If I were to drop out my heart on a platter
and give back what's given to me;
If I were to cry hard but make not a splatter,
what's there left for to see?

Emotions are made for the playing of heartstrings
and picking of sentiments true;
But if we were bigger and grander with love-things,
wouldn't we be happier too?

Minds are the makers of falsehoods and lying
and pressing the lighting of thoughts;
But pulling the curtain on Fate's newen'd vying
could overturn many famed lots.

So treasure the ringed things that protect your heart
and plastic the lives that you own;
For living is telling, and telling, an art
that helps us to thrive and to grow.

I want to sit with you by the Arby's
And watch the future's lights pass overhead
I want to run together in the breeze
Through the desert with the glow cloud ahead
I want to eat at Big Rico's with you
Maybe we could sneak in some wheat products
I want to find out if we could get through
This town without joining that calm forest
I want to visit the science district
And we can go watch an experiment
We can go to see something artistic
For the stray dog's graffiti is apparent
I want to listen to the radio
And, with you, wonder where else we can go

A far off rumble, like a premonition,
Disturbs the quiet urban biosphere.
Soon, flashing, scattered thunderstorms appear,
Depositing an icy ammunition.
A domed volcano wakes from long remission,
Explodes, contaminates the atmosphere.
The sun retreats behind a ****** smear
And all the world submits to dark perdition.

For weeks the crumpled vegetation limps
Along and feeds on fallen carcasses.
The battered monuments to progress fall

And Wall Street übermensch, now useless gimps,
Assemble near their ruined businesses
And ponder why their profits tend to stall.

He tucks a cigarette behind his ear
Then grabs it back and taps its filter end
Against the bar.  He takes a sip of beer,
Exchanging glances with his lady friend.

He fumbles for his lighter, puts it near
The unlit coffin nail, then leaves to spend
A penny, it appears. (It's yet unclear
The fire will ever find the burley blend.)

Returning now to Zippo and his dear,
He fiddles with a **** to make extend
A perfect jet to kiss the atmosphere,
Then gently lets the cigarette descend

To flame, inhaling deeply, blowing smoke--
Extinguishing a sudden urge to choke.

Iambic pentameters are quite old
As poetry fashions go now, I must say.
Tetrameters are sharper, yes,
But both are old I must confess.

Make any speech, with force, you’ll surely find
Iambic rhythms: the power of pulse.
Such things are found in common speech for sure.
And lines of ten syllables must endure.

Poetic structures set in stone are not
My way: variety is key I have
To say. Some use of rhyme is okay too.
So how you write, that’s up to you (my friend).

For I prefer to write free verse,
To steer away from doggerel’s curse.
Longer lines are languid, with gravitas.
Short ones clout,
It’s as simple as that.

Paul Butters

I hear the lonesome sound of a beginning,
While walking through the shadowed street,
No light in sight, my eyes withheld as blind.
Approaching footsteps, rushed and nervous words,
A sudden gleam surprises my whole being,
A state-of-living like a ransacked dog,
While dying screams possess my inner fear.
A day untold, a sullen cry unheard,
Of justice preached the yellow-tinted man,
Who did embrace the ways of days bygone,
When water rushed through rivers far and wide,
And forests lush and green caressed the land.

My poet, I'm flattered by your attention
But your comments are rather misguided
You are mistaken about my condition
I truly wish your words could be abided
I'm not always quite this fair and gentle
And I'm not, by any means, eternal
Truthfully, sometimes I think I'm mental
Viewed closely, most previous notions fall
I'm not a fair day, I'm a hurricane
Inside my mind, flowers don't stand a chance
I'm sorry if my response gives you pain
But if you find that you still want to dance
I, too, would like to turn another page
And see if we share scenes in this world's stage

Now hiding hearth and packing wools away
A careful tide arrives to mark changed towns
Chartreuse of verdant blooms commence decay
While we can’t stop what grows by leaps and bounds
Which soil holds firm or shifts beneath the clowns
It’s blind to glimpse so far as nations go
Unfaithful seed of those whose blood still grounds
Our stars and stripes which fly through ebb and flow
Mothers may darkly wail by morning glow
Seeking to raise their daughters to bright dawn
And burn hewn totems to some men they know
Dancing through smoke which wafts hither and yon
Yet fools by terror ******* and billions mocked
Win while we wait with angst by tics and tocs