"theresa" poems
coffee.
we meet at starbucks and i can almost pretend nothing changed until i feel the distance in your voice.
i am calm and quiet. i did not expect this
yet here i am sitting in front of you as you explain how you feel (a rarity).
and you and i are alike in more ways than i realized before.
cantalope.
flying through the young night air
i feel alive and free and happy again.
i meet theresa j hanson. dancer, 19, long thin hair and long thin body.
she says she's heard a lot about me and i am surprised and i like her very much (or my first impression anyways) even though you told me that one time that you had *** with her and other girls would probably instinctively hate her. but i can't. she's just so nice and anyways that *** had nothing to do with me.
she gives us cantalope and me ice water.
cigar smoke.
we go out on the little apartament porch and you smoke the cheap cigar, the kind your grandfather smokes. get a red solo cup for the ashes and i found an old ***** butter knife out here. and we sit. and unexpectedly you say can we start over. and im shocked(you've suprisde me so much tonight) but so grateful and of course we can. you blow smoke rings and when you say whooo are youuu i cannot help but think of alice in wonderland and you are the smoking catepillar who asks life's hard questions and am i alice or the queen or the mad hatter or lewis carroll
coming back.
we reinact a a scene as if we just met and i kiss you as if it's the first time and that is how you will remember me and my lips are cold and your mouth is full of smoke and the kiss is fire and ice it's a wonder we did not steam. something so you'll remember me{i will never forget} and i guess we'll figure out on the way.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Twenty third June twenty sixteen
The biggest vote we’d ever seen
Results are in and Brexit win
and many say it’s such a sin
Those who voted not to leave
This news they just could not believe
Sore losers showed their bitter anguish
soon from Europe we would vanish
Let’s vote again remainers say
'No vote again' says Theresa May
Our country voted in or out
and voted out without a doubt
The apple cart tipped on its head
Britain in Europe would soon be dead
Now Brexit was born the following morn.
This beautiful kingdom from Europe be torn
Remainers are mad while leavers are glad
Great Britain is out there is no doubt
So shut up remainers, accept what is done
We voted together and Brexit won
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
*No, no, no, Dirtbreath. I say we call the big one an elephant,
and the small one a mouse*.
Eve
I'm sure red's a better color for me.
M. Monroe
She has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
Ulysses
*Now that Hawking's dead, I'm the smartest
guy on Earth.*
D. Trump
You're too Jung to understand the Superego.
S. Freud
No. You keep it. I have enough.
B. Graham
Are you sure that's the Delaware?
G. Washington
E=Mc Donalds.
A. Einstein
Go pound salt.
Gandhi
What day is it?
Roosevelt
That's one small.... oops!
N. Armstrong
I don't remember any of my dreams.
M.L. King, Jr.
Hey, John, I can see your house from up here.
Jesus
Beaches, fields, streets, hills. Did I leave anything out?
W. Churchill
Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I wrote 'em all.
R. Starr
It's just too big to wrap your brain around.
S. Hawking
Don't lose your head. This won't change a thing.
Robespierre
Before I was fined, I walked the line.
J. Cash
Could you lengthen the title and shorten the book?
Tolstoy's editor
What if we put the workers on conveyor belts?
H. Ford
I have a splitting headache... hmmm, interesting.
Oppenheimer
I've never liked orange juice.
N. Brown
Really? You want to blame me?
******
He stings like a butterfly.
S. Liston
#timesup #metoo
A. Boleyn
Mr. Watson. Come here. Spare me a dime?
Bell
Roebuck said he'd be back in ten minutes.
R.W. Sears
To be or to do be do be do.
Shakespeare/Sinatra
*When you call me Whitey, I get cotton pickin ****** off.*
E. Whitney
We're the team to beat!
Toronto Maple Leafs
Don't call me a Mother!
Mother Theresa
Is that a Cuban?
M. Lewinsky
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
Remoaners to the left, Brextremists to the right,
Theresa “Maggie” May has an uphill fight.
