I'm a tool pondering skyscapes.
Fondling a memory
Left behind
On sunset marquees.
It raced into the horizon like
A toad on the road.
A neon dream waving farewell.

Exploring mindsets:
An act in caressing
Bloodbath tesseracts.
A roundhouse rollercoaster,
Spinning at velocity of perfume
Hitting nasal perforations.

Core memories surface along spine cutlets,
No longer intrinsic
Doubt.
I'm settling for more.
A bathed blue baby is a moment
Too long to endure.

Hindsight is
A parson's lake passage;
A mad monster yet to be tamed;
A grain of salt to a fresh wound made;
Moments of grace from a fake great ape.

Blue morons slide
Into Mormon jovial footsteps.
Derided ice forestry into
King's cloaked ancestry.
Which makes family the
Opposite of attraction.

And yet here I am
Talking to you,
Eyelight through obelisks
In hotbox barricades.
Hiding behind
A past of newspapers.
Headline reads 'ONLY DEVINE'
'TRADE REIGN WARNS JEWELS'
'PRINCE THREATENS ECONOMY
... AND CROWN.'

Wipe the frown,
Draw the sword.
Don't be ignored anymore.

A silence of mind
and vinegar wine,
the shopping precinct
a disembowelled mine.

Bombs stain the mountains
to build a hotel,
for tourists to buy
a wish from the well.

A wish for comfort
and one for new love,
in marital bliss
and skyscapes above.

Escape from their God
of tablets and time,
of substitute taste
for tonic and lime.

Escape from their want
of waistlines and faith,
relief from the haunt
of some childhood wraith.

Travel sets its price
to find your own face,
to find there's no cost,
in finding your place.

I wish I could fling the door open
so you'll see the window
I told you about.

We could watch the street posts and tree sparrows on cable wires extending to the horizon of watercolor skyscapes
from there.

But I'm concerned of what
you would think when you'll
also see the vase and
a dead tuscan sunflower
I've plucked sometime
in a long-ago summer.
Don't worry I am not a creep.
I can even make you
some paper orchids
if you like.
I might put one on your ear
if it's fine. Just
give me some time.

Don't mind those
tattered jeans and floral socks
stenched of petrichor
and scattered like autumn leaves
all over the floor.
That's how I've been. Just
give me some time
to clean.

But then that is why
I'm all afraid
you might dislike me
for I've built up lies
and messy secrets
to hide a past
and all.
There wasn't even
a single window
on that wall.

You might not understand
I'm like a lichen-blotched tree
inside a lake of jade.
More like a
dead tuscan sunflower
inside a vase. If so
you don't have to
stay longer in my shades.
But don't just leave me
like a summer
in a while.

You might not understand
why I live
in a house of no windows.
But maybe you won't open the door.

To love,
      surety sure as the sky is blue
blue as any and all warmth
           of colored skin
true as truth on the lips
             of statues
of red lipstick on a rough chin
                  strong
as stronger hangs from steel
          taller skyscapes
and mountain limbs
            deep
deeper than a long call of
            an eagle soaring down
to her mate falling, falling
                  around down
down to almost crash
          but see
the seas as the blue rush crash
               on white sands beauty of
naked skin
                and hues of
sunlit scenes
                      in your bronze
brown skin your eyes,
    To love: In more brevity...
is all there is!

I am what I am and I am ugly
But that is ok
My life is meant for something other than to be looked at
And craved after by many
Although this too is noble in itself.
No, I am different, am other,
too loud and proud and caring.
I am meant for different things where
I sketch skyscapes with my words
And turn minds with my musings
And I don't need appreciation for the body that does it.
I have lumps and marks and redness
But my arms are strong for lifting
And my brain quick to change the things that I see fitting.
So, do not cry that you are ugly,
Be happy that you are, for you are made for different things
And different people too.

As I walk out of my door
A clichéd cacophony of birdsong
Surrounds me with beauty
And uplifts my soul.

Yet we humans too love to sing
And play those instruments:
Creating lullabies, arias, symphonies,
Serenades and rock and roll shows.
To name but a few.

Angelic choirs in lofty minsters,
Lifting us up to the stars,
Embracing God in Heaven.
Heavy metal bands
Thrashing out thunder
In stadia seething with singing fans.
Brass bands too: trumpeting and rumpeting
In a crescendo of sound.

Hear those trembling triangles and sublime wind chimes.
Feel those bouncing drums.
Twanging, sweeping, swooning
Plucking, soaring, crying
Guitar.
Tinkling pianos and weeping violins.
Whole orchestras of mind-blowing sound,
Welsh rugby crowds
And the Liverpool Kop.

Magical music:
From spiritually haunting
To simply getting laid.
Bringing out the animal in us:
Passion and desire
Raw emotion
Or else the supernatural
Ethereal skyscapes
Sometimes sheer dread
And horror.

Watch any good film:
The musical score is everything:
“Star Wars”, “Gone with the Wind”, “******”
“Battlestar Gallactica”, “Ben Hur”…
Beethoven, Mozart, The Beatles
The Stones, Queen, Genesis…
So much to love
Chuck Berry and Elvis
Rocking and rolling and reeling
And stealing our minds away.

So let’s get singing
And dancing
And banging those drums,
Flexing our plectrums
To make one helluva
Noise.
Let that magical music play
For Ever.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\4\2020.

MAJESTIC SKYSCAPE

If you lie on your back and look up at the sky you will see a huge vista of sky before you. Swirling, majestic skyscapes always changing, never the same twice.
So much water vapour is up there in the huge grey clouds, soon all that rain will be released to drench the land.
Now the sun shines down from a burning blue sky drying out the earth.
As night comes the sun sets lower and darkness starts to creep over the sky.
Every day shows the heavens in different moods and colours like so many different people.

Imagery swirls around my mind
Of beautiful stormy skyscapes
Hiding out under covers from the torrent
The glow of young love burning in your
Oceans of graces
Laughter sings in the air thick
With hope and where-have-you-been-all-my-life
Everything in my heart screams
How perfect it all
Would
Be

give thanks to God
who made the clouds
and the skyscapes selah

and all of creation

who made the pray mantis
on the dandelion stem
and the  skyscraper of men

the  great whales of the deep
and the box jelly fish inshore
If all the books were writ about him
there would not be enough to fill the world