Immerse yourself until wholly submerged
in my unholy divergence;
Poor form tormented soul - 
Roll your pain in a J
then dip it in chloroform
Embrace my urges to purge
the remnants of sanity,
Spilling and screaming
all these profanities at humanity

Confuddling all posers
with my bastardized prose ~
Please, continue badgering
and nagging me
with your ****-******* menagerie
of trivial drudgery
I’m in misery so
go ahead and bludgeon me
Square in the noggin’
So that I can jog it,
whilst juggling all these nails
from my coffin

I’m awfully harmful and cruel
got these scoffing jealous skeptics
Acting a fool,
coughing up a lung-full of fuel
for all of the putrid mind puke I spew
My mixing *** skull’s
where the ingredients accrue
Just stew with me for a little
while longer though won’t you

I’m a cancer-ridden addler
babbling mad adages,
ravishingly tenderizing my meat
Laced with some dust from space, yes, no lackage/absence of it lining
within my nasal passages see
spun off some of that absinthe
In a cloud of burning trees
Please tell me you feel me

It’s staggering how I’m both crazy batshit,
**** smooth as rotten laxative cheese
Brain’s melting acidic beef
I’m like Randy Savage I got
Bombastic fat ******* in heat
Straight making my **** go flaccid post-weep

Don’t get offended women
just imagine
How painfully average the package
is within my lap that I’m packin
But now it’s wrapped
and I’m ready to fucken
fully send it no cap
My turnaround is lightning fast
In and out of your *** quick as a wink like The Flash

Faces contort in ghastly panic, actually
Dastardly antics unleashed in vast swarms
Plague the masses in pandemic proportions with them massive casualties factually once more
Give ya some relaxing action 
And skull-**** y’all
with such a passion *******
Your corpse falls to the floor
and right through the trapdoor

Candid, my pen-chance enchants
Heavy-handedly inanimate
in suspended animation
Supplant reality augmentation
Machinations of my imagination;
Implicating **** ransacking  
and seafaring through crab infestations 
Wreaking havoc and bequeathing vengeance
I’m a fire breathing grim reaper reeking of ****** ~

- Off is the nearest direction in which to ****
Dissect my ******* with your tongue
Turnt up ******* plumpies in the rumpus 
Just for the fun of it until I erupt
Remember, I’m avid for dismembering appendages
I expect you’re exceptional at accepting
a barrage of septic bombardment
Chance of success: logistics analysis zero percentage
(Cos I done ******* on all those *******.)

Superbly superlative and speculative
So fast on Adderall
I make Mad Hatter’s head spin
Quicker than you can snap: 
Giving your family heart attacks
Smack you in the face, 
While fapping my fabulous lap rocket

Thunderously plundering under covers
Spring-loaded with faux pas’ so hot
Make your mother’s ***** pop out
and say “hello”
like a Jack-in-the-Box

& U kno Those foxy grandmas
be jaxing off my **** -
Bingo wings beckoning me to flock
Choppin’ up rocks round the clock
with the glock in my pocket til I rot 
Undoubtedly
Caught em wit the molly-whop eyeballs pop out they sockets all dramatically
Whole squad **** swap the rod, on God
Blow my whole *** when I start spitting them double entendre fatality snowballs
Zippity-zop like Cosby’s special BBQ sauce
Bet I’ll dip my puddin’ pop and stay fresh with the drip til I drop
Y’all just holler when you want me to stop

Palpable, these **** butts malleable as putty
Barbarically barrel rolling into dat ***
rip it to shreds like confetti
Power Pole extend
Face pressed into your *******
Inhaling the wafting aromatic stenches
of distant French fish factories

Clearly getting dome from your dearly betrothed violently
Now she bridal and my seeds spiraling virally
Vital signs finalizing
Bounce that *** like jello
Swell; I’m in your hair like gel
Now swallow my jollies and don’t bother
Unless you hollerin’ and giving me dollars
Zealots idol my harlotry

If nose goes go slow grow low
Throwing those yoloing hoes out windows
This ***** simply bonkers
I conquer fear me

***** DON’T HARSH MY MELLOW
SWEAR I’LL MARSH YOUR MALLOWS

My smooth vermin, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you infest,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the wicked rest.

Let me compare you to a contender?
You are more ugly and more disgusting.
Hot frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the shocking busting.

