"dither" poems
Crack in the ceiling
Expensive repair.
Crack in the glass
Duct tape
Crack of a switch
Stripe the *****
Crack of a gun
Someone's done
Crack the vein
Relieve pain
Crack of lightning
Frightening
Crack the whip
Obey
Crack my skull
My mind mulls
Crack the mirror
Old wives’ tales dither
Crack the door
It's her …
Crack of her ***
Beautiful tail
Ends this tight little piece
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
Skin blushed peach on snow white cheeks
Luster and grandeur not seen by the meek
Intrinsically dominant furnace of femininity
Dither and hither be stricken for insincerity
If you try to speak to her expect less then levity
To your advances she implies depravity
Blatantly ignorant vacuous blond *****
Tell me again how I hate you and want ***
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
with fangs prepared
we wait
by stepping out cavern of blue thoughts
and into
night sky
lit by glow of stick-end
night sky
carried on the back of an ant
night sky
begs remorse's end
night sky
brings out unsuspecting fools
to dither aimless
to seek nocturnal sweets
yet hunger dangles in ropy clots
undissolved
only to find acrid wind.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
November
Come November
All the leaves shall fall.
Longer shadows...
Days will shrink and wither.
Come November
Bitter winds shall blow.
Muffled up,
I’ll struggle not to dither.
Fingers fumbling,
I shall light the air,
Glum and cold,
Still thinking of the summer.
Thunders tumbling,
Water is the world...
And every single breath
Feels like no other.
2017
🍁
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
paper air planes made out
of tiny pieces of a torn up heart
they are red
but they have these streaks of black in them
it is a terrible blackness like rotting
thats unhappiness
it is poison
paper airplanes
tiny paper airplanes
he folds them quick and quiet at the stone wall
end of the driveway
at the bus stop where little old ladies dither away
long summer afternoons
tiny paper airplanes dogfight in the air
watch one go down in flames
made of the ripped up pieces of a broken heart
they are red
like fire trucks for the burning desire for her soft flesh
like alarm bells to warn off the unwary
they are red
tiny paper airplanes
one slips free
sees a cloud high up there where no paper airplane has dared
so far up in the wide open sky
none have ever even dreamed such a thing
he slips free and climbs
faster and higher
he climbs
free
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
The moth with newspaper wings sat under the arrow lungs of the eyeless
blood dripped falcon, more whole than the super-glued roman sculpture.
Next door a 50’s con held up church with a roulette table in the kitchen,
and boarded up the massage parlor
downstairs.
The eye of the man was a centrifuge of ducks, mallard and hen, spiraling
outward into evaporated roach-ground
asphalt.
Next door, slits in the picket fence displayed perfectly formed **** & broach,
empty shoes made of feet below, blending
fields.
The marble foundation formed from twine lollipops and fuzzy candy tabs,
ice-etched to the frequency of splintered seashell
angels.
Next door through the forest of knives a spaceship bearing gargoyles peaked
bodies through collages of faces in technicolor sepia
mitosis.
The heiress molted into tiled pieces, her own dog and sunhat caught in blizzard
cuneiform, kaliedescoping again to fractalled inchworms cemented in motion.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Real beauty only lasts a while
like a fading sunset
or your smile
like a flower at full bloom
or changing seasons
it's gone too soon.
Such beauty cannot be captured by words
no sound can be uttered not a syllable heard
so I sit in deathly silence
and admire the view
something so timeless
as I look at you.
Like that flower
you stand alone in a field
supported by God's power
to which you yield
I dare not pick you
as you will only wither
so I must wait and watch
whilst you dither.
I'm glad I witnessed
something so beautiful
my life has been blessed
you do not need a mirror
for the only thing that reflects
your beauty is the heavens
something so perfect
I have been in its presence.
Gods own creation
such unknown perfection.
Like the changing season
you pass without reason
no explanation
just fade like our relation.
Please bring back your summer sun
so I can bask in your glow
from heavenwards above
just tell me why you had to go
and leave without my love.
If you are the sun then I am the moon
never to meet and gone too soon.
