Jacob's Ladder - to The Future

(Jacob)

The generations rumble on,

I know no reason why.

We build our countless tower-blocks,

Reaching to the sky.

Jacob is our newest one.

He’s only two years old.

Who knows what things he’s going to see?

Great nephew who’ll have…great stories to be told.

We saw men land upon The Moon,

For him it will be Mars.

His kids may go much further,

Even to the Stars.

He’s such a cheery chappie,

Chapman his mum’s maiden name!

I hope he will stay cheerful,

Though Life’s a funny old game.

I hope the world gets better,

For him and all his peers.

I’m sure he’ll be a pacesetter,

And not too many tears.

So here’s to futures bright,

For Jacob and the rest.

May there always be plenty of light,

Let’s wish them all the best.

Paul Butters

Stream of Consciousness

Yesterday morning I woke at 4AM again

And once more my mind got churning.

I juggled with some words in my head,

Composing free verse on how I write my poems.

I wondered whether I should grab a pad

And write.

Or even get on my laptop.

But I made myself go back to sleep,

Forgetting it all.

So here I am,

A day later at 10.30AM,

Pouring out these verses:

A sort of Stream of Consciousness.

No thought of structure

Or metre

Or rhyme.

Just emphasising certain words and phrases

By giving them separate verses

Of their own.

Something I learnt once

When reading a book in Pudsey Library

About how to teach kids to write poetry

An easy way.

Unfettered by considerations of metre or form,

You can express yourself freely,

As deep as you wish.

Just let your emotion

Or Philosophy

Run free.

Let your words cascade

Over those shiny pebbles.

Babbling along through winding willows,

To crash over waterfalls

In a crescendo of sound.

A stream that sparkles in the light

Of sun or moon (and stars),

Wafted by scents of abundant flowers

And sappy cut grass.

God’s Grandeur radiating all around.

Enjoy.

Paul Butters

Focus

We seek The Purpose of Life,

Or just some Meaning;

A Philosophy,

As we stare through the formless mists of time.

Yet Existence simply Is,

As is Life:

Wondrous phenomenon

That happens.

We are taught to give each thing a function:

The wheel that rolls us on,

A pen which writes.

But Life is Life

Nothing more.

Generations take turns to live,

Passing on the baton.

Trying to breed ever greater Minds,

We yearn to be Immortal.

Studying those regenerating jellyfish,

The search is on

For The Fountain of Youth.

Yet maybe it’s time to stop trying

To make sense of it all.

Perhaps it’s time to spring into action,

And Get On With It.

Paul Butters