How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your intriguing infestations.
Thinking of your many legs fills my days.
My hate for you is the implications.

Now I must away with a loathsome heart,
Remember my fast words whilst we're apart.

Sun and traffic - day economy.
Six a.m. drive to plywood mill. Too tired
to be angry. Each day a step
toward death. What is being accomplished? The
small satisfactions
within each day. Book consciously read.
And frustrations. Package dropped, honey jar broke.

One of 175 soil types. With the fifty
tree species
comprising the canopy under which Eric and Lisa clean
      their baby's face.

Sun in winter, old apples.

Inside the school
a brilliant but rebellious history teacher
is suspended by the school board.
200 students
wearing armbands and painted teardrops
protest. Another 400
are silent.

Within each structure
human dramas and routines.
Nancy will not love
any man who cannot do as many push-ups as she.

Trees grow,
porcupine **** in snow.

No job,
no niche,
no existence.
How you earn money is who you are. You are
what you do to get food to eat
and shelter from the winter, summer heat.

Each morning I seek God
by holding still
waiting for the smoke to be black or white
coins heads or tails
wind dark or bright.

Flock of evening grosbeaks
nipping maple buds:
the sign I need.

                   --------------------------------------

Less need =
more wealth.
2/23/89. So much equipment just to sleep.
More than a bare floor.
Plumbing vs.
wash at stream, find a log in woods.
Implements of human existence
unlike the deer or bear who
nip buds, forage berries.
I cannot eat the gum out of balsam fir
or bark from a popple.

I am not Wendell Berry
with a wife, a farm, philosophy.
I like the accuracy
of counting pear thrips in maple buds.
8/bud = complete defoliation.
This insect has four wings fringed with hairs
and is minute, 2.5 millimeters.
Two species within the genus:
one with tubular abdominal segment,
the other with conical abdominal segment.
Sugar maple their preferred food.

All I need
are names.
Names and habitats.
Elements, products, decay fungi, egg masses.
Marriage, copulation, regeneration, education.
Machinery, accounting, hand tools, laboratory.
I need your names
and histories.
****** histories, books read, imaginings, unrequited loves,
      significant landscapes, broken bones, periods of boredom,
      favorite shows.

                   --------------------------------------

Immediately means
without mediation, intermediate moments
time in the middle.

Time in the middle
time in the middle.
I'm bummed I never saw a dinosaur, an ice age, a cave man,
      even missed the last world war.
Thanks to paleontology, geology, archaeology, history
mind equipped to take
time out of the middle.
It's in our DNA!

Why should she love me, her tenant?
Because I pay the rent on time.

                   --------------------------------------

Excellent. The white sun rose
and lit the frost.
Early February, late March, or in between.
Birds begin
discussing family. Sap starts to flow.
Where the borer spirals in, it comes out wet.
Birch or maple.

I watched from the window. Beautiful
but no desire to go out and touch
swelling buds of elderberry.
Is this shrub crazy? It knows what it knows
with elderberry knowledge.

Come Spring, so much to identify and name.
Insects, diseases and new flowers.
Lepidoptera, root rot, the pinks.
I think I might get married too
and watch the moons pass through the mists.

                   --------------------------------------

March rain.

Some snow remains
roads dangerous
but truck deliveries must be made.
                                                           ­ The light
pushing back the dark.
Bark
getting softer, slippery
at the cambium. Sap
simmering. Summer
and spring are here and there
although only winter birds are in the air.
Some buds
break swell
want
to turn inside out
but wait
knowing better.

I too will not break or run
early
hold hope bound by ropes of discipline, experience
time the magic moments to come
take the last sleet and pain
slap in the face
glad for predictable seasons.
                                                 We anticipate however
drought, maple defoliation, increased gypsy moth infestations
which some attribute to our existence.
That may be true.
Or it may be that the universe
has reversed its decision on us
and there's nothing we can do.
But we will do
what we can
and some things we shouldn't
because that is human.

Continuing
into the space inside me
unconnected to the light switch, plumbing
fairly independent of materials beyond
food and sound.
Where I pray
like an oak
that the light will enter me
unbroken, forever
and I will live the meanings in the wind.
                                                           ­          Basic
necessities, wood
wine
and friends. And
the names
of everything
by which we know our way.