I can’t see her lasting many more days,
Unless she changes her stubborn ways.
Theresa is an immovable object.
Her hubby must be totally henpecked.
Trying to please just everyone,
Annoying all is what she’s done.
Right now she is UK Prime Minister,
But her own back benchers are getting sinister.
Some say she’s sold us down the river,
A thing for which they can’t forgive her.
Others claim she’s gone too far,
As we should stay just where we are.
Some see Europe as our friend,
But others say the UK we must defend.
Ireland is a sticking point
A thing that’s gonna rock the joint.
They don’t know where to put the border,
Without causing grief and disorder.
What an impasse, feels like stalemate,
Are we heading to be a slave state?
Who knows what’s going to happen next?
No wonder we are all perplexed.
Paul Butters
© PB 17\11\2018.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
A baby clutches his mother’s dress
Unaware of how it will save his life
Unwary of the saving grace that will come to rest
The child is soft and clean
His name is Eugenius, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a babe, no bigger than an infant can be
A toddler clutches his mother’s dress, the hem
Unaware of tragedy
Unwary of the Horror that awaits him
The child is frightened and shaking
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before Michal
He is just a little one, no taller than Mama’s knee
A child clutches his mother’s hand
Unaware from behind her skirt as they are herded
Unwary of the disaster to come from the cart
His name is Genie, the second of three
Before Mikey, after Richie
He is just a child, no higher than Tata’s knee
A boy holds his brother’s hand tight
Unaware of the danger he is in
Unwary that the coin from Mama’s skirts will save his life
The boy is healthy and strong, though not for long
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Michal, after Richard
He is naïve, but soon to grow up prematurely
A prisoner holds his own shirt, unsure
Unaware of the pain that is coming
Unwary that he shall walk away nevermore
The prisoner is hurting and ******
His name is “Gefangene,” the second of two
After Richard, before the crimson mess
He is crying for a ****** towel carried by
A handicap clutches Mama’s leg
Aware that he cannot cry as she shuffles him out
Wary that outside her skirts is the hunt
The handicap is hurting so badly
His name is Gene, the second of three
After Richard, before the new bump
He is unwilling to believe
A kaleka holds tight to his brother’s back
Aware that he is a burden
Wary that he is a load
The kaleka is waiting, waiting.
His name is Gene, second of three
After Richard, before Theresa
The kaleka is ready for release
The dziecko holds again to Mama’s skirt
Aware that he is now free to leave
Wary that he will never be independent
The dziecko is elated and mourning
His name is Gene, the second of three
Before Theresa, after Richard
The dziecko will never be the same
Sixty five years later
Gene holds Rosie’s hand tight
Aware that he is old now, having lived fully
Wary that death is imminent at last
The great-grandfather is peaceful and content
His name is Tata, Grandpa, Gene, husband, and more
He is the last one left of his war
The survivor is ready to reunite with his family
He gives thanks to Hattie’s skirts
That kept him alive though the hurts.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
When the funding is cut
So the hospitals shut
That’s a Tory
When the poverty bites
And you lose human rights
That’s a Tory
Such excess
Better reassess
Better repossess
Better get yourself private healthcare
Overtaxed if you work
Unemployed? Then you're scrounging on welfare
When there’s bigoted views
Blatant lies on the news
That’s a Tory
When the biggest and best
Are too rich to arrest
That’s a Tory
But they’re lax
Covering the cracks
Never paying tax
Claiming everything on expenses
They can steal with a smile
While they peddle their flimsy defences
When they're guilty of fraud
And they're banking abroad
That's a Tory
If they're selling your school
When 'austere' means 'cruel'
That's a Tory
Too much spin
Slogan and a grin
Wearing pretty thin
Bussing people in to applaud them
Any law can be bought
If you're well off enough to afford them
That's all folks and remember, you can't spell Theresa May without heresy
**
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
Oh Brexit!
Where is the Exit?
