.

Looking on
this expanse that encircles me,
closing in during open hours,
unlocking doors I can’t seem to walk through
Stairways of rotted, termite eaten steps
each with my name painted on them,
creaking underfoot,
losing to the weight of
long lines at self serve counters
wrapping around as if
nothing is free but here
for some reason it is

And I stand right in the middle
alone in this ocean of faces,
polo shirts and penny loafers
staring at cell phone screens,
calling someone,
talking with their hands,
hands free?
Paying it forward,
coffee for the next guy in line,
but not me

For I am just here, anywhere,
somewhere like this,
a thing plopped down,
fallen from the sky,
splattering on the earth,
consumed by the soil,
muddied footprints and all
trudging through the wilderness,
carving a path of existence
breaking branches and
scattering bread crumbs

Still I am me,
standing tall among the taller,
enjoying the shade,
sipping lemonade and eating apple dumplings,
pushing, not pulling forward,
dreaming, (of course)
regardless of tire tracks and scars
or pointed fingers,
Pounding the pavement,
laying a foundation,
driven beyond

Parking lot base,
asphalt themed destinations,
a checkerboard of last rites and dead batteries,
yellow lines on the horizon,
handicapped up front
Looking out over the valley,
watching the world go by,
admiring the beauty,
loving life,
rejoicing in the fact
that it is all so immensely
vast . . .

as am I

When slapped by raving rants
Or flamed with insults.
When slurred by sarcastic sneers.
I know your blood will boil,
And someone will say,
“Are you going to stand for that?”

Ignore that person.
Calm yourself.
Smile (if face to face)
Or take up Poker Mode.
Show annoyance and the enemy has scored.
Do not respond with anger.

If appropriate, try to reason with him, her or them.
Should they not reason, say no more.
Turn it into a joke whenever you can,
Even belittling yourself in an ironic way.

Never retaliate in kind.
Never feed the flamers and trolls,
Either online or in real life.

I see around me arguments go on
And on and on and on…
When will the listen?
Don’t feed the trolls!
How many times must folk be told?
When under attack
That old cliché applies:
Silence is Golden
(And so Powerful).

Paul Butters

the setting sun glows crimson over distant hills
people enjoy the balmy temperatures
sip their mojitos and manhattans
anticipating finger food and tapas
chatting with friends and neighbors

not everybody notices
the folding blossoms of the garden flowers
or the sweet evening songs of birds
the daring hedgehog venturing forth
    to look for food
the smell of honeysuckle gaining force
    under the rising moon

the beauty of our nature
often gets talked away in conversations
reduced to just a pleasant ambiance
that loosens our tongues

in our obsession to communicate
we tend to overlook the soft magnificence
the world presents to us in dusky evening hours