When they came to my island, the
hero and his crew (more like
an invasive species
of uninvited animals)
The rot from their unwashed feet spilled everywhere--
infestations of foul--
They plucked grapes from my vines slowly, with pride,
as if they kept them themselves,
They came into my cave and stole sheep’s milk and cheese--
The blessed feta: vanished!!
And you wonder why I snacked on two--I had nothing else!
They disregarded emptied wine bottles in clusters in the sand,
Kept me awake in the evening with boisterous, hoglike squeals.
And when I let out a scream myself,
A cry to my native land, to my father,
I spotted my herds scurrying from the cave,
with little hands floating atop their fur,
Then came the electrifying pain
I see a staff, feel the hit, become
disabled.
They took everything and left me blinded
And he is still the hero?
He told me he was Nobody.

I. Summer pictures litter her walls
Glitter infestations
Second grade yearbook
And a signed portrait of that one indie celebrity.
What’s his name?
Jimi Hendrix?
Or Rob the Bone Crusher?
Was it that guy from New England?
With the Iced Tea, and the apartment?
You know that really, really big condo.

II. in 1995 you were all hot and heavy
******* and bumping in the clubs
Sinking your teeth into whatever
Or whoever you could find
Like ****** and some of that crystal ****
You said you liked the way it felt
When it ran down your veins

III. I remember the nights you cried
You said you’d feel this way forever
And I said well…probably.

IV. 7 AM, you’re still out clubbing.
Out on the streets like a little hoodlum
Looking for your fix in the alleys
Of a suburb of your suburb of Minneapolis.
Anything you can shoot, smoke, snort or swallow
You’re down.

Through the darkest seed
Through the light split by blood and greed
They desire that which is forbidden
Yet persevere disregarding being forgiven
It's in disgust as infestations reap its greatness
Holding broken memories we soak in weakness
It's in these crown of thorns we rest in what we believe
Yet voiced with transparent lungs we grieve
We try to fight the silence but no one is listening
Screaming our emotions translates to whispering
As we bury their hope in the ground gasping their final last breath
We except their fate
Their destiny
Their death.
Even after death we feel their words resonate
As they breach the great white gate.
They are never forgotten, they are always loved
Looking down on us from above

-Joseph B Schneider

London is an onion.
Not one of those big, brown juicy globes
you can buy in packs of three, from Tesco,
No, an earthy, shrivelled relic from an old geezer's allotment,
With trailing fronds and a few infestations.
If you were to take a bite, your eyes would smart and your body rebel with a cough, a shudder and a wheeze,
But moments later, a smile would be playing round your lips,
Such a sensory adventure, though not exactly pleasant, can still be savoured,
And you'll remember the taste forever.

Londoners are weevils, hiding in the layers.
Outer, inner, some of us worm our way between them all.
Me, I tend to head for the heart of the thing,
Soho, Southwark, the inner sanctums.
I sometimes venture nearer the surface, the outer edges,
But too close to the unknown, and unfamiliar air,
And I start to pine for the centre.
You can work between the layers,
But the many skins are tougher than you'd think,
Better to burrow down, find a place to sustain
The appetite of a hungry little grub.

The setting of traps
has always seemed
like a tacit endorsement
of the mice.

Acknowledgement.
Validation.
Admission of failings as a homeowner –
(cracked baseboards or an unsealed gap in the door.)

We are usually responsible
for our own infestations, after all.

The relationship with the mice is codified
“you are vermin,
I am not.
I will ****.
You will die.”

Thus the mice are transfigured,
Christ-like.
Frozen in fear,
frozen in time,
laid bare
on a sticky, chemical
altar of sacrifice.

Saviors
giving their lives
so that we may preserve
those unwanted crumbs
in the vacant space
between the couch and loveseat
where the vacuum won’t reach.

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A virus overwhelmed me
One as quite unique
Different from all others,
Failing to power leak.

Infestations come and go,
But this one wants to stay
No matter anyone’s acts,
It doesn’t go away.

I fought it strong and long
Foiling to my win
Maybe it’d be painless
If I would just give in.

A plague one of a kind
Haunting until so,
A copy is made and sent
Conjuring a friend from foe

Then they’ll live in harmony
The virus and ourselves.
And perhaps a later day,
To hear the wedding bells.

