Late at night, another evening
In living room, while city’s dreaming
Depressing thought, my head is tight
The sun will rise, it’ll be alright

A hurricane of random feelings
Suppressing worlds are forming lyrics
It’s time to sleep the sun will rise
And then new day will feel alive

Heeey
Where are your thoughts?
You getting lost in all that noise
Who?
Are all those people
That are not caring what are you dreaming

...

I like the quiet of the dark
The lights are dimmed, the mind is spark
I’m calming down, the night is leaving
And then I’ll feel new morning breathing

A little rain then
Sun, the wilted flower speaks
Its song of the truth.
Graveyards turn to flowerbeds,
Watch the petals dance with me.

Wordsong, wordsong,
Lovely as birdsong.
Could be a Pop Song,
But never a Swansong.

Could be a rap,
And all that *******.
For Rap is easy,
Lemon squeezy.
But rap has beat
And words that repeat.
Rap has rhyme
Nearly every time.
Rap even has metre –
Who can beat her?

Yet wordsong is melodious too,
Giving us a worldly view.
Poems of love and dedication
Even human emancipation.
Whoops I’m slipping back -
Back into that addictive rap.

You must remember to read out loud –
Silver lining on every cloud.
Poetic landscapes catch our gaze,
Brightening up our mundane days.

The river of life keeps flowing on,
Iambic metre our beating heart.
Read it like you’re singing a song,
Write it whether or not it’s Art.

So play those words
So full of feeling
Just like the birds
And so appealing.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\1\2021.

nettle once brittle
kneels on burning snow
dandelion grove
breathing ashes bitter

an elephant-like hole in the ground
don’t look in on the strangers
eyes wide from the danger
disappeared with all the sound

a doll holding a hand
hands sleeping in, tight
in their hold, no fight
just dance with the twirling sand

nettle once brittle
kneels on empty plane
once nest’s now a grave
full of ashes bitter

When you sing,
the wind responds
against my shoulders;
a lasting ring.

An echo
coming from the empty surface
of the Ocean.
A voice, capturing a soul
too weak to resist such melancholy.
She has desolation hidden in the hollow harmony:
the broken spell has me wanting it more.

I take a step into mellow waters,
salt sticking to my skin,
burning my eyes,
fulfilling her command.
Soon the Ocean's at my neck,
my chin,
lingering above my parted lips.
I hesitate,
wait for her song to call once more.
The water floods in.
I am suffocating,
but I want to.

It's such a peaceful thing,
watching the sky disappear above you.
I was sinking to the bottom
of a hungry abyss.