#leisure
I woke up this autumn Sunday morning
with papier-mâché clouds performing
like a ticker-tape parade from left to right
a strong breeze doodling fall leaves to flight
The birds are just gliding, no flapping in sight.
Today’s a free day, a don’t mess with me day.
I’ve no homework, or assignments
it’s like I’ve escaped from confinement
even my coffee tasted like creamy freedom.
What do you do when you don’t have to do
anything? Why, I could write a play, like Mozart,
or an opera, like Shakespeare - if I were THAT smart -
but don’t those sound like academic effort to you?
I want to hold hands in the park and promenade,
Peter loves strolling the flower markets by the Seine,
a gelato at Amorino after lunch at the Saint James cafe,
and the rain or shine street art at Rue Saint-Rustique.
Isn’t boyfriend-time the best way to spend a Sunday?
.
.
Songs for this:
Waterguns (feat. Tom Bailey) by Caravan Palace
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
Dreamin' by G. Love & Special Sauce
Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
Some universal common ancestor,
Some roots we all share.
That's how it is, right?
**** some connection
To the natural world around us,
**** the universe.
It's in the symbolism of it,
It's by the reality of it.
What can one say?
We do what we can with what we're given.
I don't know about that,
But whatever brings comfort.
Some find comfort inside caskets;
Some in the idea of the end of it,
Some on the idea of a new beginning.
Some find comfort outside in nature;
Some in the idea of being a part of it,
Some on the idea of being apart from it.
It's recognizing you are already seperate,
Yet still totally together with it.
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 2:40 PM UTC
Rolling a ball down a gutteral lane,
Wearing some shoes that were causing some pain,
Smoking a cig and some secondhand smoke,
Dude got a strike and then died from a stroke.
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 8:18 PM UTC
The shuttlecock, served,
Goes over the net.
I'll probably lose
The dollar I bet.
Over the net
It goes back and forth:
It goes north to south,
And it goes south to north.
The birdie in flight
Flits like a sparrow.
She hits it so hard
It darts like an arrow.
I smack it as hard
As I can possibly smack it,
And, wouldn't you know it:
It's stuck in my racquet.
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
We moved back into the residence yesterday - we were jubilant - and had a slumb-over last night, to celebrate our reunification. We woke up joyous, on the right side of the same bed (slumb-over), and we’ve been bouncing off the walls ever since.
We’re in the ‘settling in’ phase, restocking our Keurigs, getting our same-’ol furniture in the same-’ol places, picking up our books. In this liminal space, between sugarplums and sutures, our shrinking free-time will sag with increasing weight. Even last night’s normally fabulous martinis began to taste metallically laced with formaldehyde.
Once we’re settled in, our leisure will begin to have the tight, mangled fit of a borrowed jacket. “We’ve got to gear up.” Lisa said, just this morning and even as I type this, my eyes are flitting between my dog-eared copy of Gray's Anatomy and the mcat prep hub.
Classes start in 5 days. Free days burn bright, but disappear in a blink. Time is a precious coin.
slumb-over = slumber party.
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 9:54 AM UTC
The evenings rang true at a time when we would engage in snooker or chess in the lounge, late into the night, waiting for daybreak to shine through.
On the weekends we would gather and watch the cricket begin: shirts versus skins on Emerald Green. Men versus women. The mens’ ******* seemed to ripple in the weekend air.
Mid-morning was reserved for artistic endeavours— honing our artistic sensibilities: a decidedly symbolistic manner of preparation in which we would prepare. We would recite lines and manifest Shakespeare there, at the cusp of Emerald Green.
Jan 8, 2024
Jan 8, 2024 at 2:29 PM UTC
I daydream
Far more than the average
Soul,
Easily distracted
And lost
In a haze that invites
Visions of the future
While deadening the
Thump and Clang
Of the present.
I imagine
Springtime light
Through the windows,
Languid time entangled
With you,
Not a slave to time
Or work,
Or the impatient
Buzz-Buzz-Buzzing
Of my alarm.
I hope
I live long enough
To fulfill my promise
To you,
To share a life
Unburdened
By the cares
Of time,
Of work,
Or another man's
Demands.
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 5:34 PM UTC
Saturday: bags-day.
Groceries, sport, and ******* --
The day of unrest.