Privatised education
Who makes the value judgement
This is the curriculum
One way dictation
Guinea pig nation
Grammar schooled politicians
State school interventions
Exclusion barriers set
For achievement prevention
Protection of the upper class
Speak out and its detention
National competition
Increasing grade inflation
Professionals and academics
Know the agendas
Compromise your ethics
Its in your best interests
And join them in
Reinforcing the system
Double bind situation
So preach equality
But have ability grouping
That will diminish self-esteem
And confidence
De-motivate and you get drop-outs
Disaffected generations
Power dominance
Controlling
And hierachy infestations
Of contradictions
Maths Science and English
That's what they're wanting
Music Art and Drama
And it's not worth it
You won't get a proper job
Value diversity
So you test them all the same
Assignments and exams
Product vs process
Learn for the test
Not for the sake of knowledge

I maintain silence
I prefer better questions
I sleep I eat
I drink
I *** I ****
you do that too anyways
We could talk better
Some art curating
Or an evolving idea
I wish no wastage of words
no more energy waste
all that is done
All that has been done
Talk is for birth
for new borns
and for infestations

Sometime an umbrella’s just a rabbit
and sometimes horses are never to be rode upon.

Sometimes a mother’s tears are foolish
and sometimes sons don’t want to come home.

Sometimes pearly whites and smiles surround
and sometimes teeth detach and dagger backs.

But a dream is just that, “a dream is just that” –
but a wandering, but a dread, if only damnation;

and a “ta, tada, aha!” The wizard’s returned before
we realize we’re all magic, fooled and the foolish –

Incarnations, infestations, imaginations,
and messes come ends, damnations, the victims.

Heaping distress and all of our own accord,
your accord, our accord, notarized the

Nooses ‘round our necks.

Since ancient times crowds of men have asked:
What is the purpose of life?
Me included.
Since my later teens and into my sixties
I have wrestled with this question.

To me, it was never about wealth or status.
People waste their time
With such things.

So what should we do
That is Really Good?
WHAT is “Good”?

For me, Life as such is Good.
What use is the Universe,
With its sprawling galaxies
Of fire, rock, dust, water:
Incredible vistas
Shock awe
Eternally Infinite
What use without
A Witness?

We are that Witness,
But should we be much more?
And all I can think
Is to cherish all that lives,
As life itself
Is the most wondrous thing
Of all.

Our purpose then is to nurture
Life at it’s best:
To make it better and better:
Stronger and brighter
More intelligent
With more Love and compassion.

Some will say
Why ask?
Extraterrestrials may have
Another View.
We may be but bacterial infestations
To be cleansed away.

Yet other “Aliens” may well agree
With every word I type.
And like many of us humans
They may be warning
That we must take
Much better care
Of this Paradise
We call Earth.

I call myself a “Lifist”
A believer in
Christianity at it’s best
(But Not it’s worst),
And other Religions too…

So let’s take the best
Of these Beliefs,
Nurture Nature,
Love Life
And just
Get on with it.

Paul Butters

© PB 31\7\2019.

Grow,
Good morning, get up, get going, get out, get it?
Get giggity, giggly,
Great, get in, get quite, real g's move in silence, and gesticulations get goons gone,
Go ahead, go forth with great care, go far, go out, get lost, go back,
Grasp green garments,
Go on,

Respire,
Read rhetoric, read rhythm, read rhymes,
Read people,
Respond resplendently, require resolution,
Realize, rain rains, read rain rain gauge,
Risk rewards, run rapidly,  run rampantly, run triumphantly,
Rise up, rise on, ride horses, ride waves, ride on,
Red letter days,

Irked?
Inhale, intake, insure, inhibit,
Intuition informs insides,
Imitators idolize, I irk, irritate, insist Immaculate
Inspire innovation, incite celebration,
Inner id ingests infestations,
Ideal installed,

Move,
Make much of it, make mistakes, make mends, make merry, make cheer, make love, make peace,
Mind, mind manners, mind time, mind love, mind peace,
Move, move over, move up, move in, move out, move on,
More so, more smiles, more laughs, more life, more understanding, more peace, more love,
Marvelous magenta muse moves me,

Exhale,
Exhibit excellence, energize everyone,
Eat east, eat in, eat out, eat everywhere, with everyone,
Exhale, exit anger, exit stress, exit breath,
Enters euphoria, enters energy, with ease

Need,
Need no one, need nothing, only neo Nazis,
No, need necessities, need neurons, need Nutella, nourishment,
Now know knowledge, know profound power found in numbers, now know nothing

Restart
Reduce, reuse, recycle,
Reproduce,
Re-energize, refuel, revamp, repeat,

This summer, as ever, there's much to do.
But only one or two things I want to do.

I told Alan that, like him, I'm never bored.
But today, like a teenager, I'm both tired and bored.

The long expanse of summer stretches forward. Alan plans
the next 2 years in advance, always moving forward. I can't plan

the next 2 hours, sitting on my ****, undecided whether
to clean the house, make a list of prospective donors, or check the
      5-day weather

forecast. Fires out west, hurricanes south, drought here
in the east where the garden phlox withers and the corn's stunted. We
      hear

prophecies of armageddon, doom, but humans may go on another
      thousand, million or billion years
undaunted. What is that to you. A day alone in your room and a year

are inexplicable. Now and then a vacation, baseball game, night of
      love.
A divorce, a death, a drouth. To survive and prosper we must love

all of it, insect infestations and world wars, cloud curlicues and square
      dances, work
and weekends off. Knowing the unknowable = never knowing how the
      world works.

There are words I'd like to use. Sixty tracks of my mind follow through to, "Yes, those are the adjectives of choice, of reason," and the nine other tracks are riddled with stains of the catatonic ***** I've been purging for months now. They insist that no, no those are the words you are supposed to say, not the words that count.


Infested, drunk, disheveled and belief is too far gone.

Horrified imprisoned cultivated from mud and grease and whatever was unearthed from these curtained walls.



No, these have never been the proper words. But never have you had the proper focus, Hannah. Never before have these same eyes glistened toward the voices that sound so plainly like the one you wish could beckon you once more. Never before have you even possessed eyes that glistened. But we see them now, incandescent and descending.



My honesty has committed crimes against my body and my passions, but here is where my honesty has taken hold. In every honesty, as far back as honesty has existed, (let's say a couple of months, a couple of fortnights, a couple of howls of 'oh god is this morning no ******* it, the sky is still dark and this is not the bed I Belong in,') here is the blatant foolishness of it: Emotion has gone and all that is left are symptoms of emotion.


Symptoms. Knowing I will barely speak tomorrow if sleep doesn't come soon and standing in the dark with my back to the mattress, desperately clinging to words I can't bring myself to put anywhere. Words I would rather not see living forever in the context in which they appeared. There is no destruction, no violence, no pain or torture or infestations and certainly no belief, certainly no sobriety. This tongue cannot for the life of it, (a life it doesn't own,) recall the last time it tasted tears. It begs the question, "What defined my emotions before?"

It could have been the groggy, drowsy, half-hearted feelings of self loathing, or the chest convulsions of loneliness. It could have been this thing or that thing, but nothing that has ever been representative of my emotions is still around. Not one single frame. Not the smallest second, the tiniest glimmer, the ******* the ******* the *******.

Nothing.

It begs the question, "What could have done this to me?"

Never evident until investigated. Never obvious until I lay my left hand on the sheet by my face and trace the patterns of my veins with my vision. I no longer allow myself to be alone with my brain for longer than a moment.



My domain is cold and you are the one remaining prisoner, and please god evacuate now before your spell takes hold with that physical strength.

Who am I ******* kidding?

I've been under for years and this **** is deadly. True, tried, tired.



In the pacific northwest you left a shell. Filed, filled and defined, now. Something rose from the ashes of my imagination burning my Belong ings. Tangible things that force my brain to recall that morning our kitchen smelled of swedish pancakes and that evening the black and white movie sent us walking hand in hand, cold and blissfully content to be cold, debating and spouting trickery as we always did. Tangible things my fingers simply can't bear. That pair of mugs was ours not mine, our lips hugged their edges so many mornings afternoons evenings and now I've locked them away under 's' for 'Somewhere that isn't here'.



This man I'm singing to doesn't want to hear it but he knows it must be said. If it stays within me for one more hour, through one more mythical sideways glance at the man who wishes he could right-click-cut me away, my soul will have to be found, dug up and exhumed before I could ever explore it again. This man I'm singing to hates that I have to express what I must express but god ******* **** I must express it and he needs to know that my feet feel lined with concrete and my heart never left that golden ground. Cannot define beg, never will again.



She won't play games or play with struggle. God all she wants is those arms wrapped around her. She isn't cold. She isn't alone. She isn't common or messy or underground indefinitely. These arms are up and she is praying that what is in them is going to soar far enough to reach him on the other side. But she doesn't pray.