You can’t make your money
You Tory Grandees,
Nor can you
Remainer MPs.
We’re running right into a very hard cliff;
Before we get out we’ll all be so stiff.
There’s no majority for any option
And Theresa May’s deal is but a concoction.
Vote after vote and endless debate.
March twenty ninth is the Closing Date.
Can we escape?
I really don’t know.
The media are loving this pantomime show.
This sorry charade is filling the news,
We’re all sick of hearing everyone’s views.
Please get me out of here
I hear you say
Surely, surely there must be some way!
So come on politicians
Get your fingers out
And show these Europeans
We still have some clout.
If we can’t do that then just pack it in
And throw the whole thing right into the bin.
Whatever we do I’m just past caring
But I hope you’ll tell me thanks for sharing.
Get on with it!
That’s the yell.
For until we resolve this
We are in Hell.
Paul Butters
© 30\1\2019 (Written in the early hours!).
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
no more words
I quit
no longer saying
the right thing
the stranger who says
excuse me fix
my child
that’s it.
you do it you
solve their
problems.
file it all
lock it
up to be
checked out
by someone else’s
savior
because I’m
done with
being your
solve-the-trick
einstein florence
nightengale mother
theresa
failbot.
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
Collaboration
Bundles and fibers
Soul and science
Defiance
Da’ Vinci took my hands, Galileo my logic
Aristotle and Plato my mind
Gandhi and Theresa my heart
Others the ability to dream
The King Jr. compassion
Jews the capability to forgive
The oppressed the willingness to live
Darwin took my curiosity
Who handed it down to Einstein and Marie Curie
Others take some, many take none
But all the power of ambition
To strive to become
Human
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Nicola Sturgeon
Needs no urging.
Scottish trouble,
Let’s burst her bubble.
She wants to split the UK
And make it rubble.
Theresa May thinks she’s the dregs.
The papers? They only ask,
(Nicola and Theresa) -
Who’s got the better legs?
Paul Butters
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 2:17 PM UTC
i didn’t want their
endless white
with their
cold rooms,
and cold coats,
and cold pen-tips
i didn't want their
sunken IV bags that
resembled
Jesus Christ, or
Mother Theresa
i didn’t want the
pale noise
hammering about
inside my head...
i didn’t want it’s sterile
sadness
humming a lobotomy
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Fall into her hollow cheeks
what is left of her helpless hands
bleed her until there is nothing left to bleed
climb upon her neck until she cannot stand
Roll your tongue in and out of her mouth
Plant your lies securely in her mind
leave her without a doubt
until herself she cannot find
So you move away and tread on water
cannot mistake the ripples
like cracked egg shells you break them
so loudly they echo in your mind
these friends once dogs
scatter off to a better find
no more loyalty in the face of fresh meat
I don't blame the hounds the smell is too strong
and the ***** too good
My fault for trying to find solace with
guitar boys in bands
I will always be a once lost sister
they speak of nostalgically when they meet another sister
someone they used to know
I havent changed; they have this place has, it is no longer home.
It just smells like it.
find bullet wounds in my guts
I am spineless
I ride myself on cowardice and pride
I have blood alcohol of 0.5
Theres nothing left but
pride pride pride
Oh Theresa you carry your bible so well
your hands haven't aged in this golden state
the orpahn by your side could use a meal though
the smell of dead animals and garbage trucks and burning
nothing like smoke that has lodged its way into your throat
you cannot un-lodge the dark black sticky stuff
its poison
gun blasts
I thought I could face it
I am a child of nowhere
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 10:45 AM UTC
You’ve got some new ***** you think is better,
She’s a second rate version of me, doll.
She’s not your freedom, she’s your fetter
I’m the first edition, if you recall.
She’s Crystal Lite and I’m a rich liquor.
She’s Mother Theresa, I’m Mata Hari
I’m a solar flare and she’s a flicker,
She’s a walk in the woods, I’m a safari.
I’m fifty one flavors, she’s vanilla.
