Hot Sun

We love our balmy summer days

But you can have too much of a good thing.

The sun can kill

But even in England

It can get oppressive.

Until a storm last night

It was relentlessly hot

Humid and stuffy

Under a sultry sun.

Hard to breathe and

So difficult to sleep.

Now it starts again

As the cloud burns back

So the sun shines bright once more.

They say it won’t last this time

As Atlantic Weather sweeps in from The West.

They’d better be right

For enough is enough.

Paul Butters

© PB 28\8\2019.

Moth

(Picture Credit - Alamy Stock Photos)

A massive moth outside in the night

Flings itself at

My bathroom window.

Another Icarus

Sorely tempted by the electric light within

My house.

A swooping vulture

It tries again and again,

Fracturing its fragile wings:

Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God

And feels a failure in life,

Totally frustrated

At not being able to reach its imperative goal.

Not knowing

That had it succeeded

It would now be

Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.

Mythical Media

 (Picture Credit - UST Global)

I walk to the pub or club,

Talk with folks,

Go play table tennis

Or shop.

But apart from all that chat,

Where do I get my “World View”?

How do I know what’s going on

Outside my little comfort zone?

I could even be another Jim Carrey

In some “Truman Show”,

Being filmed for some TV soap

That I’ve never seen

By Big Brother cameras everywhere;

Feeding off fake news

About the universe outside.

For everything we “know”

Comes from TV

And our mobiles

And PCs.

It could all be as false

As Trump says it is,

If he really exists!!!

Where is the Truth?

Will a No Deal Brexit be a catastrophe

Or a breeze in the park?

Are our “Enemies” really in the wrong?

Is the wider world anything like

It’s painted

On TV???

The con men, and women

Probably have us

In their pockets.

So all we can do

Is be as vigilant

As we can

And hope

That true Reality

Will be detected

At last.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\8\2019.

Unreal City

(Picture Credit - Chichester Rd, Cleethorpes from Geograph org uk)

Running the gauntlet down Midchester Road,

A veritable suburb of Gleethorpes City,

You pass a line of house-castles

Of the well to do.

But don’t be fooled

By what you see,

For I know someone

Who lives there.

And he will tell you,

Of bountiful gardens

Stripped bare

And concreted over

So that families can park their fleets

Of expensive cars.

See those conservatory extensions

And widened pavements.

A lady poses,

Doing her best

To emulate the Kardashians.

Money attracts

No end of thugs

And dodgy dealers:

Swarming parasitic wasps

Around the honey pot.

Nights of drunken revellers

From the local pub:

Swaying from trees

And kicking cans about.

Boy racers tearing down the road,

Music systems booming

With a mindless

Moronic drumming.

“Where has reality gone?” asks

My despairing friend.

They have their money

Their riches,

Expensive toys

But few of them are Happy.

What happened to “Goodness” and virtue

And dreams of Utopia?

Where are the heroes

Inventors and creators?

Instead we have a world of celebrity,

In which true talent – even genius

Is ignored and undervalued.

“Where are we going?” my friend exclaims.

Things get worse and worse,

The world all in reverse.

For it’s “Unreal City”,

Far from pretty.

So have a think,

Don’t let yourself sink

Even further into the mire.

Just get real,

You know the deal,

It’s you I’m trying to inspire.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\8\2019

(With help from a bloke who lives in such a place).