All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
   Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

heavy air,
a body beside me,
it's face buried in a pillow, resting
the two of us like sprawled starfish
on a sea bed of blanket

here we lie, centered in our narrow room,
a room made bright by the single skylight above,
clouded  

the following forming the soundscape of this moment:
- Sam's breath, my breath
- a pair of bluebottles buzzing and bumping into the walls
- an itch every now and then of sunburned skin, a leg brushing itself against the sheets
- a distant Tristan singing songs to his daughter down in the kitchen

there is a bucket with sick in it
there is a ***** laundry pile
there is a red, sun cream stained bikini hanging on the door handle
there are two clean, white towels and
two holiday cameras: the first's film already finished, the second with a little yet to go

Maybe we'll go to the beach
Maybe we'll go to the town or discover
a new town or ride our bikes out again until we find somewhere just right

the day has so much promise and
I have so little I have to do
but lie here and be grateful for time

Blossoms billow in slow-motion
Tender petals sigh to the ground
Cushioned upon a sunny breeze
And fat bees and lazy bluebottles
Are snoring gently
Bouncing softly
From bloom to gorgeous bloom
Glad-ragged and gleaming
In their gaudiest glory
And neon dragonflies drone
Adding to the sonerous  chorus
As they skim a sweltering pool
Where carp break the surface
Idly basking in the heat
There is a blackbird clarinetting
From the top of a nearby tree
And high-summer aromas
Pervade the shimmering air
And, just for this moment
Time itself stands still

                            By Phil Roberts

Braving lapses in neon dreams
You don’t like the look of air max 90’s
Besotted language intercepted not digested
The babble of youths who don’t talk correctly
Basking loosely in nonchalant demise
The **** on the floor, what a mess
Buttoned lips insinuating nothing decisive
You are hard eyed from men outside the pub, you look away at
Bluebottles lying inside neatly dead
Get me off this ******* bus.
Black lines, interrupting nothing deep
Why always black and never red
Broad landscapes intrude narrowness, delicately
But you close your eyes and hum the cure
Breaking laughter, ignorant nuisances drain
I wish they all were quiet and tame
Berating loud intuitive noises, djembe
Banging hands against the glass
Banging, lightning, ignored, deleted
There’s a fight going on, you will stay seated
Buried liquidized imagery, naturally dancing
The reflection of drama in a window behind you
Because listening is not done
You think about dinner and where you will buy it
Because light is no fun
You again close your eyes and think about home
Busy lovers inseparable never daring
You enjoy your thoughts
Being left in near darkness
You enjoy your thoughts
Watching interesting things happen
Eventually yelping even shouting trill howls
After the watch, offset retina kicks

Blossoms billow in slow-motion
Tender petals sigh to the ground
Cushioned upon a sunny breeze
And fat bees and lazy bluebottles
Are snoring gently
Bouncing softly
From bloom to gorgeous bloom
Glad-ragged and gleaming
In their gaudiest glory
And neon dragonflies drone
Adding to the sonerous  chorus
As they skim a sweltering pool
Where carp break the surface
Idly basking in the heat
There is a blackbird clarinetting
From the top of a nearby tree
And high-summer aromas
Pervade the shimmering air
And, just for this moment
Time itself stands still

                            By Phil Roberts

It Girl,
Pierced **** girl,
****** as a jaywalking crow
With bluebottles for eyes.
I can see your billion goosebumps,
Your skin dragging at
Your perfume.
You’re not beautiful,
But girl -
You
Are
It.

Blossoms billow in slow-motion
Tender petals sigh to the ground
Cushioned upon a sunny breeze
And fat bees and lazy bluebottles
Are snoring gently
Bouncing softly
From bloom to gorgeous bloom
Glad-ragged and gleaming
In their gaudiest glory

And neon dragonflies drone
Adding to the sonerous  chorus
As they skim a sweltering pool
Where carp break the surface
Idly basking in the heat
There is a blackbird clarinetting
From the top of a nearby tree
And high-summer aromas
Pervade the shimmering air
And, just for this moment
Time itself stands still

                            By Phil Roberts

Blossoms billow in slow-motion
Tender petals sigh to the ground
Cushioned upon a sunny breeze
And fat bees and lazy bluebottles
Are snoring gently
Bouncing softly
From bloom to gorgeous bloom
Glad-ragged and gleaming
In their gaudiest glory
And neon dragonflies drone
Adding to the sonerous  chorus
As they skim a sweltering pool
Where carp break the surface
Idly basking in the heat
There is a blackbird clarinetting
From the top of a nearby tree
And high-summer aromas
Pervade the shimmering air
And, just for this moment
Time itself stands still

