How Many Times

 (Picture Credit - Big Ben from Freepik)

How many times can I say

I don’t want to die

Or extol the bountifulness of Mother Nature.

And how many times can I gasp

At the wonder of our ever-expanding universe?

It is what it is

As I’ve said on many occasions before.

 

Yet that mysterious aura of spirituality still surrounds us.

Perhaps my Muse is having an early Autumn break.

We still are but tiny ants

Looking up and dreaming

About what lies beyond

Our star speckled night-skies.

 

It took us ages to find that we all come from Africa

That The Earth is not the centre of The Cosmos

And that really we know next to nothing

About anything.

 

We were so easily ravaged by a tiny virus called Covid

And still struggle against the excesses of Global Warming.

So much more still needs to be done.

 

It’s The Anniversary of Nine Eleven,

Queen Elizabeth II is dead.

King Charles III has taken the throne.

The kids are back at school now

And in the blink of an eye

It will be Christmas.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 11\9\2022.

Heat

 

 

(Picture Credit - Pexels com)

Heat from the street beneath my feet keeps hitting me.

The sun above relentlessly shows no mercy,

Baking everything with its fiery stare.

Sultry mugginess smothers us in a sauna of sweat

As even the breeze burns my reddening face.

 

Global warming turns us into another Venus

As record-high temperatures

Scorch us into submission.

Even some Sun Lovers are hiding now,

While others insist it’s just Summer.

In heat like this there’s only one solution…

 

Time for a beer.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 17\7\2022.

Weather

 

 

(Picture Credit - Twinkl co uk)

 

Britain is a battle ground for global weather.

Sometimes four seasons per hour!

An endless variety of cloud formations

But occasionally clear blue skies.

 

I love all those clouds.

Seeing faces, castles and who knows what

In all those shapes.

Gloriously colourful dawns and sunsets

That make life worth living.

Oh those reds, oranges, yellows, blacks and blues!

You can’t beat a sunset.

 

Hate the wind

And the snow.

But snow does look pretty.

Those crystalline flakes

Gently floating to the ground.

 

But then we have thunderstorms too!

Lashing lightning, striking from black sky.

Rumbling thunder exploding all around.

 

Such endless variety.

Rain and hail pounding down the chimney stack.

Relentless sun scorching crack-ridden earth.

Every extreme.

All manner of disturbance

And beauty.

An accompaniment to being Alive.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 2\6\2022

Don't Read This!

(Picture Credit - Cone Nebula by Space dot com)

Don’t read this.

Scroll down from it like you usually do.

Well, most of you.

Unless you are one of the faithful few.

 

But the words keep coming.

My Voice will not be stilled.

Free verse keeps pouring

A persistent stream.

 

Now, though, I am haunted by this thought:

That nearing seventy I have but twenty years to live,

Thirty if I’m lucky,

God willing.

 

And like everyone else I hide in distraction,

Eating and drinking,

Finding entertainment,

Indulging in meaningless competition

Pointless projects

And generally playing out time.

 

Others do likewise,

Building great empires

Or just idling away

Those passing hours.

 

Yet my mind reaches out

Beyond the Time-Space Continuum

To a place where everything has already happened

Our lives have already been and gone.

The Universe as such has lived and died.

 

And when my brain returns

Back into this Realm

It encounters the sheer Science

Of an endless Cosmos

Endless in all dimensions

All directions

All times.

 

The mind is boggled

By Existence

Bringing substance, time, infinity and eternity

All impossible

Yet inevitable

Once something happens to Be.

 

Wherever you go

There is something further

Always a here and there.

Always a past, present and future.

 

Indeed, all impossible.

But I have to concede

There must be some Ultimate Intelligence somewhere

Even Sentience

That we might call God.

 

And maybe what The Ancients called “God”

Was but the nearest “god” we know of!

 

Yet don’t expect Him or Her or It

To come running

To our aid

Especially as

There may be no such thing

As an “Ultimate”

And no way to escape

From the Space-Time Continuum.

 

We are lost in the impossible,

So maybe all we can do

After all,

Is make the most

Of what we’ve got.

 

Paul Butters

 

© PB 12\4\2022.