You have my devotion now you Must have my madness; do with it what you will but please god let me sacrifice it to you.

I thought of you today all day and yesterday every solid second of yesterday and if I prayed I would pray to wake up tomorrow having forgotten(maintained) your name, face, touch and that ******* radio voice.

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

Prayer against evil
Spirit of our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Most Holy Trinity, descend upon me. Please purify me, mold me, fill me with yourself, and use me. Banish all forces of evil from me; destroy them, vanquish them so that I can be healthy and do good deeds. Banish from me all curses , hexes, spells, witchcraft, black magic, demonic assignments, malefice and the evil eye; diabolic infestations, oppression, possessions; all that is evil and sinful; jealousy, treachery, envy; all physical, physiological, moral, spiritual and diabolic ailments; as well as all enticing spirits, deaf, dumb, blind, mute and sleeping spirits, new-age spirits, antichrists spirits, and any other spirits of death and darkness. I command and bid all powers who ****** me-by the power of God Almighty, in the name of Jesus Christ my Savior-to leave me forever, and to consigned into the everlasting lake of fire, that they may never again touch me or any other creature in the entire world. Amen.

I've returned to this place, but not how I had hoped
The walls peeling, ceilings drip, floorboards curved and sloped
Mildew spreads around corners and shadows swallow light
Thoughts creep in like whispers, forcing me to write
They're in my head again, the infestations swell
Clawing at my eyelids, the night escapes. Oh well
Perhaps I am the intruder
I left this place to rot
Yet, it's the one who evicted me
It is I who I forgot

I can do this
I think to myself

I can go through life without really living

This week I read the signs sent off by someone else
And opened her up to talk to me
She told me of
A house she'd thought was haunted by ghosts, but may just have been haunted by the child she never got to be
Of how she'd stay up through nights to put her siblings to bed, of the infestations of bugs that made her afraid to sleep, of the dark, huge basement filled with feral cats that her mom sent her down into all alone

I was there for her
I can do that
I can go through life as a listener, a sponge for other people's pain

It's a half-life but it's a half-life with a purpose
Even if I can't feel, can't breathe, choking,
death's girl walking
There will be meaning to it all that will force me to stand
To show up to my own life every day
Because you can't run away when other people need you to absolve their pain

I can do this
I tell myself

It's no way to live but at least
It's something to live for

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

Deep within the labyrinthine recesses of my mind
Lies my Id.
Or Subconscious
Or whatever you will.
So when I sleep and dream
My Id presents me with scenes
Full of seemingly incredible detail:
Countless objects set before me
In a wonderfully vivid landscape.

How on Earth does my Id store and display
All these amazing things?
Or is it conning me somehow?

For my Id loves to taunt and tease me.
With dreams of finding myself undressed
In public.
Stressful nightmares of being given impossible mental
And practical challenges to complete.
Of being lost and unable to find my way
Home.
Endless journeys by train and bus
Travelling the country in my quest
To get back in the *****
Of my loving family.
Bee swarms and nasty infestations of bugs.

The Forbidden Planet had its “Monsters of the Id”
And on rare occasions I have woken to continued dreams
Of snakes and people who shouldn’t be there.
And that Giant Eye!
God forbid my sleeping dreams should invade reality,
In the Twilight Zone.

But on the plus side, my dreams can be filled
With seemingly original music
And pleasantries I’d better leave
To your imagination.
Wink, wink.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\1\2024.

Whoever brought war to this world
Must have been an evil devil
See, fertile fields idle
Greenness they cradle
But inside them life crumbles
Lives many lives inside their bellies
They cruelly cuddles

What a human’s riddle
When masses in concentrated camps retires
As slowly they falls and expires
A heap of thin eaten bones
Humans as zombies-hell rotten clones
Just stashed skinny skeletons
Returns to humanitarians huts heartbroken
To wait to be just shrines
Of the fatal or battle famines

Fields sleeps still untilled
Occupied only by healthy bushes and shrubs
Humanity die unfilled
Fast of unsanitary outbreaks and scab-scrubs
Land lay undisturbed
Weeds wishing for someone them to pick
Humans perish perturbed
Of traumas, stigmas-too weak and so sick

Of hunger and starvation
Of thirst and malnutrition
Of deaths and devastations
Of infections and infestations
Of war-executions and explosions
Humans die of war-poverty and slavery-suppressions

