Linguistic Lusciousness

(Picture Credit - Elizabeth Smith on Pinterest)

I love linguistic lusciousness,

While lounging on my laptop here.

These words that flow and flush the forest floors:

Iambic tetrameters and pentameters,

Trochees and dactyls too.

Enough of that: founts of feeling

Count the most.

Imagination running wild;

Persistent perceptions that never pale.

Visions of the future,

Parodies of the past.

Just give me my laptop

And let my fingers dance.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\5\1952 (my birthday) in Yorkshire.

Rockin' 'n' Boppin'

(Picture Credit - "The Who" by Wiki)

It’s time for a rhyme

I hear you chime.

It’s time to hit the beat.

We’re ready to dance

Without a glance,

Pick up those Tyger feet.

Those drums do thump,

Dancers grind and bump,

The party’s in full sway.

Don’t feel like strolling,

Just want to be rollin’

In the scattered hay.

Them guitars are twanging

I’m really panging

To twirl you round and round.

Some like to fight;

I’d rather dance all night

To that raucous rebel sound.

Let’s go.

Paul Butters

Paradise Found

(Picture Credit - Orsi on Love Emotions, Facebook)

One day I found myself in Paradise,

Completely out the blue.

I don’t recall a warning:

From nothing I emerged.

Into a new dimensional realm

I sprang:

Into a world so lost in vastness

Of space and time.

Somewhere out there

In the outer reaches

Of an obscure universe.

A planet full of life,

Of sweeping oceans

And towering mounts.

A place so beautiful,

Beyond compare.

All peopled by

Multi-coloured multitudes

Of sentient beings.

To where had I escaped?

You may well ask.

The loveliest world of all,

Of course.

A heaven of the heavens:

Our planet Earth.

Paul Butters

© PB 9\5\2014 in Humberside, England.

My Meandering Mind

(Photo Credit - Galaxy Centre by Space dot com)


My mind meanders down those endless lanes

Then soars to realms beyond the stars.

Imagination knows no bounds

Amongst the multiverses that make up

Whatever might exist.

My God is mine, my very own.

My Love is my own too.

They’re just as boundless as my mind

Infinity too true.

A World obsessed with money and sex,

Celebrity and sin.

A race of social morons,

All best bunged in the bin.

So yes, my mind may wander

Along those countless tracts.

And I’ll continue dreaming

Regardless of the facts.

Paul Butters

Mountains

(Picture Credit - Ciro)


Cloud-hatted mountains loom over the cold lochs

As waterfalls drop

Into cool pools.

Cascading water shooshing and rushing,

Tumbling down

Through that craggy crevasse.

The smell of pine trees fills the air

Along with birdsong and the sound of sea-waves

As firs are thrashed by whipping winds.

Continents collided way back when

To make these mountains thrust high, into the sky.

They still hang over us,

Majestic monoliths of God,

While Men continue with their petty schemes.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\4\2014 in Humberside (First two lines written 20\3\14 along with “when continents collide”)

Mum

(Picture Credit - Our Family)

Dementia took Mum in her final year

So I never got to tell her how

I loved her so.

Or that I appreciated all she did for me

Without condition.

Dementia damn you!

For months Mum could not hear

Or understand

Most things we said to her.

We lost her way before the end.

Last time I saw her she was in a panic

Afraid she’d soil her pants

The care-home staff tied up with other things.

They always did their best.

I hope my actions were enough

To show my love for her.

May she rest in peace.

Paul Butters

Time

(Cone Nebula by Space dot com)

Oh Time you trouble me.

You’re always on the move,

So Death can come too soon.

 

Without you, though, we never

Would be here to live this life.

Yes, nothing can exist

Without your all-pervading presence.

They say your mother was

The Big Bang:

From nothing, a singularity,

You emerged.

 

So now you keep on going,

Remorselessly bringing

A seemingly endless cycle

Of Life and Death.

Can we travel through you?

Nobody knows.

Will you ever die?

Perhaps when the Universe has spread

Too thin.

One thing’s for sure.

Dear Time, we never can

Ignore you.

Paul Butters