My mum said,"Son time you had a wife."
I said,"What's the hurry,let me first enjoy life."
But, she started looking for one,
My panic button was switched on,
I didn't want a desi wife like my mother,
Or simple middle class wives like the ones of my brothers,
Who treated their husbands as
Demi-God's,
Their masters, their Lords.
I wanted an ultra modern wife,
Trendy, ****, lovely and an equal partner in my life.
So I went against my family and married one,
I thought I had won.
I was head over heels in love,
She was my beautiful dove,
For several months life was paradise,
I felt nice,
***, theatres and parties.
Then the honeymoon  was over,
Of that I had surmised never,
I was tired eating out,
In cooking she was nought,
The house was a mess,
She cared less,
She was never at home,
And when she came she was drunk some.
Everything was not well,
My life had become hell,
I ended up at mum's for dinner,
I realised  dad and my brothers were in fact winners,
Loved and cared by their wives,
So much happiness in their lives.
With me my wife didn't want to stay,
So she ran away,
After my divorce I married again,
My heavenly life began,
My desi wife, mum's choice,
Lovely, homely and poised,
I, her Lord and she my Lady
Our married life very steady.

young people’s dreams are crushed
by the place they go where they are taught
to learn a cookie cutter way
and that their gifts are not gifts
in a world like this
we’re meant to be robots
creativity and originality is
simply dismissed

I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum
Nails hammered into wood
And trash strewn on the floor
I couldn't help thinking
What the **** is this ****?
These can't be the champions of modern art
Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective
The theater is fine
Music is there for those inclined to discover it
So what about visual art?
I know a few things for certain
Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective
Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy
Trash is not art
Trash is trash
Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles
So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty

I will concede that
Beauty can be found in everything
Depending on analyzation variation
But those that live an examined life
Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes
Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality
Those visions are much more interesting
in their organic state anyway
As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious

So what to hang in an art gallery?
I have my own opinions
At this point in time
No visuals elicit more emotions
Than dank memes

When I'm consuming art
Questions are innate in my consumption
Is this a vessel for empathy?
Is this examining the human condition?
Dank memes meet those criteria
Satirizing the powerful
Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves
That we're either proud or ashamed of
Memes share a common thread with poetry
In the sense that everybody can create memes
Or be a poet
I get the impression that
Universality of art diminishes it's importance
In the minds of patrons
There's an element of truth to that
But what makes art special is quality
And what makes art truly special is high quality
And that's what belongs in museums

The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.

Isolation within my mind,
Stuck in my kell, gasping at the heat
Working till death to finish my design,
Running late, borderlines to meet.
A hero of management,
An Hr call left at the tone.
Stuck in my cubicle fortress.
The place I'm forced to call home.

The color of thick smoke, but feathery like haze.

The sound off its wings reminiscent
Of today’s technology, humming persistent,

Its snout a needle, searching for veins.

I avert my eyes from the unpleasant theft
As though recoiling from alcoholic breath;

Though, when it bites, its midriff inflames,

To the sweet red hue of indulgence...
But never without consequence...

A person’s skin, left welted and maimed.

“Don’t touch it!” they scold,
But resolve grows old...

Scratching is all that I crave…

Whatever did we do,
Before we entered the Facebook Wonderland?
Oh, we played in the streets
And went to pubs and socialised.
But who needs Reality
When we can chat with folk
From far away places,
Whom we’ve never met?

My mates are there too
Or some of them
And many of my blood line.
All together
In a kaleidoscopic land
Of “memes”, images and jokes.

We “Like” and “Comment”
“Reply” and “Share”.
It’s you scratch my back…
While the “Facebook Foundation” encourages us
With “Memories” and prompts
And “What’s on your Mind?”

For this is the land
Of the “Loving Community”,
Caring and Sharing together.
Though if truth be told,
At times,
It’s more like the old Wild West.

Paul Butters

© PB 23\8\2018.

They used to say “yes” or “no”
And you would know where to go.
Now life is complicated, they say they don’t know
Fearful of mistakes, everyone is vague and slow.
They just look up at the sky…(where the info “cloud” is?)
Not looking you in the eye.
Of most things everyone seems so unsure.
The answer to most questions is “e…er…e-er…”
If you can, you will look it up online:
However, there is no Sat-Nav or sign;
“Answers” pop up from every direction…
Follow your nose at your own discretion!
Interpret it at your own risk…
Everything is just hit and miss!
Hours later, forgetting what you are looking for –
Each person, his own expert (according to the law…),
You feel tired and completely drained,
Like a Dalek has sizzled your brain.
Your initial enthusiasm is gone and energy, too.
All you can whisper, weakly, are two meaningless words, “Boo…hoo…!”