Whoever brought war
To this well world’s wall
Must have been a devil for all
Can you look at them?
Once or if twice grace you've
Do you see little children?
If still they merit-forbidden!
Withered, shriveled like leaves in dry droughts
Just leanly stretched skins of skeletons  
It tries to cry, a hiss like a yawn comes out  

A malnourished mass-flame of fragile bones-
A stillborn foetus silently hibernating-mercifully striving living
Patched head becoming deserted and barren
Shrunken skull, inwardly bony discoloured eyes
Bony mandibles, jutting chops-sharp clavicles  
Increasingly round tummy above thinly matchsticks of legs

A child hanging on a shrunken shred
Of its slim dermis and her was tissues of coveted *******
And we say she is breastfeeding
Fingers bony like satan's claws, feeble and brittle
On her thin slowly leaving heaving chest
Enjoying mother's nourishing milk
An image, an illusion of her and it sufficiently suckling
Who brought war, war to this side of the world-Africa, Africa!?

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

Who is in charge of broadcasting who's in charge of the TV?
Is it an escaped mental patient or a convicted escapee?
Where sick of recycled programs where sick of reality
Your ripping of the public for your own personal payee
We're still paying for repeats these programs should be free
Why the **** are we still paying for the TV license fee?
Stop showing the same programs and hear the publics plea
It is just an insult to our arses sat on our settee
The people who are in charge their all just a wannabe
Commissioning old programs from all the left over debris
You may support your schedules I really don't agree
Cos all that we get are repeats from Dave to ITV

The stations are atrocious the programs are mundane
No more reality or repeats please would you refrain
Stop with all the same shows stop showing them again
A thousand times we've seen them its driving us insane
Consider scrapping most shows throw them down the drain
And spare the paying public from constant program strain
We don't want no more game shows I hope I'm being plain
Too much focussed on reality your making these the main
Stop conning all your viewers and causing so much pain
With in show competitions for your own financial gain
And ****** TV voting the contestants are too vain
All of the public phone calls are nothing but a stain

We don't want to turn to boredom with all of those Big Brothers
Not interested in One Born Every Minuet or expectant mothers
Kitchen Nightmares and Hell's Kitchen Gordon Ramsey's foul mouth smothers
The Great British Bake Off and Masterchef the same as all the others
Pawn Stars was misleading it had no *** or scrubbers
Don't want people on Love Island selecting different lovers

Who cares about the rounded lives of bearded Mountain Men?
No interest in crap inventions or rich Dragons in the Den
Wife Swap and ******* Pawn nothing to do with ***** hoes
Loose Women and 4 in a Bed I was expecting different shows?
The Wright Stuff with Mathew Wright well really its just wrong
The same as This Morning and Lorraine they've been on far too long
Apparently your a fat ******* if You Are What You Eat
If I want to see Nightmare Neighbours I'll look out on the street
Make your ******* mind up and Say Yes To The Dress
Stop buying so much food so you can Eat Well For Less
Hoarders houses are not wanted, don't show us the inside
Is it really such a secret if you Don't Tell The Bride?

How To Look Good Naked what kind of purv is Gok Wan?
Ogling middle aged naked ladies well. . . just because he can!
*** Pod may have been good but we never saw a thing
What's the point in a *** program without the ****** zing?
Lord Sugar fire's Apprentices he doesn't make much sense
When contestants are not hired yet there is no real suspense
People risking their own lives driving Ice Road Truckers
I've really got no sympathy for those stupid mother *******
Pierce Morgan talked Life Stories why is he such a *****?
Or is he just an arrogant ****** you can take your pick
The Crocodile Hunter Steve Erwin his fate was a stingray
If he'd been a bit more careful he'd still be here today
We where shown full frontal nakedness in Naked Attraction
It could have had more potential with it bit more interaction
The Only Way Is Essex well that simply is not true
If I don't want to go to Essex then what will they do?
There was never any Cash In The Attic if this was the case
There would be no need to sell their things in the first place
Who do You Think You Are I'm surprised there on this show
What kind of mindless people are they if they don't ******* know
I don't want crap singers on the X Factor or hear The Voice
Sod those ****** Pop Stars your not giving us much choice

If celebrities wanted to get out of the jungle then why even appear?
Is it because they are not main stream and its good for their career?
Its a boost for run down minor celebs, well what the heck
Instead of voting them off cant we vote off Ant and Dec?