Although I don't want to see you go
deep down I already know
so I just admire you from afar
like another shooting star
so beautiful in the nights sky
you have my attention
you've caught my eye
I look in your direction
but you fade and die.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Whenever people criticise me
They usually don’t know that
I am my Biggest Critic,
Beating myself up
Like Tyson Fury.
It’s how I spur myself on,
Hopefully to better things.
But what things?
I still don’t know.
Oh to have blind faith
And sense of Vocation
As many others do.
A solid set of Values.
A script to follow
Opinions to declare.
Instead I dither
Undecided
Lost in an ocean of ifs and buts.
Too bright and open-minded
For my own good.
Worse still, I’m oh so eager to please.
I think myself incorruptibly honest,
Yet the truth is,
I only tell people what I think
They want to know.
It’s how I was brought up.
But then again
Am I willing to fight
For what I stand for?
Should I really be Devil’s Advocate
Just to “stick up” for my views?
Better methinks to hold my counsel
Or be diplomatic
Which may be okay
So long as I actually decide
What I think and feel
Within myself.
And there’s the rub.
What do I stand for?
Do I really think for myself?
Like so many others,
Am I dragged along:
Brainwashed by Media hoo ha
And hype?
Superficial sound bytes
And rallying calls.
I need to search my soul
And find my true feelings
And beliefs.
I know that I Love Life
In most of its forms.
I’m all for Wellbeing
And The Common Good.
I need to focus
On these things:
On making the most of
This Paradise World
We seem bent on ruining.
In short
I must stoke those fires of Love
And enlighten others
To do the same.
Paul Butters
© PB 13\12\2021.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 6:21 AM UTC
She was bleeding, crying, and queazy
Fear alone kept her from leaving
Knee deep in lonely; emotionally depleted
Bluntly touching, there was no loving
Indifferently ******* he was no husband
Drunkenly cussing; brokenly crumbling
She'd grown cold, old, and withered
Blankly staring into the mirror
In which a spider had grown upon
Not even it could escape his palm
Ready to fold; she no longer quivered
Figuring no one would even miss her
She looked through bruises, hate, and hopeless
Paint brush loaded;
sharply focused
Fingered trigger;
predicting scriptures
Abusive liver;
idle dither
Quondam shadows become formless
To be adrift in that unknown ocean..
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
i dither i dather
anything i'd rather
than do what
i'm supposed to today
i let my mind wander
somewhere out yonder
and i choose
another game to play
i frit and i fret
nothings done yet
much less than
my obligations for sure
but if i chose to work
instead of just lurk
i wouldn't be
procrastinating anymore!!!
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 7:44 AM UTC
My path ahead, troubled;
through the blankets of snow, I plod.
I find myself in the wood,
boughs shrouded in fog.
The mist like a fever,
weighing down my soul.
I come to the fork in the road,
where I dither and brood.
Awake, yellow sun!
Cast your rays of light.
Rid me from this veil,
my peril, and plight.
Sweet mornings song,
notes carried through the wind.
My path now clear,
no struggle within.
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
Life is a seductive maiden,
extending two vials,
looking equally nice,
on her lovely hands
for you to choose from;
one contains, elixir of life,
the other poison
for slow extinction.
She enigmatically smiles,
making you irresolute;
you have to select one,
here and now, it'll decide,
what your fate will be,
in the long run.
*Don't flinch or dither a bit,
this moment is paramount;
look at her eyes intently
and extract a clue, act!*
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
I slide, you grind.
I nibble, you dither.
I touch, you moan.
I feel, you gasp.
I open, you erupt.
I wrap, you linger.
I explore, you groan.
I rub, you beg.
I claw, you stare.
I guide and you surrender
Making us captives of lust
And passion.
-Khushi :)
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
How little men control
Their own destinies.
At a lost,
As to my internal monologue,
In a deluge of constant questioning.
And as to the control I do command,
With what to, is done?
As to the destiny I am ******
Is it better to dither from forver, hitherto?
Or slaughter fear, and give anxiety the rub.
