All Relative

(Picture Credit - NASA)

Without Nothing there cannot be Something.

Non-Existence precedes Existence.

No Dark means no Light.

No cold no hot, no soft no hard, no death no life.

Up and down, left and right, East and West.

Calm then storm, stillness then action,

Heavy and light.

Chaos and Order.

The finite and the infinite.

All compare.

All are Relative.

Without Something there is no Nothing.

Without Light no Dark.

No Knowledge no Mystery.

No Mystery no Knowledge.

All Relative.

 

Paul Butters

Some of my Favourite Poems by Other Poets

(Picture Credit - John Keats by PoetryFoundation Org) To Autumn by John Keats
1. SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ...And from "I Stood tip-toe upon a little hill" "Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.     Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet’s rushy banks, And watch intently Nature’s gentle doings: They will be found softer than ring-dove’s cooings. How silent comes the water round that bend;          Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o’erhanging sallows: blades of grass Slowly across the chequer’d shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach          A natural sermon o’er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Staying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Temper’d with coolness. How they ever wrestle          With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand. If you but scantily hold out the hand, That very instant not one will remain; But turn your eye, and they are there again.          The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses, And cool themselves among the em’rald tresses" GM Hopkins -   NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief         Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing— Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked ‘No ling- ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief’.     O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap   May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. Byzantium By William Butler Yeats 1865–1939 The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong; A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities, The fury and the mire of human veins. Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade; For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death. Miracle, bird or golden handiwork, More miracle than bird or handiwork, Planted on the starlit golden bough, Can like the cocks of Hades crow, Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud In glory of changeless metal Common bird or petal And all complexities of mire or blood. At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve. Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood, Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood, The golden smithies of the Emperor! Marbles of the dancing floor Break bitter furies of complexity, Those images that yet Fresh images beget, That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

Rap Attack

 

(Picture Credit - Nobody Home by Aworldonfire) 

Let’s make a point

And rock this joint.

What with Putin and ISIS,

We’re all in crisis.

I sound like Ali,

From here to Bali.

Let’s give Peace a chance,

Our world to enhance.

What happened to Love?

Where’s God up above?

Don’t need globalisation,

Just one Human Nation.

 

Time for a stanza:

Let’s have a bonanza.

But seriously folks,

This is no time for jokes.

We must have compassion,

It isn’t on ration.

So please hear my call

And Love one and all.

 

Paul Butters

Today

 

(Picture Credit - Wiki)

We friended on Facebook,

Scrolled down our profile pages.

Lived together in a virtual world.

Our images and websites we shared

With Instagram incisiveness.

 

Meet all my friends.

Block any you do not like.

All busy we are, doing nothing.

Like if you agree.

 

Laptops were not enough.

Users subscribed to Smartphones,

Iphones, and God knows what.

Google them if you wish.

 

And if you like my words

Retweet them.

But beware!

I now use words like lol,

And even WTF!

Hehe.

 

Sometimes I multitask,

Flicking TV channels

Like a Subbuteo striker –

Gone virtual by now I guess.

Flicking and flipping while I scroll

My laptop page.

 

I make new tabs

As I message many friends:

Emoticons exploding

All along the way.

 

I’m Tivo-boxing clever

All the time,

King of my domain.

 

So get your VDU lit up

And monitor my words.

Download my thoughts

Into your memory banks.

 

I hope this all computes.

 

Paul Butters

The One Mind

(Picture Credit - io9 com)

Quarks, photons, gluons: sub-atomic particles:

Quantum fluctuations

That wink in and out of existence.

Where do they come from?

Where do they go?

 

There must be somewhere else.

Somewhere beyond our space and time.

Outside our multiverse,

Our Realm.

A parallel dimension next to ours.

 

Heaven?

Who knows?

 

We ourselves are made of particles:

Many a water molecule,

Blinking in and out.

So in effect we are dead

As often as alive.

 

But am I God?

Are We God (assuming You are Real)?

Yet we have little power.

We can’t be God.

 

Maybe We are The One Mind,

Dreaming all together.

Dream Creations in our very own Dreams.

Within our virtual, mortal shells.

 

We are caught in an infinite,

Vibrating energy stream,

Perceiving an illusory Virtual World,

Living the Dream together indeed:

The One Mind.

 

Paul Butters

Filming

(Picture Credit - Film Director by Raindance org)

 

Film and television cameras:

Roving eyes for many of us.

But are We the cameras on the world

For an audience somewhere out there

Beyond the stars?

 

Our world: a studio for countless films.

The animal race a production crew

For programmes watched by spirit beings.

 

And who collects these reels of Life?

Where is The Director?

What Company employs us all?

 

Those with feelings of Déjà vu do ask:

Which Take are we doing now?

And Minds of Science claim

We can Forward Fast or Rewind.

 

It’s one great mystery of course:

The longest journey of them all.

A soap opera to beat all others:

This film called “Life”.

 

Paul Butters

Paradise Found 2

One day I found myself in Paradise,

Completely out the blue.

I don’t recall a warning:

From nothing I came through.

 

Into a new dimensional realm

I sprang:

Into a world so vast.

 

A planet out there somewhere,

In icy space so lost

A Universe not crossed.

 

A world so full of life,

Of sweeping seas

And towering trees.

 

A place so beautiful,

Beyond compare.

We stand and stare.

 

All peopled by

Multi-coloured multitudes

From which the radiance of sentient life exudes.

 

To where had I escaped?

You may well ask.

So let’s unmask:

 

The loveliest world of all,

For what it’s worth.

A heaven of the heavens:

Our planet Earth.

 

Paul Butters