But that flavor is bound to sour.
If you’re not careful she’ll turn to Scylla,
her loving gaze turned to a glower.
She’s safe but I know you stud,
you can’t handle a moment of dull.
I’m in your thoughts, I’m in your blood
and you can’t get my words out of your skull.
She thinks she’s got your heart and that’s fine.
She can call you hers, but you’ll always be mine.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
Memories
Hazy as the clouds you don't reside under
My eyes thunder with the possibility of seeing you
And the mist is from the realization I never will
Black silhouetted are the dreams,
That scream at me through windows
Like widows
Begging for their lovers to come home...
All so beautiful...
Like petals on headstones
Or blood on snow...
Nightmares remind me
My life was never a show.
I remember triggers and barrels,
....
Screams and sparrows...
Blood spilled to keep blood concealed in the hearts I love
Are liters of my life well spent
The screams die down even in my own ears and silently I repent
The roses bloom,
In last winter's corpse.
Watch the strings on the loom,
They weave life's course.
Breathe in the same air ****** did,
Exhale the same breath Mother Theresa Had.
Accept the curse among the twigs,
For there are blessings to be had.
But never forget,
Any stone on that path.
Swallow regret,
We all wear a mask
Carpe Diem
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
For Theresa. Rest in peace.
Every star shines on you
Tonight.
Polaris, the North Star,
Will be your guide,
Reflecting your aura
In the smile
Of the Atlantic’s waves.
The silent forest
Looks to the skies
Where Ursa Major twinkles back
The light held in your eyes.
Sleeping bruins dream
About ice and glowing
Blues and greens
Dancing above;
The Northern Lights.
Every star will shine on you
Tonight.
The North Star, Polaris,
Will be your guide.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Do you know what I think of when I hear your name?
I think of someone cruel and ugly.
The type of person mean enough to kick puppies!
Honestly, the one person that even Mother Theresa would hate.
No one can fix you,
No one can put you back together.
You're just a broken little person.
Who will one day understand,
Understand the reasons for the hatred,
The reasons for the sadness!
One day you will see,
You will be no longer blind,
You will see why we hate you,
You will look into our eyes, and see the pain you caused.
Our fear is your fault.
Yours, and yours alone.
How could you not know,
What you've caused?
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
BRITAIN HAD BREXIT NOW
BRITAIN IS NOW HUNG
OH MY GOD THERESA MAY
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE
NOW AFTER BREXIT THERESA MAY YOU SHOULD
HAVE KNOWN HOW THE PEOPLE WOULD VOTE
NOW YOU ARE IN TROUBLE THERESA MAY
UP THE THEMS WITHOUT A BOAT
NOW YOU HAVE TO RUN GOVERNMENT
WITH POLITICIANS YOU DON'T LIKE
I REALLY NOW THINK THERESA MAY
YOU WILL BE ON YOUR BIKE
SO THE MORAL OF THE STORY
IS NEVER SIT BACK AND GLOAT
BECAUSE YOU NEVER EVER KNOW
HOW THE U.K. CITIZENS WILL VOTE
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC
Women are the vessels that hold life
for Nine 1/2 weeks like Kim Basinger
Call me Mickey.
Women adorned Da Vinci paintings with a half smile
martyrs in the flames of freedom
Call me Joan.
Women that nurture life
the greatest man to ever walk our path
call me Mary.
-and yet we’re reduced to calling them *****
because our male brains can’t reach to nothing more.
Women in revolutionary trenches
artist, poets, our strongholds, mend no fences
call me Frida.
Women our souls, our backbones
endless spinal chords that keep us up
call me Theresa.
-and yet ***** is the word that dominates our tongues
when we refer to them.
Women the leaders, the warriors
the fighters, the valor of the coward
call me Cleopatra.
Women the lovers, the pleasers
that feed us and keep us up on our feet
call me Anne Boleyn.