Jun 13, 2023
Jun 13, 2023 at 8:37 PM UTC
Sky
Why do you cry
With rain as your tears
Is it because no one is near?
While you have infinity
To dwell on your supposed divinity
We dither and eventually wither
Or leave even faster, with an unexpected slither
So far away
With no one to play
It's no wonder you're sad
I'd be mad
To be left all alone
For all of time on the cosmic throne
Creating, destroying, smashing atoms together
Is it your way of making tethers?
To something more tangible
But these are also frangible
Eventually breaking apart
Like the Pillars of Creation, dying of a broken heart
Hit with a supernova, the Pillars fell
To be a nursery for baby stars, they were compelled
One cosmic child grew up and died
While committing matricide
Made from cloud-like collections of celestial gases
Stars are formed, and live, but some of the more massive
Explode, destroying, including the Pillars
Who died after having raised a killer
Sky
Don't cry
It's not your fault
To be trapped like you are, left in a vault
All of your immortality
Can be used to observe our fragility
We are paper in the storm
But you will be forever warm
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Never to dance
Is Never to cry
Yet Never to chance
Is Never to fly
Always to wait
To Always consider
Is Always in limbo
Always a dither
So Open your mind
More open that heart
For when life's fully lived
Regrets will be sparse.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
One eye lined a rippling void in our favor
Two lights aimed to dither coherence astray
A spark may be one
A pyre, another
Two methods by which we may aptly narrate
These volumes which artifice rendered impassive
Some lifetimes ago
As if carved out of stone
Upon faces that masons could not replicate
We taxed ourselves harsh by indulging old spirits
But graver the crime was to give them a name
The deepest transgression of all, incorporeal
Our memories in the end gave us away
Yes, nostalgia seeps in through the gaps in our logic
To shepherd the currents beneath those blue waves
As if tides could be altered by such visitation
And oceans stood frozen with forces concealed by
Some gravities borne of celestial weight
Reluctant to wake and depart Colorado
My surrogate mother
Our canvas to paint
Expressions whipped dry by the skirt of her leather
And eardrums wrung pierced by the crags and the scree
If I leave now this portal may vanish forever
I could leave my sins here in the chill of the Springs
Release them down mineshaft chutes long since abandoned
In futile attempts to abscond the unclean
And rise to leave haunts of offenses unstated
To come crawling back from the dead
Southbound with me
Hold out, I was told
With arms to receive
You'll make sure to keep your hands steady for me
I'm soaked to the core with my soul and voice breaking
With eyes for your heart and its formless cascade
And my pail with dozens of holes to redeem
An abundance of squalls brewed behind both those seams
The light crosses your path
And you won't look away
When I question by which laws such mirrors are made
And it all seems so cruel that we're drawn here to suffer
To be teased and transfixed by what glimmers remain
I can drum up what strengths I have left to ignite you
I'll shout even louder when you forget your name
I'll relearn every way that I've known how to love you
But we're taught to process what we cannot maintain
Yes, our hearts are irreparably torn in this way
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
My task is to write a reflection,
I ponder, what is worth my edification?
I shall reflect this day on---POPCORN!!!
Yes, Popcorn! Our pop culture it adorns,
Sweet caramel popcorn is digestive ****
or do you like salted treats,
Popcorn, Popcorn, salted or sweet?
Ah, decisions, decisions, decisions,
A dither of popcorn reflection........
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
in the part of the cool hill's soft thighs
trembles the callous shaft of dawn
penetrating the ephemeral violence
of the stabbing rods of arbor scent
damply the night mare goes galloping
whinny little sins of star caresses
but none are so shy and sly as the
eye clasped hollow in the stench
of (and also the slender flowers
smirk at the blossoms young
flesh broken by the light song)
Morpheus' guileless laughter
as shattered the disheveled clubs
swing ransoms of heart lips between
the twain of the enchanted leaves
there rests a silver bit of girl so
blisteringly beautiful blushes all
the world for holding this trembling
aperture of onyx plait holding femininity
so electric is the artifice of her glimmering
chastity, swore the sun it would never
shine on any other thing so savagely its
shivering skin of golden pleasure as this her
(but just so the moon loved her too
as passionate as any other lover ever imagined
or material. spitting delicate strands of shimmer
upon the golden-brown skein of her shoulders)
she woke startled by the amorous dome
crinkling on the perfection of her lithe
sensual frame. stupidly the ideal birds
sang, trying to match the elegance of
her narrow waist; but failed hideously
drowning the silence in virulent soundless
noise. then brimmed every god to the lip
of everything to peer upon this unbearable
visage and dither in the perfection of its curves.