Judge Judy and Judge Rinder are basically the same
Just a rehash of the Peoples Court isn't  that quite lame
Stop using the same format for shows that you can tame
I suppose that's all we'll ever get stop playing the same game

Top Gear and Fifth Gear are almost the Same Wheel
Say no to the House Doctor her designs are too unreal
get rid of The Hotel Inspector and Dickinson's Real Deal
We don't want Dancing On Ice there is no real appeal

Why Escape To The Country where they prisoners before?
The Kardashians and Osborne's we don't want them anymore
Strictly Come Dancing we're sick of that dance floor
Don't want to see Grand Designs there no good if your poor
Cant Pay Well Take It Away what are we paying for?
It's the same as paying the licence fee it's nothing to adore

Sixty Minuet Makeover it's enough to make you weep
Impossible to achieved do you think we're mindless sheep?
Homes Under The Hammer, it's not what I would keep
Antiques Trip and Road Show will send you right to sleep
A large percentage that are made are made on the cheep
But I've noticed that the licence fee is still so ******* steep

There are to many senseless channels with program limitations
What happened to the good shows the ones with good creations
Better programs years ago when we only had five stations
It's only my own opinion and own personal observations
Maybe it was a time when producers took their medications
When writers admired their work and had more dedications
More devotion for the programs, no love for abominations
So re-evaluate your programming and stop these infestations

The nectar of youth from which the hummingbirds fed
In the joyful sweetness of their morning flights
Now sullies and sours the afternoon hours
Through bitter infestations and corruptions

Its former clarity corrupted now
Trapped in a tube of stagnation and rot
And scavenged by a malevolent wasp
Her batlike wings pulsing malignantly

But there is always hope: new songs, new words
In the morning’s return of sweet hummingbirds

reoccurring nightmares jolt me awake
sleep deprived, I scroll through my phone seeking interpretations
this always leads me down a narrow spiral
a dearth of knowledge littered with lies

I fear most of all the devil, death and bugs
the devil because I’ve been told that I’m ******
death because it is coming to claim all the things I love
and bugs because I’ve lived through too many infestations

But last nights dream was different
I dreamed of beautiful bugs
a swarm at the peak of a mountain
moths swirling around the place that I might summit
a glowing moon, light blue and eerie
snow slowly melting
the air a tentative dusk

Fluttering at the center around the moon,
the red eyes on their wings flashed me a warning
I drew closer

so close I could hear a chitter
a shiver went down my spine

but I walked on
shielding myself through the swarm

a moth separated from the group
approaching me
I began to panic,
worried it would hurt me
fearing that its small yellow tongue might lick my feet
that I would taste the fur on its wings
that we might consume each other

I ran from the swarm down the mountain
down a dark path leading me back to reality
but when my eyes swiveled back open
and my face bathed in the blue light of my phone
I wished that I had stood my ground

what would have happened
if I greeted the moths,
continued to up the mountain,
and bathed in the light of the moon
joining the moths in a dance

It's not just your mind,
Or your heart,
Or even your soul
It's the physical manifestations
Aswell as the poetic infestations
The clicks of your fingers speak the language of arthritis.
Ancient creaks betweens whimpers of pain
The wrinkles on your face draw comparisons to the arid, desert
veins of your starving heart
The canyon and valleys of your teeth show open carcases of decaying gums.
Your smile is LOST. Not the average one you save for acquaintances and work, NO. The real deal, the one that crinkles at your eyes and runs deep in your veins
The kind that pulsates goodness into your lungs. That simple 21% of oxygen flooding kindness and then you breath out 16 % oxygenated, Passionate, UNBREAKABLE LOVE

Shades of bitter and brittle
Frozen through
In deepening shades of blue
Where away from the powder you see very little
Then at once the melting of frustration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The pale minty expanse
As blades are sprung
In what has begun
The rays and the petals slowly dance
Then comes the warming of inspiration
Getting ready for the allium invasion

The lavender and lilac beckons
As star stained skies spin
To the blossoming world we are in
Mornings first rays will reckon
Then the joyous of infestations
The dandelions are tourists watching the allium invasion

The cold flames shall fall
Upon once green lands
Soon to be choked by winter’s strong hands
Then we can fondly recall
How we long for the perennial celebration
Dreaming of the next allium invasion.