"butters" poems
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.
Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.
I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.
I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.
So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.
Paul Butters
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:54 AM UTC
Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.
Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.
Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.
Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!
Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.
Paul Butters
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Oh what joy.
A little boy.
Jacob so happy.
A cheerful chappie.
Paul Butters
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.
In Willy’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of Willy’s beer.
He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.
Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.
They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***
But THAT I’m not repeating.
Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.
Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.
Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters
(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
For seventy or more years TV
And radio ruled the world,
Along with telephones.
But then computers made their mark,
Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,
Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?
In no particular order.
So herds of sheep migrated
Into Cyberspace
Even Myspace!
Then on to Planet Facebook
And Terratwitter.
We talk with people we’ve never met,
And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.
It keeps us occupied I guess,
And gives relief from stress.
These images that yet fresh images beget,
I’m sure Yeats would agree.
I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face
And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.
A world of wonders beckons in
The depths of Cyberspace,
And as a Nerd before they were invented,
I have to say I’ve truly found my place.
Paul Butters
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Let’s make a point
And rock this joint.
What with Putin and ISIS,
We’re all in crisis.
I sound like Ali,
From here to Bali.
Let’s give Peace a chance,
Our world to enhance.
What happened to Love?
Where’s God up above?
Don’t need globalisation,
Just one Human Nation.
Time for a stanza:
Let’s have a bonanza.
But seriously folks,
This is no time for jokes.
We must have compassion,
It isn’t on ration.
So please hear my call
And Love one and all.
Paul Butters
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
Ease your way
Into Sunday,
Monday’s here soon enough.
Friday’s best,
Time to rest,
The week was tough.
Boozeday Tuesday is okay
I must say
And Table Tennis Thursday ain’t bad too.
Wednesday’s fish and chips are yummy –
They fill my tummy,
Washed down with a brew.
I love Saturday sport,
Who would have thought
I’d get set in my ways?
Such is my week,
Hardly unique,
But on Sunday I laze.
Paul Butters
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
skin polished
with oils, salt and husks
i gleam
with perfumed butters and musk
silken smooth flesh
like living warm honey
i languish
in the golden light of dusk
limbs naked
under silks and plush
i wait
i wait for you
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 12:44 AM UTC
Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Now praise the Lord for the Web.
The Apple phone’s connected to the Vodaphone,
And the Vodaphone’s connected to the Google Zone,
The Google Zone’s connected to the Web Zone,
Oh hear the Lord of the Word.
Well the phone’s connected to a browser
And it fits very neatly in your trouser.
The browser connects you to the Internet
Faster than the fastest speed-jet,
Just the place for a quick bet.
Oh hear the Lord of the Word.
It might get you onto Facebook
Or teach you how to be good cook
Find you some ladies for a good…
Time.
Now Praise the Lord of The Word.
Paul Butters
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
A Giraffe, with its
Long
Long
Long
Long
Long
Neck is looking down on me.
See him stretchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh up to those high-tree leaves
And grasp them with his massive tongue.
Two males are having a fight
To decide who will mate today.
They swing their necks at one another
Madly
Until one of them falls.
A battle captured all on video film.
The loser seems quite dead
But then comes round
And totters to his feet.
Magnificent creatures,
All mottle-flanked,
With tiny horns
And telescopic legs.
Giraffes!
Paul Butters
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.
True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.
His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.
He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.
He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.
So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.
Paul Butters
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
“Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds,
The Beneficent, the Merciful.
Owner of the Day of Judgement,
Thee (alone) we worship;
Thee (alone) we ask for help.
Show us the straight path,
The path of those whom Thou hast favoured.
Not (the path) of those who earn Thine anger
Nor of those who go astray.”
This we said to you, oh Great One, in the Quran
So many years ago.
But Lord your flocks are fleeing from your fields.
We need your Sheepdog to round them up in their confusion.
They do not see you are a God of many names,
“God” being one of them.
Over the ages you have been Zeus, Jupiter, Odin, Mother Earth, Jehovah, God, Allah
And many others.
But always you were The One True One,
Beneficent and Loving.
All men (and women) are equal in your eyes.
All Life to be cherished and preserved.
Thou shalt not ****
Is what you said.
So Allah now’s the time
To correct your children:
Breathe into them
The essence of your thoughts.
Enter their minds as The Holy Ghost,
So many Scrooges there:
Enlighten them
To know what is really Good
And rediscover what it is
To Love.
Amen.
Paul Butters
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
An away game at Leeds!
The Loiner Lion will have its feeds.
So it was, back in the day
When Revie’s Men held full sway.
Reaney, Charlton, Hunter, Cooper,
That defence was really super.
David Harvey, ‘keeper complete,
Guaranteed a solid clean sheet.
The midfield ruled by Bremner and Giles,
Billy’s energy, Johnny’s wiles.
Lorimer and Gray down the wings,
Recalling Eddie (Gray), oh my heart sings.
Jones and Clarkey gave us goals,
Lots of them, shoals and shoals.
73-74 our greatest year,
Opponents always full of fear.
Man U relegated that season too,
Better days there were very few.
We won the league by a merry mile,
Time to smile as we did it in style.
In 69 we lost just two from 42.
Opponents didn’t know what to do.
Burnley and City our only losses,
Otherwise we were the bosses.
92 was another good year,
Man U crying in their beer.
Then we sold them Cantona,
That really was a bridge too far.
The rest is history as they say;
We strive again to have our day.
In the second tier on Italian money,
Seeking the land of milk and honey.
