David Hutton Nov 2018
Raw landscapes shape the far distance
Brutal terrain tests our endurance
A greeting with coldness
A sheet of fog invites us
Raw landscapes welcome us with silence.
Paul Butters May 2018
Deep within the spacial abyss that is my brain
There lies a little blue planet called “Paul”.
Hidden away from most of reality
This world is full of wondrous dreams.

Its drifting continents are full of sporting arenas,
Traditional pubs and inns
And swarms of gorgeous women.
Lofty mountains overlook sandy beaches
Fringed by sun kissed palms.
Endless vistas of hill and dale
Teeming with Life.

There is a Dark Side too:
I have my “Mordor” for sure
And my own Sauron.
Who doesn’t?
Lands full of man eating wasps
Fearful ghouls and witches
And torture chambers
Full of dental equipment.
Giant eyes
And Mirrors
Which take on a life
Of their own.

But let’s focus on the Brightness here:
The music and poetry
And even dance
And romance!
A place where we can “Get Around”
To Beach Boys harmonies,
Rock to Chuck Berry
And enjoy whatever delights Carlsberg can conjure up,
If not a pint of “*****’s Beer”
From Cleethorpes.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\5\2018.
Welcome to Planet Paul.
Skye Marshmallow Jan 2018
Canyons of deep purple
Echoing with silent cries
So much grief, so much hardship
Hidden beneath happy eyes

It's a muted colour, often unnoticed
Bold colours are so much nicer and easier to see
Beautiful and happy
Life filled and free

Its the undertones that build up the bright
Mould the landscapes
The mountains and vallies of who we are
It's there swirling brushstrokes that outline our shape

Though they are layered over
With the thick oil paint smiles
They are still real, still raw
The base coat for all life trials
I'm back! Sorry I haven't posted in while, the site wasn't working for me. Happy New Year!. Skye:)
IPM Nov 2017
Apprehensive cyan breaths split
the fallen bodies, extinguished flames,
stolen landscapes drawn in dreams
a sudden jump-start,
heartbeats flicker when he nears
and stop.
Divine Dao-3 Jul 2017
When Landscapes Invite
Festivities Of Mind
To Peaceful Sunrise's
Trembling Songs

Only Then

Serene Calmness Starts Whispering
Sincere As Zephyrs Breeze
Among Not-barren Branches
Of The World

Oh ~This Lovely Beauty

Crimson Blossoms
Vanilla Pink And Gently White
Like Cosmic Sermon For My Solemn Petaled Soul


This Lovely Beauty
Yonder There


So ~ Utterly
Uspoken of

Those Sailings Over Torrid Oceans
Tender Tempest Temporal Torcher
Wise Man''s River Siddhu Heart
Laments Languid Wave
Lies Illusion
Love's Duration

Writing On This Music Foundation:


On A Quantuum Level Everything Becomes Here

Greetings From
My Soulful Poem
Has Just Touched Your~Self Absorbed
Inwardly Written Genius

Daniel Kareski Jul 2015
The first step is admitting you own nothing.
You have borrowed a vessel of perpetual motion,
transforming matter into joy. Or sorrow.
You prepare a lament for
every object being shrunk in volume  
to the point of liquefied singularity.
Your soul resembles a berseked monach
harpuned by the overflowing thoughts
of a whole world outside his sacred temple,
rediscovering *** through a moment of NO BIG TRUTH.
Every item is handelled with utmost care.
Every hour of every day carefully measured,
overligned, overlived, predicted,
enjoyed to the highest crest of pleasures.
The excitement turns you into a dormant rage
of two incandescent lovers, sharing their last kiss.
A particular moving object (which borrows your empirical mass)
runs away over roads and tracks and clouds and temples,
from the decay measured in seconds of standstill, if at all present.
You left the last version of yourself at the doorstep.
The footsteps on the street are an echo of
your forthcoming change. Your exhaltation.
How am I supposed to fight this disposition,
the everpresent catarsys in each corner of the soul,
as the end is postpond by the black guitar’s lament
in the indigenous version of history.
Sometimes things overlap without obvious reasons.
Sometimes the foundations of our sorrow -
buried deep into everday house hold objects,
is the only threat which holds the secret
to the way back.
To the memories bookmarked in your going-away-ness.
To the saved points in your story
(to which you could return back in case of a disaster).
Like a tale, in which the bad prevails,
as she lays in your arms,
in a particularly ephemeral moment
all that matters in the end
is the desired absence of space
‘tween the most lonely abbrevations of
the two of you.
A Sri Lanka trip sublimated in words.
Lilly Gibbons Jan 2015
Taking all of the will, not so easily mustered
Mixing it with goodbyes, tears of guilt,
Lamenting the minutes just gone by,
Each second, each step, closer to isolation.
Marina whispers in the queue,
"Flying away from dispair, losing all of you".

Cutting the string with a home,
A life lived, familiar, with comfort.
The landscapes are carved, patchwork to be taken,
No waste to be seen in miles of new pastures,
Mapped our for us to explore.

Riches existing in snapshots of ruins;
Museums, halls, walking tours.
Dynamite rolls, caesars galore.
All that is waiting to be conquered
Before one returns to the wars.

The first stop rows of people traffic,
No red lights as warning signs.
Everyone waiting in line, to reach a plateau of thinking,
Willing to bask in newer time.
Crowds gathered to be "social",
All too aware of been seen,
The green paper flashed across tables,
A lifestyle no longer a dream.
To impress one must boast of acquaintances,
so rich you seem to know of success.
To matter became a fast contest, we will name it
"Who knows who best".

Next came the immigrants natter,
There was always a "when will you go?"
Marina observed such behavior,
Unwilling to reveal her horror show.
Forms prepared as leaves of security,
Languages took on new stature.
The boss controlled the fate of the non native,
How strange to have so little control.
Kagami Sep 2014
Vivid cultures dancing
like jellybeans in a frying pan.
Pop like a violin
flow with the rhythm of the sandstorm.
Spinach leaves sway in the depths of the ocean
like worms
hooked through one of its many stomachs
filled with plastic bottles.
****** honey bombs flavour
the ink that spills across
the landscapes.
Courtney Pruitt Jul 2014
sails like blankets
thrown awry,
float with
idle paseé.

wind whips wrinkles
for pioneers,
chaos and crinkles
make our worst fears.

wakes speed time
like a blitzed motor,
whils't the sun burns
blackened otters.

sunsets brush the
beauty away,
highlights fade
and darken grey.

birds fish
the waters va-
cate your hovel
and meet us for café.
Just some wordplay.
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