#streams
the power of creating the Cosmos
a power in all creation
an interpretation of love called 'poetry'
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 4:26 AM UTC
The world is running behind illusions,
Illusions of beauty, riches, and luxuries.
Sincerity is found nowhere,
In these days of declining appreciation.
Pure ones are being judged on their simplicity,
Tricksters keep tricking and aren't getting questioned.
Streams of hatred are flowing,
Dreams of honesty are getting crushed.
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 5:18 PM UTC
Think of the birds
Think of the trees
Think of the beautiful streams between
See the grass and leaves, so green
Watch the animals roam, so free
Tread through the forest and soon you'll see
As the trees fade
They reveal a meadow of flowers beyond the shade
A myriad of glimmering blossoms under a shimmering sun
And a tree that stands alone
Its shining golden leaves undone
Such a serene scene of nature
Even the gods may leave it be
For a forest like this
Is only fit
To be paused in time
And left in peace
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 3:55 PM UTC
Love is the shell of the oyster
The caramel centre
The worrisome weather
Coast coasting shooter
Cyanide chaser
Hand with the feather
That beckons, bats, pressures
Love is a dream without dreamers
The real thing
Love is the magical realm of beauty we wanted to lift...
A waterfall pounding
All streams of past to the place...
Love is everything missed and remade
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 7:17 PM UTC
If it were mine-
I think of the past, time
Unpauses, and I'm brought back.
I'd never have;
Factors weigh too heavily, those
Strings that keep me attached.
Choose to come back.
Waters fall, the stream cascades
Flowing into itself
Over & over again
Mar 5, 2024
Mar 5, 2024 at 12:03 PM UTC
I’m having fun
with no rhyme or reason.
I’m just chilling
in the sunny season.
I’m keeping pace
where wild flowers grow.
I want to go fast
when I need to go slow.
But I’m running swiftly
to fill my desire,
until a rock causes
my momentum to expire.
I’m instantly frustrated,
but I don’t dwell long.
Within my power
I choose to carry on.
The trail continues
where it seems to end.
I journey further
and I find some friends.
Where the the rushing stream pauses,
I take the plunge.
Frigid water
freezes my lungs.
I too, find reason to pause,
and I bask in the sun.
The world stands still
and I wonder why I run.
Jul 2, 2023
Jul 2, 2023 at 10:22 AM UTC
My stream of consciousness is in full flow,
Tumbling down the page.
A cascade of words
Bouncing and foaming
Towards unknown seas.
No planning here.
No structure
Or direction.
Just meanderings
And oxbow lakes.
Free verse unfettered
By Draconian Rules
Or dogma.
Odd rhymes thrown in
Perhaps:
Casual confetti.
So what should I type about,
Sitting here in my armchair
In the silence of my lounge?
The sky is full of clouds
A blanket over this
September afternoon.
Perfect conditions
For composing this poem.
Should I put the world to rights?
(How long have you got?)
Or just indulge
In some uplifting visions?
I don’t do emotions very much.
The cork is firmly closed
On those.
Recall my early loves:
All unrequited.
Crushes
That crushed my very soul.
Memories of crying inside,
Unable to eat
Or think of anything except
That longing for love
Which never came.
So no
I don’t do emotions.
And seldom reveal myself
As I just did.
I’d rather let my imagination soar,
My eagle eye -
A soaring cliché –
Taking in the sweep of space
And everything below.
I see trees
And animals,
Mountains, coasts and oceans.
People milling about.
A scream of seagulls soars above the sea.
Waves crash:
A thundering tsunami
Against the brittle cliffs.
I have many voices.
From soft soothing lullabies
To grand orations
Full of pomp and splendour.
Music plays in my head:
A crescendo of orchestras
And songs.
Freddie, Elvis, Bassey
Clapton, Hendrix and Satriani.
Ginger Baker, Phil Collins.
Reciting poetry
Within my brain
Is easy
After Bohemian Rhapsody.
So once more to the beach dear friends
With Brian Wilson
And his crew.
Let Sloop John B be launched
Again
Heading for oceans new.
At last a rhyme
As attention spans begin to
Wane.
Enough for now
My loyal friends.
I’d best bid you
Adieu.
Paul Butters
© PB 4\9\2020. First 3 lines Written 16\8\20 in my big paper diary.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 10:49 AM UTC
Yesterday...
Paddling gently over your heart’s love streams
Good night words made sweet dreams
Today...
As the good morning sun shine greets
Your love ripples in my heartbeats
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 12:44 PM UTC
Beckoning
by Michael R. Burch
Yesterday the wind whispered my name
while the blazing locks
of her rampant mane
lay heavy on mine.
And yesterday
I saw the way
the wind caressed tall pines
in forests laced by glinting streams
and thick with tangled vines.
And though she reached
for me in her sleep,
the touch I felt was Time's.
This is an early poem, written during my youthful Romantic period. I believe I wrote the original poem around age 18, then revised it six years later. Keywords/Tags: Love, freedom, beckoning, lure, allurement, time, wind, pines, streams, vines, hair, mane, locks, travel, departure, parting, separation, loss
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
Why is it
That when I see
any
other
girl
I think, “oh! She’s so pretty!”
Why is it
I describe
Other people’s eyes
As
oceans
forests
streams
But mine are just ***** dishwater?