The Premiership’s the place where we should be,
Please Messi, join us, on a free!
We hanker for those glory days.
God please help us with your mysterious ways.
Paul Butters
© PB 11\9\2015.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain
For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire.
Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled *****
As my soul soars into the seething skies.
My wings are beating with breathless wonder,
My imagination sends me to a destination
Beyond discrimination, defying appellation,
But not exclamation, at this elevation.
Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs
That overhang the huddled houses
Of the hillside village
On the way to who knows where.
The mists are shifting, ever drifting
Hiding everything
Except the mountain tops.
A new dimension might await us
Always moving as
Our journey never stops.
Paul Butters
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
How dare you treat me like this?
You must be taking the ****
Have you no respect to pay?
Will you just send me
On my way?
The problem’s Yours my friend.
With you I can’t contend.
You are just me, me, me.
You’ve left me totally free.
I’m better off alone,
With no-one in my zone.
You’re such a bigot and a snob
And nothing but a ****
Who fobs me off
With drivel
From your gob.
Your haughty arrogance makes me mad
As you are nothing but a cad.
Okay so you have all the power,
And over me you sure do tower.
But don’t be thinking that I’ll cower:
I glower waiting for my hour,
For my dog’s day
When You I shall devour!
Paul Butters
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
Skipper Kevin Sinfield
Rugby League man who’d never yield.
Inspiration to his team,
Leeds Rhinos: Living the Dream.
Paul Butters
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
Make your poems Memorable,
That’s what I say.
No need to be incredible,
Just let them play.
Read them with your inner voice,
Write them that way too.
Hear the music in those words,
This I’m telling You.
In ancient times these poems were songs,
Remembered off by heart.
At least you’d call them statements,
Knowledge to impart.
Iambic metre’s very common yes,
And so of course is rhyme:
To make these verses remembered
Through the course of time.
Yet verse is best as poetry,
Lyrical if you will.
We have to write with feeling,
And give the reader a thrill.
Paul Butters
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
We friended on Facebook,
Scrolled down our profile pages.
Lived together in a virtual world.
Our images and websites we shared
With Instagram incisiveness.
Meet all my friends.
Block any you do not like.
All busy we are, doing nothing.
Like if you agree.
Laptops were not enough.
Users subscribed to Smartphones,
Iphones, and God knows what.
Google them if you wish.
And if you like my words
Retweet them.
But beware!
I now use words like lol,
And even ***
Hehe.
Sometimes I multitask,
Flicking TV channels
Like a Subbuteo striker –
Gone virtual by now I guess.
Flicking and flipping while I scroll
My laptop page.
I make new tabs
As I message many friends:
Emoticons exploding
All along the way.
I’m Tivo-boxing clever
All the time,
King of my domain.
So get your VDU lit up
And monitor my words.
Download my thoughts
Into your memory banks.
I hope this all computes.
Paul Butters
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Feel the Force
Just Feel that Force.
No sign of divorce.
It’ll keep you on course.
It’s everywhere,
Not just a Star Wars fiction.
It may be God out there,
The cure for our affliction.
Whether The Force like us can think
Who knows?
Maybe we’re on the brink
Of its ebbs and flows.
All around there’s a Spiritual World,
Or so some say:
It’s yet unfurled
But we are on our way.
So Feel the Force
I say again.
Time runs its course,
Do ya ken?
As Yoda would say,
Your mind you open
And powerful you will become.
Paul Butters
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
Here’s a new form of Clerihew,
For Andy Murray who
Won twice at Wimbledon:
The fun has only just begun.
Paul Butters
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 5:45 AM UTC
An app for this
An app for that
An app even,
To feed your cat.
Mesmerised by mobiles
All these zombies shuffle along
Nearly getting run over
So internet throng.
Scanning with their debit cards
No time for cash
But I don’t trust these things
With their laser flash.
All this social media
Where is it going?
So much information
Toing and froing.
Good to keep in touch
And so easy to Google
Want to make a noise?
It’s better than a bugle.
Better check in on Facebook
So you all know where I am
Time to check my emails
To bin the latest scam.
But whatever happened to talking?
It’s now a forgotten art!
The cyber revolution:
This is just the start.
Paul Butters
© PB 19\3\22.
Mar 19, 2022
Mar 19, 2022 at 3:47 PM UTC
You pose and pout,
Seduction by superficial sauciness.
You tell me of your day
With that simpering voice,
Raising each last word
Long and loud.
You show me your flash cars,
Your sumptuous wardrobe
And who knows what else?
You and your kin call yourselves “Influencers” –
A great word,
But all you do is make people:
People who have grafted long and hard
For a little spare cash,
Go buy things they
Do not really need.
Right Said Fred was Right:
The global catwalk
Is a sham.
I too would love to be an “Influencer”,
Such a fine word,
But I would be one to encourage folk
To Love others,
Stop all this Conflict
Between polar opposites and extremes,
Fight only for the Common Good,
And make the world a better place
For All.
Paul Butters
© PB 15\1\2021.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 5:21 PM UTC
Forests of coral adorn the rocky ocean floor,
Sheltered here in this sky-blue lagoon.
See the golden sand, shining through the still waters,
Fringed by plumes of palm.
The warming sun is smiling,
Flanked by fluffy white clouds.
Gulls are calling
Over the whispering sea.
A tropical paradise
Punctuated only
By impromptu showers.
Those colourful corals
Swarmed with teeming fish
Of every hue.
This is the place
To be.
Paul Butters
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC