"pauls" poems
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,
Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.
I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,
The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.
It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,
That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,
The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in red & blue & green
Grey headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow
Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow
O what a multitude they seemed these flowers of London town
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own
The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs
Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among
Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door
1.7k
Simon “Hurricane” Hudson prowls the snooker table
Like any good mixed metaphor would.
A modern day Pythagoras
He triangulates his shots.
Meanwhile his rival, lion-heart "Rocket" Richard,
Not to be confused with Lionel Richie,
Is on his mobile Googling
How to play the perfect “snooker”.
And the two Perfect Pauls
Discuss the latest football,
While “Whirlwind” Wendy sits in judgement,
Knitting the night away.
At long last Simon plays a stroke!!!
And rattles those unrelenting jaws
Of that elusive pocket yet again.
The game rolls on.
But where the hell is Simon?
The clock on the electricity is running down
But where is Simon?
Where is he?
He’s at the bar
Telling barman Nick how Rochdale
Will win The Cup one day.
Hurray, he’s back to play again.
Cascading planets collide into new orbits
As they did in the Primeval Solar System.
We play on,
Safely keeping those precious *****
Away from those black holes
They call the “pockets”.
We try to pick our shots
(At those pockets lol)
But all we keep potting
Is that white one.
Maybe we should switch to Billiards,
Or *** some plants instead.
Paul Butters
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
She's a rainbow
-- that rainbow in every
rock song about nothing,
a hidden hook that snares
a sucker's wallet
I'm so hot for her, I'm so hot for her
She
is the philosopher's stone transmuting
garbage lines into shiny trinkets
in desirous minds
*When you're old, nobody will know
that you was a beauty*
What would pop culture be
without woman to exploit?
*She's a gooooooood girl
crazy 'bout Elvis*
Obscured, behind
the Micks and Pettys
the Kellys and Ushers
the Pauls wailing MAMAAAAA
the free spirit groupie cliché
is Woman fictionalized
by peacocking pimps
deceptive plumage splayed
is Woman
sung about
talked at
reduced to an abstraction
dispensed with
forgotten
and sold
and the men
get rich.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
The stream of Sunday people
used to separate down High Street,
led by family threads, some to
Bethesda others to St. Pauls.
Some time later they joined a stream again,
swirling, rippling with the gossip of the day.
Their duty done singing hymns, dropping pennies,
offering prayers and sitting through sermons. Amen.
Prominent St. Pauls praised by Pevsner
as Runcorn's most distinctive building,
but Bethesda, older, iron railed,
both cures for souls till their people left.
Now St. Pauls cures patients' bodies,
while Bethesda harbours buses.
Weekday people steam and gossip,
potions purchased, journeys joined.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
You're soaking and you're strung out
but your sleeping bag's been wrung out and
it's wrapped up in a damp rag that you carry in your rucksack
you turn your back on Strutton Ground and you strut off into London' town
like some mad demented peacock, but you're off to rock the Casbah with your crazy words or wisdom which you gleaned from empty matchboxes so very long ago.
The coffee opens early for the bird that scratches daily for a meagre bit of warmth to feed the soul.
and by St Pauls, the ***** of grasping pawnbrokers are gleaming in the frosty air
'pop the weasel ' goes in there quite frequently
you see the emptiness of picture frames in streets you recognise, no names,
because no one would remember them among the worn out suited gentlemen that you became but then it doesn't really matter anymore.
the evening strolls in awkwardly,
but maybe that's just how I see it and
it could be elegantly
I don't know.
and we're back to Strutton Ground not far from Scotland Yard
the new one, the old one's not too far from here and near Trafalgar Square, but you got moved along from there too many times, too many moons and wines ago.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 4:04 AM UTC
To St. Pauls
deranged wrong-
sided traffic
Tiny frail hand
slipped into mine
doe-eyed fear
and trust
Lightning charge
of chaste ******
responsibility
Whispers round the dome
like sacramental marriage
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 4:05 AM UTC
Wrinkles spread,
On the mona lisa's face,
St. Pauls will crack,
And fade away,
Smoke will rise,
As towers fall,
And what we learn,
As we watch it all,
Is that even an angel's grace,
Is not safe in such a place.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
This one has high yellow arches, white columns,
ornate gold fixtures and massive paintings of
Olympus; featuring nymphs, gods, goddesses,
animals wild and docile, mermaids and angels.
A huge chandelier sending colourful stars all around
as we follow Paul to one of the great dessert tables,
rich with various cultures, sweetness and spices.
"It doesn't feel right to eat without our guests of
honour..." Sue says.
"I'm inclined to agree with Sue." Yidna says.
"A few small snacks won't hurt," I chuckle. "It's not
the main course meal. It's just something to bide
the time."
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Agreed." Kim picks up a small porcelain plate and
fork and we all being to fill our plates with
small sweet desserts; Sue takes a chocolate
mousse, Yidna a slice of berry cheessecake,
with me and Kim taking some baklava
with a side of whip cream. They went to sit
down as I browse around the drinks area.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
It is then I noticed King Brandon
with his notebook and pen walking towards me.
"Queen Lyn," he smiles.
"King Brandon," I chuckle. "It is good to see you!
I see you were so focused on Pauls paintings."
"How can I not be? I've always loved the
representation of Greek gods and myths.
It's always fascinating to see how artists see
them. How we all see one entity, one embodiment
differently through words, painting, chalk or pencils."
"We are all Pygmalions in our own right,
as you would say," I smile.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
*Summon the Strategic Air Command
The world could use more rock bands
Load the B-52's with Ludwig drum sets
and Marshall stacks , tie a twelve string
around the paratroopers backs
Saturate the zone with music books , score pads
and stands
Run missions non-stop , send commandos behind
operational lines bearing SG's and Les Pauls
Microphone stands and PA's , Roland keyboards
on every corner , continue dropping supplies till the world comes
to order* ..
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
the time has passed
but vivid you stand here
three years gone
teeth eroded, some lost
in the alleys of los angeles
grandma said you called
from the hospital on mothers day
drunken mumbles about another guy
breaking your arm
you still don’t know I’m moving away
in august
i remember being introduced
to everyone as your daughter
you had lost rachael
and i needed a mother
you hid beer cans
in brown paper bags
the ones you used to pack my lunches
but it was better than mom, i knew
so i stopped counting on my fingers
the days left for her to come home
in your white mustang you waited
outside st. pauls for the bell to ring
out from under stained glass i ran
holding tight to those books of hope
and then you were gone
for years now my hands have held nothing
but paper heavy with question
but i’m leaving in august
and he just broke your arm
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
In July 2023 I posted a poem entitled For Hours of Time.
Little did I know at the time that it would be taken by a composer and turned into a piece of music (with my permission!) this year.
The composition is for a solo violin and choir.
Below is a link to the video:
https://youtu.be/mpGcrWHwb7g?si=5loGIGzfUcGVN7VN
I hope you enjoy Sy Anderson and Pagan Pauls collaboration.
I'm really proud of it!
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 5:39 AM UTC