Rejoice at Morning’s Miracle,
For We are here again.
The Grim Reaper
Has let us live another day.

God’s Grandeur shines upon us
As, again, the clichéd golden sun
Pokes her head through the Eastern clouds.

An orchestra of chiming birds
Greets the day
As again I say
Rejoice!
I repeat: Rejoice.

Time to check the temperature outside
And scatter some wild birdseed.
Time for breakfast
And the early news.

Time to have a pub-lunch,
Then a game of tennis
Or table tennis
Or snooker.

Morning’s time to meet my Muse,
And listen to her lyrical tunes.
To get composing,
No more dozing:
Broadcasting words
Throughout The Milky Way.

Enjoying the day
I look forward to
Some cloudless skies
So I can sit
And watch the stars.

Paul Butters

heart yearns for peace
a drop of which
would fill the soul
up to the brink
the kind that is not found
under purple skies
but
in the smile of a new born !!

The scorching of the sun diminished
Black clouds fluffed up the skies
Thunders and lightning hit the drums of change
New winds have traversed in
And the trees danced to their gushy choir
Pearls of rain drops fell down to earth
And the sands have welcomed them with joy
Behold! I have arrived.
The monsoon said.

the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the twinkling stars and constellations
but refuses to see
the ones in her hazel eyes

the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the tallest mountains
and the steepest hills
but refuses to see beauty
in her most beautiful *****
and most curvy behind

the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in the scorching sun
and the glowing moon
but refuses to see beauty
in her warmest embrace
and her illuminating smile

the insecure girl
who sees the beauty
in everything
but refuses to see beauty
in herself

i guess i should write
about the trees and the skies
but then theres your eyes

we were
made for the sky
for the beautiful
vastness of it all
the wide stretches
of blues and purples
and pinks
darling,
we were made
for it all