Timeless World

(Picture Credit - Unsplash com)

On the eve of twenty-twenty-two

We are ready to celebrate

Another New Year.

 

But throughout The Milky Way,

Eighty five percent of stars are red dwarves

Which nestle worlds that are tidally locked.

 

Such planets have no days or seasons

Nothing to show the passage of Time.

Half of each world faces its sun,

And the other half remains in eternal night.

For anyone on the ground

The sun never moves across the sky.

It stays perfectly still.

Always midday, twilight or whatever.

 

Here there is no New Year.

Or Christmas

Or Winter or Summer Solstice

Or Seasons.

Not even a single Day.

Imagine living like that.

 

Time happens

But the measurement of Time

Is manufactured

By Mankind.

Let’s not forget that

As we celebrate

And as we navigate

Our Days throughout The Year.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 31\12\2021.

 

Many An Earth

 (Picture Credit A2UA com)

Some insist they do not want to read about Space,

One of my favourite things.

They would rather I spoke

About what’s going down on Terra firma.

 

But to them I say

That there are billions of galaxies,

Stars and planets out there.

So the odds are that

There are countless worlds just like Earth.

 

Right now,

On such an “Earth”

There may well be

People just like us.

They might look different

But still be sentient beings

Eating and drinking

Even going to the pub,

Watching soaps and sport on their version of TV

Squabbling over who will tidy up today...

Or debating issues on Social Media.

 

They might be worried about global warming,

Or suffering some Pandemic,

Even waging interminable wars,

Just like us.

 

For, when all is said and done,

Our very own Earth is just like the rest:

A little blue world

Lost in the blackness of Space.

 

Indeed, we too are out “In Deep Space”

Every bit as much

As all those other Earths.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 26\12\2021.

Peaceful Christmas

 (Picture Credit - Good Housekeeping)

For single, retired folk like me

Christmas and Bank Holidays are a bind.

Everything is closed,

No buses running,

Friends, like me, are staying home.

 

No pub for me today.

No squeezing through hordes

Of once a year drinkers

To get to the bar.

I’d rather enjoy my armchair

At home.

 

But the peace is pleasant,

A nice winter break.

Right now it’s all about

That baby in a manger

Being visited by three wise men.

 

I have a Christmas Dinner

Ready to microwave

And stocks of beer, whisky

Plus crisps

To keep me going.

 

Plenty of time to reflect

On another year gone

As seventy looms large for me.

Another year of Coronavirus Variants

As we work our way through

The Greek Alphabet.

 

Another year of stops and starts

Having to adapt

To whatever monster rears

Its ugly head.

 

I’ve kept playing table tennis

When the hall’s open

And walked to pub or café

When they’re not closed.

Doing well for a veteran

Can’t complain.

 

It’s peaceful at Christmas

That’s my refrain.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 25\12\2021.

Dithering

 

 (Picture Credit - Liane Davey)

Whenever people criticise me

They usually don’t know that

I am my Biggest Critic,

Beating myself up

Like Tyson Fury.

 

It’s how I spur myself on,

Hopefully to better things.

But what things?

I still don’t know.

 

Oh to have blind faith

And sense of Vocation

As many others do.

A solid set of Values.

A script to follow

Opinions to declare.

 

Instead I dither

Undecided

Lost in an ocean of ifs and buts.

Too bright and open-minded

For my own good.

 

Worse still, I’m oh so eager to please.

I think myself incorruptibly honest,

Yet the truth is,

I only tell people what I think

They want to know.

It’s how I was brought up.

 

But then again

Am I willing to fight

For what I stand for?

Should I really be Devil’s Advocate

Just to “stick up” for my views?

 

Better methinks to hold my counsel

Or be diplomatic

Which may be okay

So long as I actually decide

What I think and feel

Within myself.

 

And there’s the rub.

What do I stand for?

Do I really think for myself?

Like so many others,

Am I dragged along:

Brainwashed by Media hoo ha

And hype?

Superficial sound bytes

And rallying calls.

 

I need to search my soul

And find my true feelings

And beliefs.

I know that I Love Life

In most of its forms.

I’m all for Wellbeing

And The Common Good.

 

I need to focus

On these things:

On making the most of

This Paradise World

We seem bent on ruining.

 

In short

I must stoke those fires of Love

And enlighten others

To do the same.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 13\12\2021.

Explosion

 

(Picture Credit - Cone Nebula by Space dot com)

Our so-called “Universe” is an erupting volcano

Spewing out gas and solid matter

To form a cosmic web

Of incandescent galaxies full of stars

Rushing away from us

Ever faster

Until we see them no more.

 

We tiny mice men gaze up at the sky

To make out next to nothing

Of the wider landscape

On which our universe-volcano

Sends out its plumes.

 

Us mice we sit, idly supping our pints of ale:

Taking a break from “shopping”

For the better half.

Blithely taking for granted

The wonder that lies above our heads.

 

A cosmos riddled with black holes –

Places where Time has stopped.

Where if you somehow survived

You would be frozen solid

With no knowledge that Time keeps moving

Out there beyond the Event Horizon.

 

If Time has stopped

How can anything exist?

How can Hawking Radiation seep out

When there simply isn’t time?

 

Even Brian Cox doesn’t know,

As he sits and sups his pint.

None of us know.

And as my glass empties,

Just as the universe will eventually empty,

All I can say is

Let’s have another one.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 7\12\2021.