I gave up somewhere along this road—
When it was I don’t know.
So I’ll sit here, underneath the shade
And wait for the Tin man,
Now rusted in time, far behind me.
I discovered, sitting there, that day—
That losing a heart
Was actually an easy thing to do.

Every home has a Mother
Waiting with open arms at the door.
And a Dad in his armchair,
As the tradition goes.

Welcome to the lounge
Where we can huddle by the fire.
TV in the corner
And - if you have them –
Dogs and cats to stroke.

Then there’s Sunday Lunch
And those daily aromas of baking.
Memories of scooping out the bowl
And eating most of the peas you shelled.

Home – a place of refuge
Where you can bring all your troubles
And have them resolved.

Our Mum kept a beautiful garden,
Resplendent with colourful flowers.
An oasis on a council estate.

As Dorothy Gale of Oz fame said before me:
There’s no place like Home.

Paul Butters

© PB 20\11\2017.

Rusty, rickety limbs of mine
Rattle along the yellow brick road
A way to relinquish heavy burdens
Do they seek

The first weighty sack I bear
A mystical maiden has within
One who hides what the morrow will bring
Oh, couldn’t I tip-toe and take a peek?

The second hefty bag, however
Is in fact as light as a feather
Though fooled be not by its lack in substance!
For its mighty grip continues to tether me along
The path of the golden brick road

This particular bag in question
Has a greying man in its possession
One who is very familiar to me
One who knocks at the door of memory
And shows me what has come before

The last bulky piece of luggage
Has naught within its confines
Nothing but a glaring emptiness
Which tells the story of a vacant space
Where my tick-tock ticker ought to be

Thus here I am
Creaking and croaking
Along this treasured trail
With my tin-can body

On my way to the emerald city
In hopes to find a remedy
For the calamity
Known as coeur brisé

So let me set **** straight
And try to illuminate
The essence of beginning
That you culminate
Nice guy?
Terminate
Erradicate
Attempt to dictate
With no knowledge of my state
At any rate
Sweetheart
You're nothing but a game
That thinks it can play
But hey
Sometimes
Deep down we find
Walking that straight line
Is getting a little crooked
Project your actions on to me
Because that's what I'm meant to be
I'm an example of who not to be
What not to see
Take the key
And open your mind
This world spins faster and faster
Hurling toward disaster

You think you hurt me
But you're just an after thought
You think you're pristine
But you're not.
My heart beats
With one girl in mind
And she isn't you
You look on me with disdain
While I smile
And rhyme away my pain

You had a friend in me
But now you've blown it
You think you know me
But you don't know ****

My temper was even

But

No more Mr. nice Steven

Judy Judy Kansas cutie / it starts in the heartland / Tornado = social change through manipulated crisis / Toto the only free agent / Dorothy struck on her head by the closing window of virtual possibility / She realizes that hope'n'change have reached the prairie / Alice in Wonderland Hollywood / Kansas as futurist narrative / Star Wars pre-dated / It's a Wonderful Mythic Life / Miss Gulch as Henry Potter / Witchery in bitchery: Hillary 2016 / Scarecrow as Celtic bog-sacrifice victim / Tinman as ****** therapy client / Did that hurt? No - it felt wonderful ! / Bible-belt Pentecostal subtexts: "the anointing" / obsolete leonine monarchies / Louis Quatorze the Sun King /  enlightenment through concussion / the tyrant must be resisted from the heartland / populist progressives plot stealthily to justify their rule through the wizardry of science / the tyrant utilizes tech to manipulate the credulous / green state fascism / journey out of ontic inevitability into the futurist nightmare / eco-mammon bailouts / infantile mental midgets ruled by witch-tyrants = One World Munchkinland / Dorothy as redeemer-Messiah / Dorothy as Mary Poppins / America exports populist prophecy to the greater world / Glinda the Matriarch-Goddess / Glinda as transcendent Wisdom / the Anti-witch antidote / Patriarchy creates "special effects" subterfuge / flying monkeys: shock-troops of the witch / simian social justice warriors / Obama as Witch of West AND Wizard simultaneously / flying monkeys: brown-shirt armies of new multi-culti order / George W. Bush was the the witch the house ("Hope & Change') fell on / Over the Rainbow: somewhere beyond ****** identity grievance-mongering / There's no place like the Restoration of All Things

ruby slippers drag me home,
tin men clasping my hands.
they wish me goodbye,
pressing their lips on my skin.

glittering eyes cross into mine,
metal smiles sprout on their mouths.
they offer me flowers, petals of red.
a bouquet of my greatest desire.

returning home sparks a flame in me,
burning the metal flesh of the tin men's lips.
goodbye, I whisper into the wind,
merrily waving to my most devoted sin.

desir and darkness collide into one,
my ruby slippers exchanging touches.
the winter wind draws me away,
back to the place I was born to stay.

thank you, sweet fantasy,
sweet lovers of metal hearts.
thank you, flower poets,
serenading me in a homely perfume.

on the emerald arms of grass,
my body lays to rest, tilted up to the sky.
a rainbow waves me goodbye,
fastening its multicolored smile.

home is where I must be,
away from this supreme fantasy.
nothing more to say,
thankful for the magical dreams.