#scenes
I paint all day
sometimes I paint at night
creating beautiful pictures
to bring some light to this world.
I paint when rain falls
and I paint when the sun shines
I paint when I'm lonely
and when I'm happy
I paint because its how I get my emotions out
I take that brush and paint with vigor
I paint flowers
I paint seas
I paint when I'm in pain
and I paint when I'm at ease
I paint that blank canvas because I can
I enjoy it
I love dipping my brushes into those beautiful colors
I love the sound it makes when I brush paint across the canvas
I love painting starry nights
and scenes from stories I read
a little pond in the forest
or a sunset with a lamppost shining with the candles soft light
I love painting
drowning out the sounds of the days noise
I love painting just for fun really
but do I paint just for fun?
or is it something greater?
maybe we'll see
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 1:20 PM UTC
She came in out of the cold with a hungry look.
She’d been hunting a bird - the stuff dreams are made of, with a rich coat of bourbon-honey, like newly applied lipstick.
The bird that turned up, a butterball, was in fact murdered.
The signs were all there - decapitation - done by a pro - ligatures and the corpse was stuffed, like a defendant's bad alibi.
The whole holiday was a crime scene, but there was a gravy, dark as a back-alley deal, to obscure forensics, and while the witnesses all talked of blessings - like a cult - there were knives everywhere.
Motives abounded, like place settings - was that cranberry sauce - or blood? The room had a rich smell - roasted bird, dressing and complicity.
The way everything was being passed around - there was nothing for it.
Someone was going to take the fall - not her - she wasn’t having white meat. She was hard-boiled and had had it dark - and you know what they say.
In the end, she got what she was looking for - she almost always did. And it tasted like apple-cider-bourbon and family togetherness - her favorite flavors.
.
.
A playlist for this:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_19.mp3
🦃 🍽️ Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! 🍽️ 🦃
Nov 26, 2025
Nov 26, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC
now we walk around each other
in the hallways
now we ignore each other
when our mutual friends talk
now we're playing these separate
exit scenes
and never once in this movie
did we spare the other a glance
soon i'll be gone, probably
i kind of hope you'll miss me
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 10:12 PM UTC
Let these words I write,
be your cordial invite
Because I write these words for you
between heartbeats
Where our love, hopes and dreams meet.
Let this be my eyes
Gazing into yours
Dancing to the rain drops
I'll hold you, till it all stops
If You'll hold me, while it pours
Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 1:40 AM UTC
I hang a mangled backdrop
A set prop
To keep from view
That I got
Behind the scenes rot
And there's a lot
©2024
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 12:33 PM UTC
I suppose, all that has been said, is said to have been contained
in the canon… what I means to say, I mean
everybody
knows
its eber-tongue
hen en-I,
Enkidu, where are you?
Dusty trails, speak well of water on this way.
The deer and the antelope drink every day.
In the time
I was alive, many lies fought for my attention.
I knew more than one thing about every thing,
I thought I could be of best use
as a sharer.
teller of told tales, singer
of the songs in the air, and then
there
was radio,
and I was a child,
listening… with many more of my sort than anticipated
hearing white noise laced with wishes once
made bound to regulated times and steps
- odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as tellers call all ye told old tales come in
free
right way to keep time to come
become time to go be,
- odd boom boom doom boom - odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as dancers call all ye ol'doe-see-doe
- edge of ever on a tiny spider's kite, we are the light
weyekin, we guide you, when you listen,
this is the way
walk ye, init, set
drop. Settle, solid, si,
walk the canyon, our grandfather, on my mother line,
built, and as he built, he
J.C.Boyett, met a man, willing to use a picked up magic
trick to make a trail to the bottom,
for to make somebody rich
prospectin' for batshit,
yep, nitrates, as in
nitro-glycering, stabilized with tarry pine saw dust
twist
tight, right, in a Mason Jar, metaphorically speaking,
if we agree to make this easy,
we can move the invisible crystal mountain. AI gotcha.
thinking may
be a giant radio, making us think
reality has this.
This and other resting places, landmarks, history set
for me, I was only there, one of the other Gumps,
who lived to rear unbroken children,
free from financial dread,
at the common level labor class,
endentured and polygripped
we can bite off more than most can swallow,
as collected from bits and pieces of literature,
literal retelling of tales told to teach
a child choice,
choose the good and hate, wait, hate
ta, beel gotta be paid,
the attention, usual tip to jump start
an actual engine
https://biblehub.com/hebrew/2870.htm
Definition: "good for nothing", an Aramean (Syrian)
who says, idunno, but AI may, say may is my word,
may obeys me, as if I may know any thing
to any depth. And never interpret the vision as reason
for war.