suddenly the Rose blistered from the soil
and came wetly a residue of crimson from
its supple petals mounting the vision of her
absolute eyes. splaying the gentle hips of
sight to receive the splendor of its thorned
stem into her hand and ***** the silk
of her hands slowly releasing a jewel of life
all this witnessed by the cloistered huddles
of gossamer children. hideously perfect men
wantonly begging for the grace of her sensual
pond. beckon they, to them, her but she refuseth
and make for the realm of Hades. quietly, in
death, waiting for some heat to unfreeze the
skin of her blue heart frozen still darkness.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
Days painted
fear, frustrated tear
moments filled
emptiness miss
Time woven
clock blind folded
wishes empty
march underneath
resolve to rise
leave the disguise
crystal sparkle
beneath the seal.
Forgotten laces
overwrought races
missing thread
seeing the less
Hopes arise
each dawn flies
cycles fill
more unease.
Soul lost
dither
hazy sleeper
slipping away
places grim
Hers never ending
heart never rending
seeks to find
perfecting cell.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC
Tightening the rope as the fools dance and dither
Squandering the moments as hourglass falls,
Walking the tightrope in a world lost to thither
Assassins maraud as the fat General calls.
Flat fingers hover above plastic buttons
Hover in hesitant moments of pause,
Waiting in limbo instructions from Hades
Exultantly plunging to holocaust cause.
Plunging erotically down to the plastic
Smearing the sweat and blood in a pool,
Lusting your moment of utter destruction
Casting all humankind’s best …to be fool.
Doubt not veracity’s balance in tremor
Out there the Devil is dancing his jig,
Everywhere globally men flee in terror
Uncertainty slides with the squeal of the pig.
Russia inflates as tyrannical tyrant
Isis is spreading its carpet of blood,
Worldwide the military gird for battle
Appeasement disbursed in a torrent of flood
Shades of veracity flood Sarajevo
Memories taunt of that drumbeat to war,
Demagogues strut now the march of the scarlet
God flees reality….and is no more.
M.
17 March 2015
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
I listen to the silence you leave me in and learn things.
I learn that I have been passive and submissive for a very long time. That sometimes I hang back when others blaze in with passion and conviction, and dither on the outskirts, tentative and uncertain.
Or when someone else would have exited, slamming the door behind her with emphatic drama, I linger, hoping things will get better, not able to see they are as bad as they are.
I become furious about old trespasses...in retrospect, still wondering, years later, just when and where the lines were crossed.
I worry that I bring out the ****** in men. Because I seem inevitably to do that for so many of them. A reflective surface for weaker resolves.
Old hurts float to the surface these days, leaving something else behind.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Cleave, sunder from the root
Spilled forth on the soil
Naked
Afraid
Rive, render from the pod
Scorched from the sun
Cracked
Bleeding
Shake, dither from the soul
Scarred on torment
Numbed
Immobilized
Breathe, utter the words
Cried from memories
Another dawn
Another dusk
Another night
Another cycle
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
frightened electric god brimming scream
ride the quiet sand hooves stupidly
slippery grains pour effortless passing
hours precisely
dither
acutely wasted minutes tick-tocking
awaiting that supreme silent moment
when every thought dashes oblivious
perfect pinions carry me to the beckoning
eternity mouth
gaping toothless gasp border where a sleepy
daughter rests constant on the parallel of life's
steamy twain
cool dark void inviting summon. ever waiting heavy
cloak: wait a bit more.
i will arrive in your quiet raiment
some
morrow
May 29, 2010
May 29, 2010 at 1:03 PM UTC