#rally
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
Let’s have a really great show.
Let’s fly just like an arrow,
Faster than a sparrow.
We know we are the best.
Let’s put it to the test.
Prove we are worthy champions
From The South Pole to the Grampians.
Just see our motivation:
Our hope is our foundation.
We’re full of self belief
And going to cause some grief.
We know we are so great.
To play we cannot wait.
Once more unto the breach:
A win’s within our reach.
Paul Butters
© PB 13\1\2020. From a diary jotting 7\1.
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 6:04 AM UTC
The year was 2014
And I thought justice was delivered
I saw them everywhere
On billboards, posters, newspapers
And we knew humaare acche din aa gaye.
We were shown repeatedly how congress was corrupted
How one party changed the face of this country,
And how they are right, others are wrong
Us and them, I cared for development
Economy and justice
Swiftly, they were delivered.
The world saw us happy
But the reports are always wrong
Dropping our ranks
We are developing, they said
How far are we to develop? No one knows.
They kept the internet charges very low
So low that everyone had access
They had access to modiji ke foreign visits
But some forsaw what was wrong.
They were put behind bars
Some wanted justice, but She was blind to saffron
And we knew modji kaise galat honge
Not minding justice is revenge
Justice is unke desh me ghuss ke maarenge
And justice is righting every wrong.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
Tennis is like poetry
Back ... and ... forth
And back ... and ... forth
Back ... and ... forth
And back ... and ... forth
Back ... and ... forth
And back ... and ... forth
Until one line breaks
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
A shutter clicks in flashing colors,
recording the imaginary.
The wheezing voice of tales unfolding,
now hoarse from an endless retelling.
Capture what we can't remember,
make up everything that's left.
A faint, but echoed, call to arms
that no on hears on set
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 9:33 PM UTC
Enfield punches the ground, wheels throw up muddy rainbows
from where they sank with the rain. The rider, some fresh young college thing,
flinches as it ricochets off his goggles, then unsteadily pulls away
wrestling with this strange machine. The old blokes laugh
with their propane cookers and badger-stripe beards, slick
with bacon grease and spit. Outside the beer tent
a kid fingers an old blues tune on a scarred and beaten acoustic.
Coins thrown into an old railway cap, her grandfather’s
smile golden in the sunrise.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
Kamala sunbathed
****** art
where in
heart she
fly to
virtual beach
in LA
so Leroy
fell and
took her
task there
in Philadelphia
her adherent
of folk
from downtown
here and
ole USA
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 6:45 AM UTC
Tonight you feast,
getting ready to slay the beast.
You'll mount your ride,
and get ready for that slide,
into battle you will go,
running past any enemies that may slow,
down your progress for the two days you'll be gone,
until the moment you're back where you belong.
You'll concur and succeed where others have not,
your enimies will run cold, as your blood runs hot,
to sleigh them all, with your wicked spells.
With your words you can summon the strength to send them to hell.
They'll try to trick, and try to betray,
but you'll be on top and victor of the day.
I look forward to the tales that will be told,
because a warrior as fine as you, is among the most bold.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
You cannot dismiss this sudden, mysterious
rise in confidence as it sits in our people.
Now, it stands. It grips faith in a fist.
It forms for its performance a knotted wood staff,
and plays on until its death with an implement
mistaken for a weapon, when it bends to dance,
and only strikes the ground to rally.
You know for sure to show the world the inner peace
rather than permit the violence inside you.
And it's handsome.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
click klack click klack click klack click klack
klippity clop klippity clop klippity clop
slap slip slap slip slap slip.
hello and welcome to the machine age
where pink floyd your tour guide
where human beings the laughing stock
on the supposed creature comforts
but in truth dependent on those big and little gadgets
designed by the brainchildren of past and present.
civilization at the mercy of those trappings
envisioned by wunderkinds
that propelled the masses from labor
yet now shackled to technology
far removed from simple existence of yore
when people used horse power
as their chief form of locomotion in the bustling towns
that inexorably spawned metropolises
that birthed towering skyscrapers
leading to potential fiascos by making civilization incumbent on
factories generating gewgaws in tandem with industrial waste.
survival of numerous species
(including that of man/womankind) hangs in the balance
as population explodes beyond
the capacity of planet earth to support
such a burgeoning billions fold burst of **** sapiens
filling every nook and cranny on this third rock from the sun
foisting an inconvenient gory truth
that catastrophe looms ever closer
perching all living organisms ever closer to the brink
of disaster and eventual extinction
unless dramatic measures taken to manage reproduction.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
Yell your head off
And shout, shout, shout.
Get in amongst them
And put it about.
We’re awake now, hear us cry!
Full of energy,
Watch us fly.
Out of our slumbers,
On the up.
Highly charged,
We’ll win The Cup.
We’re all full of motivation,
Hear our incantation.
Forward we go, bursting with pride.
Come with us, enjoy the ride.
We’re the greatest, we all know.
Ever ready to fight the foe.
We are winners through and through,
Even better than Doctor Who.
We will put the world to rights.
You will see incredible sights.
All together we unite,
So stay with us and
The future’s bright.
Paul Butters
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC
Harken now to the fighter's call
From demigod warriors to the petitioners at the mall
We band together and rise when they divide and fall
E Pluribus, Unum: we rise above it all
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
A social milieu nigh Zipper Beach
And surfing early morning, she's looking for her board.
A test of hers only to wipe out again only miss. So hang ten my good friend!
In Cabo San Lucas but she's full tilt there shall grant a beaker again and again. Ole
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
Poor little Donny.
Long ago all he had
Was his overlarge, pumpkin-shaped head,
His tiny baby hands,
And a small loan of a million dollars.
He struck out for himself,
With only that million dollars to his name.
And he became a success...
And then went bankrupt,
And then found success again,
And then bankruptcy,
And finally more success.
He bought himself a wife,
Made himself a daughter he wants to date,
And put in a run for president.
Now he stands atop a pedestal,
Spewing forth hate-filled words,
Xenophobic and mono-syllabic.
His white washed fans, bowing before their Fuhrer.
Our best and brightest spend their days decrying his actions,
Our true leaders point out his massive ineptitudes,
Our comedians creating thoroughly researched,
20 minute rants about this tiny-handed, pumpkin man.
The other leaders of the world stand baffled by Donny's popularity.
But still his stands behind his podium,
With his red hat,
Waving his baby hands and blubbering about his
"Great brain. The best brain."
And the
"Fantastic wall. The great wall. A Trump wall."
And so the question becomes,
What will this tyrannical child do
When his presidential aspirations are destroyed?
For he lacks the support of any minority group,
Any women's group,
And any level-headed person.
The answer is simple:
He will sue, or at least threaten to do so.
He will rant and rave like the lunatic that he is.
His racist followers will do the same.
But their blabbering will be lost in the words of the intelligent.
Or at least we hope that will be the outcome.
Why, oh why, little handed Donny,
Must you spew such hatred and xenophobia?
Why can you not return to your tower of gold,
With your expensed wife, and bobble sized pumpkin head?
Please leave us be.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
From fingertips to nose--
numb
I am rubber From each cigarette induced tooth ache.
Rampant twirling tongues and ravished knees
cold
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC