Meh



 

(Picture Credit - Crayfish Wordpress Dot Com)

 

Meh is what I say

When I feel that way.

It’s all in the expression:

That’s the lesson.

I ain’t a troll

‘Cos I say lol.

Our language is growing,

Toing and froing,

Ask old Mister Owen

(Our English Master back in the day).

I play these words

Along the page,

Hoping for a Golden Age

Of growth.

Not revolution, just evolution;

Some may say pollution

Even ablution.

The constitution

Of Progress.

 

Paul Butters

Mist

(Picture Credit - Long Lee in Mist by Myself)

Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain

For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire.

Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled bosom,

As my soul soars into the seething skies.

 

My wings are beating with breathless wonder,

My imagination sends me to a destination

Beyond discrimination, defying appellation,

But not exclamation, at this elevation.

 

Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs

That overhang the huddled houses

Of the hillside village

On the way to who knows where.

 

The mists are shifting, ever drifting

Hiding everything

Except the mountain tops.

A new dimension might await us

Always moving as

Our journey never stops.

 

Paul Butters

Peace



 

(Picture Credit - Cambridge CCTV Org Website)

 

 

No more warring over God knows what.

No fretting over business matters.

Embrace the silence that precedes the dawn,

Or settles over a red-horizoned twilight.

 

Just chill on a slumbering beach licked

By a rippling ocean, as the sun sinks down.

Breathe deep and slowly and stay calm as you recline

On softening waves of slumbering sand.

 

Imbibe that smooth clear golden beer, its snowy head

Soothing your taste buds as it slithers down your throat.

Enjoy the glow of a chasing-whisky

As it spreads to parts that only it can reach.

 

Lay back and slumber down to dreaming

Peaceful scenes: remembering happy days

When all was well with the world in which you lived.

 

Sleep well, surrounded by peaceful people:

Miles of smiles from folk just loving life.

 

Paul Butters

Me

 

As far as I’m concerned I am The One.

Just like “The Matrix” I agree.

I hate to be so selfish saying this

But it’s the truth I have to say.

 

I never did find Love I must confess,

So egocentric I just have to be.

I love my parents and my sister too,

But in the end it’s me who faces all

That Life will throw my way.

 

And when I die, then you will too

As far as I’m concerned.

 

No suicide bombing for me my friend,

No martyrdom for me.

Survival Instinct is my god,

Self-preservation is my creed.

 

I offer no apology

Self-centred I may well just be.

The bigger picture holds no sway,

I’ll just keep living day by day.

 

Paul Butters

Get Your Finger Out

(Picture Credit - Burton Group com)

 

 

Get your finger out!

I hear you shout.

Give Life a clout.

 

But what’s it all about?

What does it mean?

Out of what?

A hole in a gun?

Or your bum?

 

How do you think I sit?

Is my finger covered

In something not too pleasant?

 

So you think I’m lazy!

You must be crazy.

I’ve worked off my socks

Yet I’m tied to the stocks.

 

We are ALL in this mess,

Yes it’s time to fess.

Too much wrong in this world:

Time our flag was unfurled.

 

To do nothing is bad,

From Rome to Riyadh.

Don’t want to feel sad:

We’d rather be glad

That we acted

Without being distracted.

 

So get that flipping finger out!

 

Paul Butters

How Dare You?



 

(Picture Credit - Angry Woman by Penny Maxwell)

 

How dare you treat me like this?

You must be taking the Mick.

Have you no respect to pay?

Will you just send me

On my way?

 

The problem’s Yours my friend.

With you I can’t contend.

You are just me, me, me.

You’ve left me totally free.

 

I’m better off alone,

With no-one in my zone.

 

You’re such a bigot and a snob

And nothing but a knob

Who fobs me off

With drivel

From your gob.

 

Your haughty arrogance makes me mad

As you are nothing but a cad.

Okay so you have all the power,

And over me you sure do tower.

But don’t be thinking that I’ll cower:

I glower waiting for my hour,

For my dog’s day

When You I shall devour!

 

Paul Butters

Alesha Dixon

(Picture Credit - Alesha BGT Judge by Tellymix co uk)

There’s nowt like some rapping

To get my feet tapping.

Alesha Dixon’s the vixen

That got me mixin’

Today.

Saw her on a recording

Doing rap for Piers Morgan.

That might be pararhyme –

At best -

But who gives a dime.

Just feel like rhyming

With impeccable timing.

Let’s shimmer and shammer

And give it some hammer.

Alesha’s sure got glitter

There’s no gal fitter

No wonder she is

All over Twitter.

She’s as smooth and silky

As a pint of bitter.

These rhymes

Like chimes

Make me feel so fine.

Well that’s me done now

I don’t quite know how

This mood came over me.

It is infectious

She leaves me breathless

But hey I’m out of time,

What a crime.

Paul Butters

Existence

(Picture Credit - Mongolia by Telegraph co uk)

Nothing is not black

It has no colour.

The blackness of space is black

But nothing is nothing.

No light or dark,

No taste or smell

Or touch.

Nothing cannot know it is nothing

No more than we can know

When we are gone.

Our transient existence is a blessing

Here on Earth, beneath the Sun.

Sunshine shining, blindingly bright

Upon the foliage

Of Paradise bathed in light.

Paul Butters

Quiet

(Picture Credit - Usain Bolt by Ronaldo 7 net)



 

Never be afraid to be quiet,

For you don’t have to be the loud Extrovert:

Putting on a life and soul of the party act,

While secretly sad inside.

Just be yourself.

Be cool and calm, and of course, collected

As they say.

Be happy with yourself,

At peace with all the world.

Esteem yourself and others will esteem you too.

Be cool,

For that is cool.

Just feel that tranquil lake,

Within your mind:

Rippling gently in the moonlight,

Stirred only by a sighing breeze.

Then bask in golden sunshine,

Reclining on the shimmering sand.

A thousand summers all in one.

Engage with people

And listen

To all they have to say.

Then when the time is right

Make known your point of view.

Until that time,

Stay quiet…

Paul Butters

© PB 2\9\2014 in Humberside.

Midsummer

(Picture Credit - Summer by UCLA Writers)

Summer sun surrounds us.

Those icy biting winds are long forgotten.

We’re smothered by sultry, moisture-laden air.

A cooling breeze

Cuts through the verdant smell of fresh-mown grass.

The kids are playing:

Shouting loud.

Flock birds twitter,

What a crowd!

Those early mists give way to sun,

And wispy high-clouds stain the blue.

A happy sky to oversee our fun,

With sun to highlight every hue.

The Summer Solstice has been and gone

And nights will soon be getting long.

But it’s still hot I hear you say,

Who cares if thunder’s on the way.

We pay for sun with thunderstorms:

In Britain the weather soon transforms.

Yet now it’s time to cease the day;

I’d better send you on your way.

Paul Butters

Love Poem

Love

(Picture Credit - John Lennon by Factmag com)

Postscript - The Word is the essence of poetry. John knew.

Paul Butters

Force

(Picture Credit - Mother Nature by Likethedew)

There is a Force throughout the Universe:

The Mother of Creation shows us so.

Those “Star Wars” writers were spot on:

Their “Force” reflects the truth, I know.

The Force has hidden depths beyond our dreams,

Full of Goodness and a Dark Side too.

Space and Time mean Nothing to this Force,

So we can’t track it to its Source.

All We can do is Hope and Pray

That we do Pass if there’s a Judgement Day.

Paul Butters

Communication

(Picture Credit - Ipad 3 Concept by Digitaltrends com)

For seventy or more years TV

And radio ruled the world,

Along with telephones.

But then computers made their mark,

Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,

Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?

In no particular order.

So herds of sheep migrated

Into Cyberspace

Even Myspace!

Then on to Planet Facebook

And Terratwitter.

We talk with people we’ve never met,

And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.

It keeps us occupied I guess,

And gives relief from stress.

These images that yet fresh images beget,

I’m sure Yeats would agree.

I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face

And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.

A world of wonders beckons in

The depths of Cyberspace,

And as a Nerd before they were invented,

I have to say I’ve truly found my place.

Paul Butters

Fiction Reality

(Picture Credit - Writing Articles by Dashinghub com)

Could it be that everything that is written creatively by anyone becomes a Reality somewhere out there in the fabric of Existence?

Think of it.

Every classic ever written is real in some dimension or other. Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, The Time Machine, Emma, Wuthering Heights… All played out somewhere in some universe.

Even Alice in Wonderland. Amazing but maybe true. A host of fiction realities.

Is our own Earth a fiction reality? Am I but a character in a story written by an author far far away?

Are all “Earthlings” fictional characters?

Maybe we will never know the answers to these questions.

Tantalising though they may be.

Yet maybe it’s more than this.

Perhaps what we write sometimes affects what happens in the reality that we believe we know.

Even what we think might have this effect. So beware negative thinking everyone. 

Think positive.

We will all live forever, with or without the resurrection.

There. 

Paul Butters

Ancestry

(Picture Credit - Apocalyptical by ezeedictionary com)

If Mankind perished:

Exterminated cataclysmically

Like the dragon dinosaurs,

How long would our cities stand?

How long before our cars rusted

And buildings toppled,

To leave the odd dam or pyramid

Poking through the tangled jungle mass?

A few hundred years they say.

Then nothing.

All gone.

Yet have such holocausts

Blighted Man before

Back through those swirling mists of time,

Thousands of years ago?



Great civilisations built by clever men and women,

Only to be dashed to the ground

By who knows what.

Atlantis and much more.

Advancement cruelly culled.

For Man,

Like the world,


Is much older than we thought

Or think.

Some say that aliens helped us build

Those ancient wonders.

Yet maybe we should cast away this

Self – effacing view:

Acknowledge that

We did it all

Ourselves.

Paul Butters

Just Me

(Picture Credit - Internet by OECD org)

What’s poetic about a foundry worker’s son,

Born and bred in Leeds, now idling my time away

In a rinky dink seaside town? What’s poetic

About sitting on my laptop reading Facebook

And pressing Like now and then? It’s got me typing

Like a modern poet, no rhyme or metre to be seen.

I’m going to (roughly) count the syllables then chop this

Into verses. Then post it on my favourite

Poetry sites, plus my blog.

Perhaps there’s poetry in me being a Working Class Boy made good.

In me being a Pro Careers Worker after failing

My Eleven Plus. Even got to Grammar School

For a couple of years. Taught English for six.

The Internet is my Salvation.

Television too.

Is that prosaic enough for you?

Damn that rhymed! Knowledge and images,

That yet beget… and much more too.

No need to be there in person.

Just enjoy.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\6\2014 (2) In Humberside.

Brazil 2014

(Picture Credit - Newsbuzzz)

France has a chance,

Brazil will thrill.

The World Cup is here.

Let’s crash out the beer.

Aguero is my hero,

Messie the ideal pressie.

England and Spain are out.

What is that all about?

Russia will always rush you,

Ghana are piranha.

Attacking football’s here to stay,

So make those forays pay.

Who will win The Cup?

We’re only warming up.

The knockout phase is on its way

And every dog must have its day.

Ronaldo, Saurez, Robben, Giroud… are the cream,

Helping their nation fulfil its dream.

All sorts of tactics on display,

But pace and skill is going to pay.

Brazil 2014 is the year.

It’ll be remembered, never fear.

Paul Butters

© PB 22\6\2014 in Humberside.