeting


#5

Upon this connection
This Faustian reflection
I make the primal
The woe in me
And the red wash of ravenous pages
My activity
My moulded tool
My rage
My howl against creativity

Creation abounds
It wants to be found
It seeks to be shared
Please don’t be scared
Because nobody cares

Nobody cares in the best kind of way
The way in which people don’t judge one another
We’re really just filling our vision with colors
Impressions appear but it’s rare when they stay

No one will see if you fumble or stumble
And if they do see, well let’s all be humble
How much of their attention will even go
To encode your fleeting failure at flow

So zoomed into our narrow view
We fail to see events unraveling
We look for something to do
Constantly time traveling

Forget the past
The future is glass
Relax and be pleasant
Let’s stay in the present

In this moment nobody cares
The spotlight you fear shines from within
So emerge from your hidden lair
And finally let your life begin

Sometimes I think that my depression fuelled my creativity.
And now that the dark times don’t need the help of bottles,
I cant help thinking that I running on empty, and I got nothing left to say.
Chasing the pain that is so deep within me, and the **** that shaped me
The images I made with my words and pens
Are nothing but a memory of a sad and lonely 20 something

But the clouds have broken, the rain is letting up, and the sun is peeking through
And all I have are the curiosities of what happens if I start drinking like I did.

I am no longer eligible for the 27 club, and Ill never be famous
And the hurt that I try to remember, will not make those images brighter
It will only hurt my friends and my mother.

So here is a sober, conscious attempt at poetry, trying to find my voice
Without the glass containers that used to help me forget.

I see a new tomorrow
Through today's lens
And I see Yesterday
In ancient days.
I see you, I see me
In my brother's eyes.
I see a new world
Beyond the constellation.
I smell the aroma
Of affluence in
the rich one percent
I taste the acidity
Of abject poverty
In the poor majority.
In God I trust
For what's beyond
My powers and means.
Yet in medical science
And technology I do it all.
I'm the fossil of Adam
Custodian of Eden
and Partner of Earth's
First beauty queen.

I'm the pyramid and Sphinx
I'm the sun God Akana
I'm the kingdom of Wakanda
And the veil of Black Panther.
I come from God's pantry
And roam free and Wild.
I am made Of old spices
Gathered from afar.
I can't be mixed in colors
I'm Earth, Wind, and Fire,
I worship no deity
Yet I stir emotions
And I birth inspiration.
Call me the defibrillator
Of broken hearts and dreams.
I'm a fountain of wisdom
Deeply embedded in the
Soul of every storyteller.
I'm time, I'll never sleep,
I'm the muse of poetry.


#IBpoetry © #Bassapoet
        <<<3.7.2019>>>

Beautiful Sylvain valleys and grassy savannas sooth my soul,
As here within my compact brain-cave
My mind wanders
Though a Multiverse
Of Realms.

From unfathomable gorges and deep down oceans
Up to soaring skies,
My inner eyes take in
Vistas of Infinity.

Imagination has no limits
Being a blessing and a curse.
Endless dreams of gold and honey
Opposed by fears of monstrous evils
Too horrific to ponder here.

My Id keeps churning up all manner of memories
And creations of the brain,
While in the background
Music plays
Punctuated only
By my Inner Voice.

Words, words keep welling up
From subliminal springs
Deep within my head.
Words, images, sounds
Feelings, tastes and smells,
Reality processed and reformed.

Reality recreated indeed
In finest detail,
A confusion of sights and sounds.
Give me those balmy days,
High in the hills
And low on the plains.
Let me bask in glorious sunshine,
Take a slumberous siesta
Then quaff that golden nectar:
Any brew will do.

Lets be kings and queens
Of the poetic landscape
Enjoying all
That The Muses
Will sing.

Paul Butters
© PB 26\6\2019.