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 4:50 AM UTC
we spent three hours of my life
on a takeaway
watching a further hour
tick away on a film
bought on Netflix
that I'd half already seen
through my eyelids
an hour wasted on a book
before bed which I'll
finish reading even though
I lost interest in the plot
early on but feel obliged
to see how it turns out
then sleep, one of my few
free pleasures before alarmed
awake by Alexa who I spent
nearly a whole day on
just so I could get up
and do all this **** again
so I can afford more stuff
to fill my empty time
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 6:01 PM UTC
Nations arose after the days of Peleg,
in the legendary story of Babel,
which
does have a present presence on the surface,
of the after Babel yon der myth of us
we the sapience augmented common sensed band,
single-sideband, of course, if you can cut the antennae,
to this old freq,
radioman entertainment zone, post
pasts unbelieved arizen
as we see around about us
we the beings thinking we were put here,
by no will of our own,
okeh? Hard for me to agree, for
I was a self-willed child, on the earth of 1954,
made unspoil-able, by my measure, sould,
so whatever I touch prospers,
it does not turn to gold, but time,
precious years
in days
proving once more, the way of life
remains reproof of instructions,
glitches gitinin, gremlins ist-hextical real messages,
say measure twice, cut once, keep plenty
of spare teleo-smores, say again
- whisper- find the answer -
DID is the strategy, not the disability.
Gitcheractagethah, adam henry….haul ***
Call the cops. I shot the sheriff.
Renegade boomers, eh? You seen some, h'eabouts?
Hunter people, no-sense talk babblers, yon der here
we come
sons of them guns was left.
Yep, ***** head on an old man in vietnam t'day,
tells a story told since Nimrod's,
time, at the briefest,
least heated
hate
instance of one once main flow, recirculating as the water
remembers,
all this did happen, parts of all of us were here,
in this moment, relative to you.
The entire creation groans in travail awaiting…
wait a minute.
we did do this, as a whole. See, besides knowns lost,
for their use in con structing the destructive idea given
Tubal-cain.
The enthrallment of Tubal-cain, you may imagine,
progressed with the reiteration of the father's curse on cain,
the signal emanating from the seed that knows the cost of dying.
Cain and Able, well, we have a few ways that tale makes the sense.
Have no fear, all that is past understanding, it cannot crush you.
Commoners hold the common sense, rule of reality.
Peace outward.
The commons are in fine shape,
fret not, we got some old peacemakers smoking flower,
blowing smoke up monstrosity's assine suggestion that I die.
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC
Dungeons and dragons and horses and wagons.
What you imagine is your fantasy.
Adventures of magic. Some happy, some tragic.
Whoever the hero, it's your time to be!
in D & D! Let us go play an RPG!
Let's forget about reality!
No responsibilities!
No chores to do here,
we eat and drink brewed beer;
I have this scepter you call a broom.
Don't look with your eyes dear,
O' just open your mind clear;
Open the sky wide, take flight from this room!
in D & D! Let us go play an RPG!
Let's forget about reality!
No responsibilities!
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 1:59 AM UTC
With the waves a sea encounter
A spectre of eternal tides
Swallowing my hollowing pride
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 11:02 AM UTC
Laughter and leisure as free will flows
Attention fades in this comfort zone
Chatter with chewing, mixed between both
Unknown senses tickle the throat
More than a stutter
Chuckle has froze
Esophagus tightened
Pretense to pose
Raising some questions
They already know
Air flow now closed
Gasping as no space left kept for breath
Eyes turn to water bloodshot entry blocked
Unimpressed to be consumed by death
Slapped to the back
Less access this isn't a test
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
You ask for where my destination is,
I smile, but not answer,
My heart is at leisure.
A man on his boat,
Just like an immortal.
His melodic aged voice sung,
“Up is heaven, down is earth,
Where the wind blows,
Is where I go.”
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 6:47 PM UTC
A tourist's delight is London and not without reason,
If you think otherwise, you can't be forgiven,
The British culture is something in which the Britons pride,
You have no option but to take this in your stride
The famed red double-decker buses are all over the streets,
Transporting people virtually from street to street,
Their frequency is so short which is a feature to admire,
For commuters on the go, there is little reason to perspire
Systematic running of the buses is a reflection of meticulous planning,
That has been honed to near perfection for a near-perfect landing,
Hassle-free commuting is surely a plus point,
There is definitely no reason for it to be a moot point
Riding the London tube in peak hours is nothing short of a nightmare,
An experience however that tourists would surely like to dare,
Winding your way through jostling commuters in a mechanical way,
An art that can be practiced without keeping rushing fellow passengers at bay
Hordes of people keep flocking Trafalgar Square,
There is so much activity with almost nothing to spare,
The revelry is such with considerable glee,
A joy to behold and the best it ever can be
Walking by the waterfront is such a pleasure,
Whilst savoring the enchanting landscape in no small measure,
Buildings along the quay have a history of their own,
That vindicate the reasons for which they are so well renown
Boarding the Thames cruise near one of the dockyards,
Is sheer coincidence that it is opposite new Scotland Yard,