Truth to you be, flush the lies you know now, you hold,
to hold others to the task of paying attention,
for nothing, save the use of knowing how to
read, when you wish to know
the meaning of a thing, any known, on any level of life's
pearling swirl of pushing and pulling and playing
no winning innings or taking bats,
or running laps, prepped to punish any who displedge
alliegiance to the story as we hold it
now
in our military mind. Semper fi, and they say Boo, Jah
these days, having failed to feel the loss
the faith of our mother's, born up under,
until the time I was alive, simultaneously
with more sublingual mortal minds hearing
Good Night Irene, from those ***** ******
hill billy sangers, boy, howdy
we sang, dang me
re boots
made for walkin'
down hill side, shale,
takin' to a realm of reasons to sense,
not see, but know, a breach
in the barriers we can construct in stories,
now, we got cg, we see all the drama
an instants worth of attention can attach
an insult
- that takes a thousand generations to hit
in a Bible story, an old novel, core cast
architypes pro-fess phet
bet is equal to Prophesyorsci
or greater than con-fess? Guesses are bets.
Set. In a white room,
with black curtains, as seen on tv, after
where ever is breached
and each signal passing skin is in harmony
with each interdigitating arachnoid fiber
cocooning my brain and spine,
Arachoid mater, spider mother, mo'fo, gnoso
gnoshit *** passt the final antennae array to activate
the tree of science has far deeper,
primal laughs
than any mind made up to provoke umph,
umph, umph
as a song, so some day we may sing along
an umph umph song
remembering a certain time, when certain songs
was always secret ethos exoto notta chance
they dance in hell, but in the visions,
always they be dancin'
in the dark
we don't seeum, see, the spirits, are all that
survives, soul
is locked in history whoever tells it same longest
lives, who ever forgets
is helpless. without the filter, pro-vided, and marked
mater
as a brand. the Wombed version had the mods to insulate
the lizard's gift of quick
final
once, held, no flow go no will to be
wrong,
right, we needed to add the topgraphmap thingy
polymerical mira distinct walls with nanomeros singing
or dancing
laughing, yes, yessing yes, is what that is
children laughing, on a cold and dreary day.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 6:57 PM UTC
AND if you go -- love goes away? No, it's understood.
My love stays as freedom is a breakfast food
as if love can live with right or wrong (undestood)
or rolly-pollies are from frightful mountains made---
long enough just for you and me.
As though pain can pay the rent
regardless of genius please the talentgang comes
to collect the fallen minds and hearts upon
the sidewalks of understanding. Everywhere.
So as it is; my whole life: as my coalwood eyes
burn wint-air oh waiting (my love) for spring ?(y)(w)ou(w)
un-air-stan?me
crazy
me like
evry-ting
we can do it for just Me and You. So bring it (with love)
for a landing -- without misunderstanding -- as there is no
end what we can do together without end.
see shebert lips of babies and their beating exploding Love-hearts
: with a little luck we can help it out.
:: 10.24.2021 ::
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
The world rushes by through my window
I try to capture each glimpse in my mind
How can I save the small wonders I know
If the scenes come just as quick as they go
I watch it all pass in the distance
Wanting to spare these memories for you
But futility holds with resistance
And those things slip away in an instant
What is it worth if I can't have you here?
Beauty is dull and amazements are cheap
Nothing can matter when my heart isn't near
I'd trade all these sights for you to appear
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 4:30 PM UTC
A gad fly, a drunken blue fly, and I were
discussing
the curse of being a fly, if men were the measure of all things.
We rise as riders on winds,
and raise
dust when we land, ignorant of sophistry,
but knowledgeable, i.e., read-up
in classic biblical
knowing. {you know, as Adam knew his wife}
Yeah that idea,
essentiality and haecceity, causa sui,
per se, in other words, we could
insert and
still mean
mere words {digitized wisdom begins as words}
reading words makes them animated, not live, not living
being
words, reason essence, point of truth being
the answer to why there is a memory of nothing,
and not nothing now?
Idle words accounted once, are ever liable to personal
interpretations, thus we have classes in
ifity.
We learn via living, that every thing, even the matter the
newborn whatever is made of,
all
was here before me.
I am why history occurred, so far as I may say.
I am the point being only this
hominidiotic thought, they call an ideology and I am sure
I think it means some impossible to realize,
Leave It To Beaver sequel, where Eddie Haskell is the cop,
who squeezers the life out of a man, on video
we witnessed
enmasse, right we saw and were we to not believe
deep down what we saw could have been stopped,
if that camera had been in my hand?
Yeah, like me shove that big old cop, he shoot me,
Yeah, make ya famous. Name abridge too, feryerass
Maybe, but I heard and seems I seen its so,
many's the wish gone wanting,
for lack of a man who will try.
Say winning is done with warfare, no fair, child say,
bully child, was reared in a bullied home,
seed of some Minetaurical idea for rearing kings,
feed them bull hormones
and lies frome the wisest of men, men of letters,
many undicipherable but to the
survivors of the mazing,
The Amazing Grace and Pledges of Allegiance and all that,
nothing spiritual, only inspirational national pride,
very carnal minded stuff,
on the surface.
Hmm, gadfly, or blue, give us some perspective.
We seem to be marching,
as to war,
keep in cadence to a bull horn -- gnoshit this is gnostic alchemy
jungina ju ju wu wu wei
we must be making this up.
You the enabler.
I be the artist, who gone be the accuser?
