They tell me
I write okayish.

I smile and greet them
as the sun greets
the minarets in the desert,
without a purpose.

Why don't you write something on love,
they say,
something about a terrible broken past,
it sells,they love it.
they relate to it.

I tell him,
I don't get the vibes out of it,
love sometimes feels like
eating leftover chips at
a mediocre burger joint.

I prefer watching dogs
playing in the rain.

atleast they never pretend.

Picture me suckling on her elbows, lips enveloping that round lump, teeth scraping up past the skins’ v-fold, you might even want to dress that elbow in dotted pale cerise cotton *******, picture me lapping at her neck, tongue thwapping, spit running down to the corners of the mouth, bright nose pressed firm into the temple, my salacious grin in the wee pit of her eyes,

Yes I am there.
Picture me pawing, growling, climbing up her thin skinny young legs, my junk clambering its way into her grove garden cemetery of Hearse boxes and heart suitcases, where by death nothing grows anymore. Picture heavy, weighty, fleshy flesh tearing to shreds those photos you’ve been keeping of changing diapers in the back of your mind, those pictures on the top of your Steinway, picture me in your picture frames. Picture me I am the perfect imbecilic interstices to incise your pristine sweethearts’ heart, picture me, for I am the beast trammeling your restful sleep. Picture me while I take what I please, picture me as I take and I cleave, fueled by rancor and grief, I am your concerted antithesis of pleas and no’s and pleadings. I am but her best friend till the end. Picture me, woof woof. Picture me.

Those eyes
So sad
So loving, loyal and true.
Who can resist that look
From a dog?

Best family member
Of the animal kind.
So devoted to his Mum and Dad
And even uncle.

No fickleness here:
Unflinchingly faithful.
Loving to run and fetch
For his master or mistress.
Even bring in the ‘paper.

See him jump for joy
As you grab the lead
That he’s brought you.
It’s “That time”…

If you let him,
He’ll lick you all over
Before rolling on his back
For a belly rub.
(And his Missus is just the same)!

But those eyes have it:
Bottomlessly sad
So you just have to give him
Strokes and cuddles.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\1\2018.

A thrown dead stick stuck
In the tree. While I ponder,
The dog is dismayed.

They called him, Paddy,
Who brought the old world here,
With curses, **** and beer.

We called him Towser,
A cur-mixed bowser;
A dog with a bone.
Both lived at home.

Paintings of dogs
On the wall
In the X-ray room
At the hospital
Where I go
Every week

This is a horror
I thought dogs don't shed right now
God, there's so much hair

That faithful dog is waiting at your door,
Bursting with unconditional Love.
He (or she) is pining
For your arrival.
Whining and crying,
All ashake.

At last you are here!
Forward he leaps,
Almost losing balance with the shake
Of his tail.
Ready to lick you
Into oblivion.

So you ruffle his ears
And pat him on the head.
“Good Boy!”

Meanwhile The Cat sits
In haughty isolation
Watching coolly
Indifferent to all.

But you still go to her
As she rolls over
And bears her furry tummy
For you to scratch
And her to purr.

I love these pets
Or rather
Family Members.
While they are with us,
There is nothing better.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\1\2018.

people have eyes,
like a dog has a nose,
or a rabbit has ears.

They see context,
they see the ins and outs of certain words,
of certain poems.

They create scenarios,
either ones that have existed,
or ones out of the blue,
simply to understand.

i see hills and trees of
immeasurable height,
limited only by
the ceilings of my mind,

i see oceans and sand that
go down until
the bottom loses color

i see incredible feats
and terrible defeats
and i see you with that job you wanted
and me with the confidence i deserve

but one thing i still can't imagine

is me without you

no one understood you
no one really could
i wish i could leave, too
but i don't know if i should.

                                        you had your quirks
                                        they made up your personality
                                        i now wonder if you lurk
                                        as a ghost in my morality.

it's a shame you aren't here
aren't with me till the end
but i'm still here
goodbye, best friend.