British history's glorious past as vividly narrated by the guide,
Makes for fascinating hearing with the ripples of the not-so-high adjoining tide
To see Shakespeare's first theater felt so wonderful,
That Thames river water has breached the place was equally woeful,
The adjoining new theater now hosts his masterpiece plays all year round,
A must-see theatrical show if you happen to be around
The waterfront restaurants are a haven for wining and dining,
The accompanying incessant chatter gives no cause for whining,
All one needs to do is soak in the merriment,
No way will it ever be to your detriment
The famed black cabs with their right hand driving,
Are mostly Bentleys with an unique interior setting,
The seating arrangement is something you get used to,
As you ride to your destination without further ado
Borough week-end market offers food from world over,
It would be a surprise if you are not bowled over,
The freedom to taste without any haste,
Ensures hours well spent with no guilt of waste
The variety of treats is just so amazing,
It tempts one to keep tasting instead of simply gazing,
The international flavor is also seen in the massive crowds,
That throng the market wanting to be wowed
Shopping is such pleasure that makes you shop-till-you-drop,
Spending has never been so easy without sparing a thought,
The lure of fashion is such an endless passion,
It is difficult to say there is a limit to satisfaction
Buckingham Palace change-of-guard is a popular tourist attraction,
People flock to see the daily spectacle that does merit attention,
The adjoining sprawling Hyde Park lends its own aura to the setting,
That ensures memories linger without forgetting
From Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus is just a stone's throw,
It is famous enough for visitors to take a bow,
The hustle and bustle surrounding the place,
Makes it look hectic to keep with the pace
Poetry is inadequate to describe the charisma that London holds,
It's majestic buildings and Britain's rich history are truly a sight to behold,
You always get the feeling that there is something more to experience,
Once you are back to base and indulge in reminiscence
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Make me your art
your game
Make me your leisure
your name
Crystalise me with beauty
drape me
With shackles and chains
until I bleed enough
To cry out your name
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
Busy humble bumble bees buzz and hum amongst my geraniums.
I squeeze past them as they hover
From flower to flower,
On my way into my electric blue
Kia Rio car.
At last the sun is out here,
Brightening up my garden vista.
Most days we have wallowed
Under a sea fret,
Feeling cold and damp
And annoyed
By news of record high-temperatures
Inland.
But now it’s warm and sunny,
With Red Admiral butterflies
And my back-garden Abelia Shrub –
“Beauty Bush or Pink Cloud” –
Bedecked with light pink flowers
With their subtle aroma.
My days of sport have gone well
And I can sit back in my armchair
And relax.
Paul Butters
© PB 8\6\2018.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
index finger of left hand
(likened to Michelangelo
meticulously chiseling away
at marble block), this poe
whit attempts to coax (zealously
tap into his latent indivisible quo
shunt, sans self imposed
quotidian literary endeavor slow
lee witnessing, an emergent
reasonably satisfactory, though
hooping unbeknownst readers
(perchance even a scribe from Yugo
Slav via) will only resort
to lard out positive unsolicited feedback,
yet this scrivener well aware
bluntness evokes
fulfillment loud and clear
inflating jowly machismo thru ether
narcissist quintessential rabid glare
unpretentious vain warbling yakking
zither plucking boastful demonstrably
fatuous haughtily immodest luminaire
dismissively smug,
sans literary endeavor aye share
thus, tis one objective when attempting
to corral rampant thoughts,
(that charge hither and yon, to and fro)
at pace of greased lightening tear
chasing hash-tagged elusive
Smokey and the Bandit
imp posse sub bull
back to the future of 1977 year
temporarily abandoning awoke
motive, i.e. initial challenge,
viz going for broke
to sweat blood and tears
digging deep within noggin, or choke
myself if merely draw blanks
versus (beginners blind luck), and evoke
accolades accidentally
tapping into creative
(qua literary) mother lode
joining belle lettres authored folk,
whose metier comprises compendium
of alphabetized words
receiving surprising windfall
asper pig in a poke,
novel idea after nostrils emit smoke
the amazing dragon
within (sol fully bellows)
finding me to feign taking a smoke
aware fame and fortune,
where a written best seller brings renown
can essentially only be verbalized
as a pipe dream from this clown,
who best **** sitter
living hard scrapple
(scrabble playing) hand to mouth shuffling
along (the littered boulevard
of rejection slips)
wearing out one after
another of me buster brown
shoes, perhaps posthumously
gleaning raving reviews,
where famous names
amidst cadre (espousing
wife fours smiting
social injustices extant loose
zing potential harmonic convergence,
whether gentiles or Jews
throughout all foursquare corners
of the world wide web
an economic eclectic diaspora,
where underbelly of civilization
pay heaviest ****** dues!
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
If I had a car
I would want a’68 Ford Country Sedan
Big, huge, beastly
A masculine power fantasy
If I had a motorcycle
My fishnet legs would look so hot
Draped either side of its seat
And a highway to myself
If I had boat
I could go out
And I could float
On the water, on the lake
If I had a car,
If I had a motorcycle,
If I had a boat,
I would have a lot and lot and lot of debt
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC