Flight of Fancy

Let your mind’s eye fly forward

Right out the window

Through that faint reflection

Of your lounge.

Let it fly

Over those regulated blocks

We call estates

The ant city landscape

Then over the plains

To the sea.

Head to the far horizon,

Over the curve

Of The Earth

And on

Into blackest space.

Out by Pluto

Through Orion’s Belt

And The Milky Way.

Beyond Andromeda

And countless galaxy clusters.

Then look back

Towards our tiny blue marble.

Look back

At everything we know.

See how trivial

We humans

Really are.

Our world,

A tiny speck

Upon the canvas

Of the cosmos.

One grain of sand

Upon an infinite beach.

Then fly back home

But still remember

That the Glory of Existence

Is Everywhere

To be enjoyed

And cherished

While ever we live.

Paul Butters

© PB 21\7\2020.

Batty

 (Picture Credit - Bracken Cave Bats by Nat Geo for Kids)

They say this Covid Plague came from bats.

I picture a great black cave

Filled with bats

Crammed into the crannies –

Locust swarm sardines,

Those Covid spike-balls

Rubbing their hands with glee.

So what happens when Lockdown Eases?

Swarms of sheeples

Dancing in the streets

Squeezing together

In a booze fuelled frenzy

Just like those bats.

Except the bats remain sober:

They only do what they do

Knowing no other.

But We have no excuse.

We have the intelligence

To see

That this is wrong.

Yet we choose NOT

To act smart.

No, we risk all –

Risk a lonely breathless death

And anonymous incineration

Away from our friends and kin

Just for a boozy lash

Out on the crowded town.  

Will We ever Learn?

I’m afraid

It might be a long time coming.

Paul Butters

© PB 5\7\2020.

Philistine Fred

You say that all poetry is gobbledygook:

That Art’s a waste of time

Elvis was just a Showman

And Freddie Mercury…

(Yes the same first name as you!)

…I’d better not say.

Where is your soul, Philistine Fred?

So many like you around.

Your mind cluttered with clinical facts,

Everything measured

And boxed –

Fastidious and precise.

Emotion killed

By setsquares

Set by Pythagoras

On a geometrical day.

You hate historical dramas

And all things learned.

Admitting any Education

Loses any street cred earned.

Stories are for dreamers

Yet you watch hours and hours

Of soaps.

You love supporting football teams

From places you’ve never been near.

But at least you like your pubs

For a lovely pint of beer.

I guess I’ll have to keep trying

To get through to you and your kind.

Yet I know some things ain’t possible

And you may never change your mind.

But yes I’ll keep on trying:

Keep banging out my poems –

Knowing that my pockets

Will never be lined with coins.

I know that you won’t read this,

But I will carry on.

For there are people out there

Who will listen to my song.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\7\2020.

(Partly Inspired by “How Do You Sleep” (1971) song by John Lennon.