"stoats" poems
i
zowie doodles
maisie may
mali the bad
lily lu lu
and tommy tune..
ii
i recall thursday
in cold blowy bushes
hopeless
and late victorian
chairs..
a rather shoddy future
which got worse
helpless
victorian morals
and worse
and what then
a succession of
error
a word a curse!
woe to us!
silver platters..
but upon
my hairy shoulder
youth laughed
but a aways
harsh
wastrels!
and you think
and you think
timeless ways
and suddenly
i was 30..
jesus..
an elephant in
glass
unemployable ant
boats and stoats
and factory
malaise..
wish..
work in progress..
the seconds digress
like love and stars
not even a war
go fish!
a dance with a
great magical
door
called wishes..
and then 40..!
son,beware the
cat lady
beware
the graceful
smiles..and
whipped 20
by
or be
since..
and strange things
like comets
come and go
by
which
if character been
fate
is
typical..
of me..
as forecast by
teachers and towns
but unknown
music
grin down..
and by golly
close shaves
around corners
stuff and poetry..
some round..
lithe plain
and of course
why
not made a million
yet
but all
is
still
a sweet card..
a great winding
returning
empty while
of some
shiny circle..
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:54 AM UTC
The shires bask serenely in the summer sun.
Streams flow smoothly down the green hillsides.
All is well with the world
As apple blossoms bloom.
Such peaceful scenes are soothing to the soul.
Spiritually uplifting: a sensual seduction
Of sight, sound and aromatic smells.
Snakes may hiss and stoats may snarl,
But nothing reduces this sense of peace and calm.
Assonance and sibilance flows as I scribe
My idle dreams upon this page.
It’s good to let your imagination loose
To planets out there amongst the stars
Or simply let it roam over the slumbering countryside.
Good to escape the struggles and strife
Of daily life.
Good to sleep easy
After meditating at our leisure
Refreshing ourselves with Mother Nature’s
Soothing Love.
Paul Butters
© PB 8\1\2022.
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 3:50 PM UTC
The Jack Attack was back
Even the girl seemed quite fat
Or was it a man or boy
That was the old woman's toy - toil
For it just so happened she was royalty
But her castle was teaming
With gigantic Ants - aunts
Though they might have uncles, or cockroaches
Because her extended family was quite big
Cousins and kids
Ran through the house like baby goats
Ferrets and rats and marmalade stoats
Drumming and strumming... and this poem... what a joke
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
When the day squares off neatly:
No flex in the coating.
No chips or cracks,
Nothing to catch in my breath;
Why do I find myself here,
Where a smile grates?
When I connect to the grid:
Fumble through smalltalk,
Have a pint or two,
And learn my place (in that order);
Why do I find myself here,
Where the panic waits?
When Spring cuts the chill:
A simmering sun inhales the frost.
Fog retreats to regroup
As stoats skitter across busy back-roads.
Why do I find myself here,
Where pressure propagates?
Maybe my perception is warped.
It's sometimes warmer here,
(where a smile grates).
It's sometimes safer here,
(where the panic waits).
It's sometimes easier here,
(where pressure propagates).
Maybe I'll stay a while.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
On the horizon, I want to see,
four elephants marching slowly to be
joined by two zebras in stripey white coats,three stoats with hair tinted,a polar bear minted and in a sign of the times,a cavalcade of ***** that walk in straight lines.
On the horizon, I want to see
the new moon arising and setting for me,
Jupiter calling,Mars at war falling in love with his Venus and Uranus can do as it pleases, while in the lap of Saturn I map out my eyes on
what I would like to see on the horizon.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 4:37 AM UTC