-- games, y' think first, thank later, as each lesson teaches
this works, that don't
points add up, bit by bit, we begin, be-re-sit, ctrl/alt/del
blue screen of death.
ahhh men.
imagine we was once as **** as we imagined,
and we have the grandchildren to prove it.
imagine
we could leave these bodies behind,
and not lose our minds,
or any of the roles we have played.
This is like that. Today. It’s a trip, not a journey.
I'd take it from the top and feel safe landing here.
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 12:10 AM UTC
little pockets hid inside big pockets,
storage units with keys
purposely misplaced,
envelopes of documents,
labelled, saved for a purpose
that is no longer memorable,
but still instant recognizable
scenes from a marriage
violent hatreds so great,
that years of a single silence
were successes celebrated,
secrets never secreted
the taste of them
from your gorge
can't be easy erased
once the bile comes up,
you can't stomach the notion
of choking it back down
well past
the limits of inane,
voided arguments
left your bowels cleansed
but your mind throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
the limits of inane,
voided arguments,
left your bowels cleansed
your mind lobbing throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
and you dd this to yourself,
so no one helps you up
caches of glimpses of video snatches,
trailers of a life woeful misbegotten,
sudden asunder ripped to the fore,
you know you were there,
know you took part,
is that a younger sadder version of you?
the backyard of your brain
where the cache was dirt buried
kicked open foul odor and
well you smell the screaming hatred fights,
and the reel to reel breaks but you see it
anyway in the orangey brown colors of
time decaying, burnt-edges of video tape
you think your life is tough.
**** you.
did hard time, 30 years,
in a prison with no air or light,
a cell the size of my brain
just when the stench is mostly gone,
the cache ripped asunder
and stink so profound
you gotta lie down,
cause a reflection in a mirror
is ample excuse to put your
head or hand through it
and all you did was go see a play entitled
scenes from a marriage,
and afterwards you keep both hands in your pockets
lest you start choking yourself
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Fresh new book opens wide and swallows me whole!
Taking time to acclimate I catch my breath,
Focusing as scenes and characters unfold
To instill memories of their length and breadth.
Finishing one book a month is my firm goal
Few subjects considered are out of my depth
Reading encourages to take life in stride-
Back to my book! See you on the other side!
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
SHE belongs to my dreams.
like SHE’s only my last string
hanging to the endless screen
to the room of “love scenes”
yet! it’s not clean...
for love inside our mess
which was not all a hate
I’m not a worse,
just fool of my hope.
the way the
circumstances betrayed
do we need to
pretend our spare?
HATE which I neither did
LOVE which i always did
though most time happened less.
but the the two are always
tied with knots...
how could you let me down
easily,
where’s all the promises
that we made early.
oh sh*t! i got this
moment right.
yet dare to
spell something.
unless my poetic
mind stops.
perhaps DAY is near
i’ll went out soon.
this tied knots brokes out
with the piontless cause.
01.07.2019
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
paint me into scenes of monet waters
kissed by water lily wishes
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
I sound like white noise
Quivering and still.
The sound changing now
With the frequency
Back into me.
I turned one notch
To change the channel
Because I can’t handle
This episode.
The lights blink
As images
Play in motion
And I see them
Dance like they should
Till the crack
And fizzle
back to black and white
Blurring Into the SOUND.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
There are scenes
I'd like to rewind
some delete
others re-shoot
ones to work on
in post production
shots to subtitle
some record
and others
replace
to finally watch
it like a movie
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
The Cosmic Dance
Sends me into a trance.
I do love space
It’s really ace.
What more can I say?
I need more pay!
Speckled stars
Form The Milky Way.
Star Trekking I’d love to do.
Talk about a room with a view.
All those planets, all those stars,
From exoplanets to sandy Mars.
Space they call the final frontier,
Others would rather stay right here.
Sunny Earth is the place to be,
Roaming widely, running free.
See those palm trees,
On those shores.
In that soft breeze
The great outdoors.
Grasp the day,
That’s the thing to do.
Make it pay,
It’s down to you.
Paul Butters
© PB 24\10\2017 (poem 2) – First two lines written 1.20 AM in my paper diary.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 6:25 AM UTC
I'm just a moment,
That can last an eternity.
A precious second,
That's worth more your jewelries.
A petite minute,
That can change your life
A blunt hour,
That throws out all the lies.
A weightless week,
That fills all your time.
A merry month,
That can challenge your prime.
And a yonder year,
That's so close yet so far.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
I saw a man
yesterday
staring at the
birds above
circulating
in the sky
I could see
his mind
liberated
in the smile
that slowly
made its way
to his face
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 6:35 AM UTC
There's a reason why
Its called the concrete jungle
When the crossing gaurds whistle
And the trains rumble
But nothing brings out
The similarities more
Then sitting in a tunnel
And hearing a car's roar
Or sitting in a tunnel
And hearing the howl
Of six police motorcycles
In a motorcade prowl
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
It's like a play
A show
A film
A performance
That there is on
The scenes
And behind
The scenes
Yet on is my front
And how I seem to be
While behind
Is what I really feel
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC