Running the gauntlet down Midchester Road,
A veritable suburb of Gleethorpes City,
You pass a line of house-castles
Of the well to do.

But don’t be fooled
By what you see,
For I know someone
Who lives there.

And he will tell you,
Of bountiful gardens
Stripped bare
And concreted over
So that families can park their fleets
Of expensive cars.

See those conservatory extensions
And widened pavements.
A lady poses,
Doing her best
To emulate the Kardashians.

Money attracts
No end of thugs
And dodgy dealers:
Swarming parasitic wasps
Around the honey ***.

Nights of drunken revellers
From the local pub:
Swaying from trees
And kicking cans about.
Boy racers tearing down the road,
Music systems booming
With a mindless
Moronic drumming.

“Where has reality gone?” asks
My despairing friend.
They have their money
Their riches,
Expensive toys
But few of them are Happy.

What happened to “Goodness” and virtue
And dreams of Utopia?
Where are the heroes
Inventors and creators?
Instead we have a world of celebrity,
In which true talent – even genius
Is ignored and undervalued.

“Where are we going?” my friend exclaims.
Things get worse and worse,
The world all in reverse.
For it’s “Unreal City”,
Far from pretty.

So have a think,
Don’t let yourself sink
Even further into the mire.
Just get real,
You know the deal,
It’s you I’m trying to inspire.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\8\2019

(with help from a bloke who lives in such a place. Same town as me).

You can’t say no, to a question that you were never asked.

Dear indecorous,
Used only from time to time
The word for our day

You are exacting
Better than unbecoming
******, or ill-bred

Ungentlemanly
Incorrect, inappropriate
Unseemly, or indecent

Despair is fear
that no one cares
and that
your life
won't be a mad cap comedy
or happy ending tv series,
but just an endless state of
existing unloved.

It is a pillowcase
wetted with
saltwater
and snot
to top
it off.

It is breaths
that cannot be
caught
as sobs steal
the air you wish
to fill your
lungs with.

It is the anxiety
and voices that
say you will hurt
the ones you love
and the only action
that is good enough
to protect them
is you dying.

It is a certain suffering blindness
where a pleasant future
does not exist
and only pain persists
in all future events.

today I shopped, I shopped because the pounds had dropped. Sunk to the bottom of my ghost town stomach. Melted out of my sunken eyes, dripped from my cracked lips.

The changing room lights accentuated the rolls and zig zags in my stomach. The lighting strikes and scars that the battle at the dinner table left behind.

Rising through the sweat of ancestors' fears,
innate suffering leaves me bound;
Despite the black and white of day,
I wearily search for uncommon sounds.

Resting my head upon wisdom's watch
sensing calamity from hollow chants;
As voices within my heart rage on,
curiously whining in rebellious rants.

No longer expecting insanity's game,
(it had possessed me throughout the years;)
The mere notion of reaching back in time,
seals untold tales still rallying near.

And whether candles mark the night,
my faded hope for resurrection;
Bequeaths whatever sails far away,
to enhance the moment's rejection.

With blind ambition tumbling 'round,
in the stark wilderness of the seas;
I say good-bye with a solemn pledge,
while disappearing from the deep abyss.

Please,
Believe me,
I am not needy,
I want to be brave,
Can somebody free me?
I just get scared
My shields are old,
My reason is weak,
I’ve done what I’m told,
A weary soldier,
My mother is dead,
My friends are gone,
Just me and my head!
It makes me crazy,
So many choices,
I just don’t really trust those voices
©B L Costello 2019

tonight i can't write poetry,
a star is just a star.