Why is it
I must change my hair
Damage it
Color it
In order for it to make me happy?
Why is it
That I am
my own
worst
critic?
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC
Ivy climbs gnarled knotted trunks
Darker lines and streams divide where white wool digs below tufts of heather and tall tipped reeds
Calm flat lakes vacate
Pale hues of birch become rocky barren lands of moss and brown broken bracken
Thick conifers multiplied for miles
The mountain side tipped with ice
Houses change like the hedgerow from new to old
Some unfurnished whilst others glow
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 3:21 PM UTC
Maybe it was the hazy Sunday morning bliss or the cicadas screaming their annoying lullaby but I found myself drawn to the woods.
Streams of blue and green water and muddy paths that lead me back to sanity every time I come through.
My past has kept me locked in city streets with too many people and too many memories.
My present holds a sympathetic and nostalgic view for the things I love but also a craving for something vast and beyond.
As for my future if they ask me today I might just head to the woods and never leave.
I’ll become one with the moss on the trees and the mushrooms in the ground.
I’ll be the composure for the cicadas and the paint for the sunsets and sunrises.
Tonight we will dream of the right path to the New York life and the city dreams but tomorrow we’ll find the left path holds the cure to the soul in the trees.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 10:37 PM UTC
Music is the soul
You can hear it in the rubber sneakers
The fogginess of this song
Finished by the word of you
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
She lays on a canoe
whirling gently on the stream.
Her red dress shimmers
as the sun gives a great beam.
She smiles at the sky
with its radiant blue,
and porcelain clouds
and air fresh and new.
She enjoys the sounds
of the bustling, rippling waves.
Towards to a land
and the path it paves.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 8:17 PM UTC
May rivers flow into streams
And stray in whatever direction they need
In order to reach the inevitable sea
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
Once above my face the Sun did
weave a joyous spell
And rested calmly upon the backs of
the great stone Giants
Whose stance used bring early night
to bear on these tired eyes of mine.
And the dutiful Moon too, did smile
down
Reassuring me with her presence
Patrolling the dark heavens till the
Dawn would order her away.
Down the wild slopes rode my
children, brimming with life
Their blood ensuring my Youth
forever, or so I thought.
Watching over their shadowy green
lanes, noble cedars and majestic pines
Vigilant watchtowers upholding our
green faith:
Caressed the Bloom's feet I did and
raced the drinker's pace
Precious memories slowly eroded as
now in lonely exile I dwell.
First warning I got, carnage floating
downstream
Severed trunks of trees and their
stricken branches
Finally laid to rest upon the worm
eaten lock gate -
Saw a mass exodus taking place,
whole tribes on the move
Telling of trouble coming and of a
world soon to disappear;
Pagan storms they brewed ominously
overhead, their seed
Did burn my skin and burnt through
the silver scales
Crippling the little fishes who'd bury themselves prematurely in that cold
graveyard depth;
Those blissful birds too, that used eat
out of my hand,
As my countenance grew steadily
more gaunt and pale
They too, did decide to leave, seek
food elsewhere.
And the ailing flower wishing the old
days would return
As my ears they began to pick up a new sound growing louder all the time
Gnawing away like a worm in my
brain, the razor-toothed saw
Singing in the woods his eerie Death
song
Leaving in his wake a grisly trail of
murder and mayhem.
My own days numbered then; I saw
the savage leaders come
With their strange ideals and talk, of
quotas profits and costs:
Who beside me built a Fortress, a
sinister smoking structure -
O! those Dark forces it sent forth to
finish me off
Looting and burning, laying waste my
beautiful Kingdom
My exiled Spirit indeed, all there is now to tell of that terrible cost.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
I try to contain the poison that leaks and streams
from my brokenness
...as tears streak my face
looking like streams in the desert
...but there is no refreshment in these bitter streams...
I heard that it was a choice to be broken
...but why would I choose to break myself? Maybe it was all of the curses that I've spoken-
against myself...
have I unwittingly foretold my own emotional death?
...and all of these years I flaunted it like it was emotional depth...
Whatever the case- it doesn't matter
Noone has hurt me more or been as unkind
As I search the corridors of my heart and my mind,
I find that
It is I
Replay after replay of some emotional torment, trying to find the fault with me...
That **** hurt- why can't I just leave it. Right. There?
What they did hurt! And that **** ain't fair...
Why do I feel the need to make it about me?
It's this kind of behavior that keeps me from being free
I've become my own enemy
...so I lie here and I continue to bleed
And I try to contain the poison that streams
From my brokenness
...as tears streak my face
Looking like streams in the desert
But there is no refreshment...
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Running from the
chipped paint and
peeling wallpaper.
The exposure.
The naked vulnerability.
Chasing dreams
that scare me
only to find grounding
in fear.
The dripping faucet
was acid on my skin
in streams down my face.
A feeling of warmth
that burned.
Scarred.
A sudden change.
Please, not again.
The ceiling caves in —
I can never show anything
but the reflection of a life
that is broken.
No matter how the claws
shred me
from underneath my
own skin…
Trapped in escape.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
It's easy for me
To get caught up in the what ifs
To question everything I did
I can't touch the universe
Without leaving ripples
There are rivers to places
But maybe streams if I had just
I have never done anything
Consequenceless
What have I given up?
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC