Unfair World

From nation to nation

All around the world

The Ruling Class

Though many times outnumbered

By the rest

Sit bathing in the sun

In their Ivory Towers:

Born to Richness

Whilst millions of Poor

Just starve to death.

Hordes and hordes of people,

Without clean water

Or food

Or a stable roof over their heads.

No medicine, or Education, or Anything

That Costs.

Governments give “Aid” to other governments

To “feed the poor”,

But we all know what happens…

What we need is a “Government of The World”,

Or some Benevolent Despot to Rule us all.

Anything must be better

Than the impotent UN

Or these shambolic “nations” –

Puppets of Globalisation.

Revolution threatens –

It often does –

Until the rulers appease us

With token concessions

And brainwash us

Though The Media,

So called “Education”

And Religious Dogma.

When will we learn?

Where is Democracy and Love?

But, bound by Political Correctness,

Woe betide if we Complain.

The Cold War continues,

So all we can do

Is soldier on

For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

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