An away game at Leeds!
The Loiner Lion will have its feeds.
So it was, back in the day
When Revie’s Men held full sway.
Reaney, Charlton, Hunter, Cooper,
That defence was really super.
David Harvey, ‘keeper complete,
Guaranteed a solid clean sheet.

The midfield ruled by Bremner and Giles,
Billy’s energy, Johnny’s wiles.
Lorimer and Gray down the wings,
Recalling Eddie (Gray), oh my heart sings.
Jones and Clarkey gave us goals,
Lots of them, shoals and shoals.

73-74 our greatest year,
Opponents always full of fear.
Man U relegated that season too,
Better days there were very few.
We won the league by a merry mile,
Time to smile as we did it in style.

In 69 we lost just two from 42.
Opponents didn’t know what to do.
Burnley and City our only losses,
Otherwise we were the bosses.

92 was another good year,
Man U crying in their beer.
Then we sold them Cantona,
That really was a bridge too far.
The rest is history as they say;
We strive again to have our day.

In the second tier on Italian money,
Seeking the land of milk and honey.
The Premiership’s the place where we should be,
Please Messi, join us, on a free!

We hanker for those glory days.
God please help us with your mysterious ways.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\9\2015.

When I did sail across the boundless sea
Through waves and wondrous shores, and wayward winds,
I traveled into earth's philosophy,

And saw the ocean’s daunting thrills,
Its majesty become a living thought—
At nature’s host I did but hardly glimpse.

I only wish to see what beauty wrought,
From shoreless seas to forests, meadows, leas,
And many sights that held me overawed.

That endless dream I now no longer see,
For I’m in glory’s blindness now confined,
And now I pray to once again be free.

When I do close my eyes one final time,
I only wish to dwell in nature’s shrine.

The full moon in all its glory
A beam of light, an epic story
The moon was once a piece of rock
Useless to the universe, a massive shock
When the bang made this tiny specimen
A wondrous beauty, a well learnt lesson

The earth praised this magnificent candlelight
The moon created waves as a gift, a glorious sight
The flat, unmoving waters, now an unending dance
Humans caught by its splendour in a delightful trance
Blinded by its unyielding power
The moon did not stop, flooding to devour

The Gods took away the moons full beauty
Leaving upon it, a terrible duty
The moon full for only three days, only to wait
A fortnight again to be whole, it was abate
It is a truth known; only the weak minded lose to shame
To see innocence turn evil by power, a wicked game

Power is given to those who are worthy
Worthy are those who control power and show mercy.

The golden burn of dusk
   kisses my window panes and walls;
On table tops it rests,
   the moon and stars it calls.

Far above the horizon,
   the honey sun waves good-bye
With sighs of blues and purples,
   its glory's end is nigh.

The birds sing their last songs
   atop the birches' bough
And the sunset leave us thinking,
   "What do we really know?"
In another world it is rising,
   but right here it hides from view,
burying its face, so when morrow comes
   we can marvel its glory anew.

there wouldn't be success
without hardships

there wouldn't be happiness
without tears

there wouldn't be love
without hate

there wouldn't be glory
without gore

She has those glorious locks and luscious lips,
And tiny legs that match her perfect hips.
Whenever she smiles everyone seem to stop,
Whenever she speaks people listens up.
Everybody loves her.

She's a star, a very good teen actress,
Mesmerizing the crowd is what she does best.
On twitter she has millions of followers,
Fans that watch her every move, every hour.
Everybody loves her.

She's sunken, sick, and frail,
Thin as a stick, ghostly pale
The doctors say it won't be long
Until the time she'll take her final breath and be gone
Everybody suddenly loves her.

This is our world,
The sick society we are in.
In here, nobody really cares,
Unless you're pretty, famous, or dying.

It's all fun until you can't
sleep.
And you have to watch your back before you
speak.
The lying gets old...
And adrenaline cold.
Like ice in your veins.
It's all fun and games
Until you've gone insane.

History's greatest artists would fail to do your frame justice. Their fingers would fumble clumsily, brushes and pens flustered by the impossible request of copying a face which would shame Aphrodite into seclusion.
Those with mastery of the worlds languages couldn't hope to come close to capturing the magnificence and depth of a soul that burns brighter than our sun, papers crumpled in frustration from futile attempts at capturing a shooting star in a mason jar.
Virtuosic musicians can't comprehend melodies which could equal your soothing atmosphere or complex structure. Theorists would spend eons attempting to find an ordering of notes which could sing harmonies fitting the one that pours from your eyes, each one being broken by the realization that no such string exists, that they have attempted to match the glory of a choir of angels, and that God has found them unworthy.
Reality is ripping at the seams in its vain efforts to make room for an immaculate Phoenix which can not be tamed, corralled, or controlled by a physical world, not when its immortal splendor transcends description or dimension. Moments feel like eternity when blessed with the presence of one who's life illuminates nights which previously contained impenetrable darkness, thick as ink and as all consuming as the fires which now burn so brilliantly and with such calming warmth.
A priceless work of art, surpassing the limits of what can perceived with eyes or ears, and must be experienced by the heart, felt by the soul, and loved by the whole of my being. A greater masterpiece has never been born, and can never be duplicated, for she is the universes greatest achievement, and only a fool could think to improve upon perfection.