-and yet ***** infiltrated our vocabulary
like a terminal cancer, let’s get rid of it.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake
Filmmaker and artist
Mysterious fate
Harassed by the government
They so did believe
And those that follow
Scientology
Tylenol and Bourbon
Caused Theresa's o.d.
Then Jeremy walked
into the ocean or sea
Did they walk out
of a Hollywood contract
It's happened before
We know this as fact
The tragic dimensions
Of love and of loss
Was ever considered
The terrible cost
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
She is a husky
mocha-
A voice of caramel
froth;
A can of chocolate and
so polite.
Her eyes are
nutmeg
And the same color
as her
expression;
Iced and pretty and
so patient.
She sounds so enthralling
but looks can be
deceiving.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 4:37 PM UTC
The car was running smoothly.
Rattling
Underneath me
Were waves of jades and phosphorous
Blues tickling my imagination,
Urging me to forget the day spent toiling.
Pushing memories away from myself,
A mustard stained cloud
Shouted rays of white down through my windshield.
Fluttering eyelash wings shook
Hastily over blood-shot pupils hot from a knot
Deep in my stomach, my back, my thighs.
Below me, the bridge continued to rattle.
Off over and through the tunneled vision of commerce,
Questions arose in me that I could not answer.
Answers are remedies to an illness called "Why?"
Being free to live is a very hard thing to come by
Leaves only achieve freedom for a moment:
The stem thins
The stem breaks
The leaf drifts in
Angelic joy and indifference,
Plummeting towards a destination
They know not of or care.
Lo', the leaf, soon enough,
Reaches the place
They were always destined to be
I turn into the driveway
The lights are off inside
I sit in the car a moment
And push the memories farther way
To say to do or to lean on say
Is a very dangerous game to play
People expect what they pay for
And even after that
They will, the next time, be expecting more
Our flesh has been on this Earth a long time
Being our home, we are surrounded by our own kind
I play in the mazes of unbalanced theories of truth
Cheeks bleeding with mother Theresa searching for her tooth
And here, in the pit of all this time and space
My age tells me that living is not a race
The finish line is there and has been there
For every man and woman of every age
I swallow a bitter bite of the thin cold air
Reading through the mist:
Life is far harder when forced to care
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
The Laws of Physics say
That Everyone Dies
And is Gone:
Every blade of grass, insect, man and woman.
Every sentient being.
From Big Bang to Big Whatever.
They all Die.
Yet is there more than this?
Something of the spirit.
More than ghosts
And poltergeists.
An afterlife
In Heaven.
Another Realm.
Some say that when you die
You re-join The One Being,
Let’s call it “God”.
Your individuality may be gone,
But you become part of that Super-Consciousness,
The One,
And thus Remain.
The logic of this is frightening:
It means that I am part of God,
Just going through a phase
We call Life,
In readiness for
For Ever.
You too are part of God
And logic dictates
That I am my own Mum and Dad,
My sister, friends and everyone else:
Mother Theresa, ****** Shakespeare
And Eddie The Eagle.
I am a wasp, a lion, a dolphin, a tree
Maybe even a germ.
Another poet
Commenting on my poems.
I’m even You.
Better get on with it then.
I’ve got plenty to do!
Paul Butters
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
It's always the bat-shit, rabid dog
crazy ones that will put up a really
good front when you first meet them.
You're always amazed at how normal they appear.
They are intelligent, hold down jobs, drive Volvo's;
maybe they even have children that they
seem to take care of. They pay bills,
celebrate holidays and have houseplants.
They might even have a
dog or a cat, or a sickly looking bird in a cage.
But, just underneath the false facade of
lucid smiles, lurks a whack-job from hell.
They make Sybil and Lizzie Borden look
like Mother Theresa.
If you find yourself with one of these
women, don't confront them, it only
makes matters worse, and could prove deadly.
Just smile and nod, and slowly back out
the door. Don't stop until you see the
Pacific Ocean. Get in and wash yourself off.
Your safer with the sharks and the riptide.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 8:53 AM UTC