                            By Phil Roberts

We're just friends from school
You think we're star-crossed lovers
Telling me we are meant to have children together
In a field of bluebottles and bluebonnets
It's like I'm speaking in nonets
To try to get to you
I would hate to ice your heart
But you can't tell anything apart
By telling me your unyielding love when you have a Man already
There is no chance of us going steady
There's plenty
Of other men who will become enticed by your ways
Even If we were to be one
We would become aged and you'd throw me away
For a more seemingly attractive man
Trust me, I know your entire plan
Don't get mad when I try to be with other women
Loyalty has me smitten
Your affection seems like a piton
And I won't fall into it
Honey, I hate to sever your ports
But I'm ending the eternal distort
That'll we'll be
Because I know truly
You won't want to be with me
Until the day I die
This isn't a blues poem, this is the truth
If you can be strong enough to cope
With this reality
You're more then welcome to watch from the sidelines
But don't you dare violate the guidelines.

Forget our inglorious isolation,
Hiding away from terrors unseen.
I see a golden Forsythia
Outside my window.
Sunny daffodils and little blue flowers
Of  unknown name.
Bushes are budding
And turning green.

Bluebottles and bees have been buzzing
As birds flock about
Flipper flapping everywhere.

A barren, frozen desert
Is being transformed
Little by little.
We still have biting winds
Just now
But in the fullness of time
Warmer climes will re-assert themselves.

For summer is coming
As it always does.
No worldly woes will stop it,
Nor they ever will.
Nature has endless patience
And determination.
Sudden Spring is but the start
Of better days.
Believe it.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\3\2020.

A bluebottle’s tale.
Flies, dark a biblical curse flew, over Alexandria
darkened the sky and hummed hell´s song.
This was not butterflies, in a summer glade.
A bluebottle got to a small hole in the window
they were bringing profanity upon the world.
I looked into its intelligent eyes a soldier drafted
to bring wars and hunger to the world,
(No, not a locust plaque that for its own sake
headless exists.)
to make wars and split nations into many pieces.
God had fated humans should remove each other,
he had made the error given humanity free will
and refused to be held responsible for this fault.
Since we are at the foothill of doom
His will be done.
A new breed of mankind, with small brains and no imagination.
of a Zarathustra or Jung, to give us the idea that we deserved
a better way to find harmony and everlasting niceness.

As I walked down Brighton Pier
Bathed in summer light
Munching on a candy floss
Squinting in the bright
I saw a fortune teller's sign
Lurking in the gloom
Signposting 'Madam Lucky Rose'
Dealing tarot in a room.
The gaudy gypsy painting
Lured this wanderer in
And as I ventured nearer
I caught the tang of gin.
"Hallo there" came a cracking voice
"Come in" I heard a shout
So I entered through a curtain made
To keep bluebottles out.
Twenty pounds she wanted,
To tell me of my fate,
I felt just like the Thane Macbeth,
But Jim not Banquo was my mate.
Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,
I expected her to say,
But she was busy with her visa machine,
And she wanted me to pay.
We placed our bums on old oil drums,
She'd covered in velour,
And she'd tacked a piece of curtain up,
To form a make shift door.
With trembling hands she took mine,
And looked into my eyes,
Her eyes were rimmed with charcoal grey,
And I expected fraud and lies.
She told me of my future,
She told me of my past,
She told me I'd get married and
That it would never last.
She draped around my shoulders
A cloak of purple hue,
And whispered of a new career as fortune tellers do,
"The curse is broken!" she exclaimed
I strained with all my will,
But she left me there that summer day,
And in Brighton I lurk still.

Hamish McTagish was a wild hairy Haggis
He dwelled amongst the hills & glens
His doting wife was hairy Gladys
She loved to entertain their friends

High up in the Highlands of Scotland
These wild beasties roamed
Their wild, shaggy manes grew down there backs
& Were not often combed

Haggises understood their accent
But visitors didn’t have a clue
No one knew what was meant
By “Had ya weeshed” & “Och aye the noo”

Whilst Mr Hamish walked clockwise
Larger legs were on the right
His shaggy better half was the opposite to him
What a most peculiar sight

So going round in circles
Side-winding up the hills
Everyone watching in amazement
Their movement gave folk thrills

With piggy like snouts & beady eyes
Long strands of unruly mops
A swarm of bugs & bluebottles
Kept warm & cozy in their crops

This rather rare unusual breed
It survived for hundreds of years
But man got a taste for Haggis
It wiped them out & all their peers

Boil Haggis in a bag
Microwave it in a dish
Theres loads available in the shops today
Tho there not alive now, I wish🤣