Play Those Words

(Picture Credit - National Youth Orchestra by King's Place)

I wake early in the morning

And start to play with words

In my head

Again.

Can’t help myself:

It just happens.

Words are instruments in my orchestra.

Let composition commence!

Alliteration adds to my message

As assonance drops a sonic bong.

Let’s add an occasional rhyme

To help the verse along.

Music from the Muses

Makes me swoon,

Then I click my cursor

And sound-like words

On a mat appear.

Please don’t groan

Or even murmur.

I hear the sparrows

As they twitter and chirp,

While I just sit here

And belch and burp.

I must be addicted

To poetry.

But all I can say is,

That suits me.

Paul Butters

© PB 31\3\2019.

Me, The King

The World is ruled

By massive corporations

And nations.

By Trump, Putin and The Queen.

But I say again:

Only I have ownership of My Life.

For I am The King of My Mind

And, from my point of view,

When I die the Universe Ends.

It does not matter to me

That when I go,

Life goes on.

What use is that

If I’m not here

To see it?

Even now

What do I care

About what goes on

In Ivory Towers

And murky corridors of power?

Maybe it’s my Whisky

Or Autism

That informs me I am King.

And yes I’m being self-centred.

In my Matrix I’m “The One”.

But you’ll get no apology

From me.

Yes, I’ll be polite

And try (a bit) to comply

With rules of etiquette.

But don’t be fooled:

My self esteem keeps growing

As I shake off the shackles

Imposed by a society

That seeks to make most people

Little more than

Corporate slaves.

I may appear to be a “nice man”

But underneath that mask

Is a heart of steel.

For I am The King

Of My Life,
On Planet Paul.

Paul Butters

© PB 30\3\2019.

Death, Afterlife

Death, afterlife?

Sorry

But I think we are ****ed.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\3\2019.

Music

(Picture Credit - White Background)

You can’t beat that musical beat,

From tinkling triangles

To blaring horns.

A quick ditty

Or grand symphony.

Music can mould mountains,

Oceans and plains.

Make you feel any emotion

Or atmosphere.

When songs and poems marry,

Their offspring are awesome:

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”

Mercury magic.

Those rhythms run like chugging trains.

They fight pitch battles

Within our brains.

Drums keep beating,

Guitars whine.

Ever repeating

All through time.

Chuck Berry with his rock and roll,

Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.

Elvis truly was the King,

Want some crooning?

Play some Bing.

Beatles, Queen or Stones,

Who really cares?

Roll over Beethoven

Bach or Lennon

On your dancing squares.

I know that rap can give you the blues,

But there’s so much music

You’ve got plenty to choose.

Musical memories adorn our minds,

Warm associations

Of nostalgic times.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2019. Last stanza added 6\3\19.