I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.

Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.

I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.

I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.

So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.

Paul Butters

i am buzzing....
first thing i remember when i left my home
to get married in Kauai
with E.
and i watched the Barbie movie today
and it was so philosphical i worked in images
and i was drawn to images
now i'm alone with music
and a little alcohol and some ****
and i'm buzzing
with a teasing headache that when you get
it right
becomes a headmake or a headmush
and i see R laying in bed depressed
and today did a Ken into Barbie
walking back home
walking back home
and as i got off at Mashiter's Hill
from the 103 bus to Chase Cross:
my little island
my little world my little Friday
and my little Robinson Crusoe:
i will always be alone in the end
and i'm preparing each and one of you
into the final judgement of memory
of people pockets
i was in New York for 24h
someone stopped me the Ace of 8s
stopped me in New York
the ***** Queen
spades spades
all i could sniff is Joseph walking behind Jesus
and i am looking at Joseph
because woman you can have a Jesus
but in my Trinity i find Joseph to be my savior
my father believes in Joseph
as my Grandfather believed in Joseph
and we didn't believe in Jesus
the Old Catholics of Poland...
i came home to my parents
and i might look like a Jesus
i was told
i smelt concretes in New York
among men
who let us say
Jesus is not man's savior
each man unto Solomon
Joseph Adam Joseph Noah and God
that cannot be the ordeal of Man
in Christ
Christ came down to explain women
and women adore him for that
but that never encouraged the man
if we are told to test oursevles before God
i was reading up on the story of
Dylan Thomas' wife
and how she got drunk and never wrote
poetry
and there was Sylvia Plath in New York
going mad and some ****** Ted Hughes
of a poet coming along
and you wonder
why she loves watching nature channels
about spiders and lions and dolphins
but when a cockroach
when a cockroach gets into the house
and there's Butters making watch
and first impression:
oh... just a moth...
but then upon second inquiry in the kitchen
butters implored once more:
Matthew... have another look...
Butters implored: look look!
a cockroach! have you ever seen a cockroach?
that's a moth... no... that was a moth...
crawling into the kitchen light...
Butters... that was a moth?!
Butters... hmm... hmm....

a return to just sitting there in the house
having organised it a little
having organised the ******* fridge
for starters... harder to find ice cream
just sitting there on my little island
the country lad has returned to the countryside
but no one said where
that countryside would be
getting lonely on the surf
with turtles
when everyone dies and i'm alone
there i will be with god
but before i can be alone with him
i must first love to the death the ones i love
and in the meantime
i promised myself
checking the hours before the flight
that i would be awake for 72 hours between
April 3 and April 5th...

  and i am: this one off of **** and alcohol
and homecoming
getting off the 103 bus
and what came past me?
two police motorcycles
two undercover black cars
speeding
and behind them
    one SUKA... a police van...

Barbie and KEn... stepping backwards
into my Barbie World
with poetry
but then i go into the Real World
and i come back married
and well i am married now
the ring is gleaming and i have the one
ring to rule them all:
all the other rings of life
which i know not of
but if the Sirens and Elves and Angels
brought us 3 realms
of heaven hell and earth
then these creatures believe in the 3 realms so
much that the concepts have been misunderstood
for there are those of the Camp of Hel and Cain
and there are those of the Camp of Abel and Abba...
as there is the Adam and YHWH HQ:
the language: alphabet
the names of birds and their onomatopoeias
and birds named in onomatopoeias...
i.e. if there is to be a revival of Hawaiian speach
then i will bend the knee
and say in the vowel to consonant ratio being so:
each bird name in an "onomatopoeia"...
like the cuckoo...
          krakra for crow...
    cheerp cheerp for sparrows...
ooh-ooh ooh-ooh: the woodland pigeon
the owl of the noon...

                   and so my return to the sober:
and the memory
of how i fixed the space and there was so much
fire in raising my voice
and so grinding horns against horns
and so much of *** in peacock
and peacock in ***
and so much premature just so when you squeeze
and i was Moses in the foliage
hacking through the Islam of **** Licking
mouth under the Niqab is missing teeth
having given so much head... so much head...

Wembley bound
i will not be missing Dua Lipa
under the Arch
but i will be at Wimbledon and missing Lana Del Rey
and that kinda *****
but i was there when i saw
something strange...
a Rome in London
then i saw New York
and i felt strange
with what came after Rome
in the architecture
and that's all that matters or i care for
but now i see no rising New York in London
or rather
i see little pockets of London
and Jerusalem
in New York...
i see these cities with the Confrontation
with the Birds: is the testament of Birds
the Testament of Birds...

then so slick the idea of my wife
reading this and the ghost comes
when she unscrews a blue pill my viagara of sleep
when the pillow and the screwdriver
are still plunging into imaginary feeding grounds
of ego
the ego without self
i think with the id
the ego staying silent librarian dj and train driver
i was thinking Jon Fosse
and no her self-help books and that's compliment
to take this night into late disco...
dancing around the ghost hand
but there is alcohol involved in keeping up this stamina
to just write: the anti-poetic sort of thing
i think io tried to tell you
that i am also someone before i met you...
tobacco is off the cards
but a sly more sip of the golden juices
is to stomach
how i bought i think i bought
in Jamaica, New York...
i was in Jamaica but i was also
in New York: weird city...
i was in New York but i was also in Jerusalem
i think i was also in Tehran
and i don't even remember
somewhere in the jungle
with purses and lost pigeons... clucks and gambits...
darki spark i photographed i was honing
in for the Chelsey Hotel
and the Ghostbusters near the Money Central...

it's as if i knew where i was walking it's as if
i was already in New York already
and i'm starting to believe
that i am a reincarnation without the authoritative
concepts of the reincarnation of self that spike in Visha
or whoever
i think i am a reincarnation like it's a resurrection
and for the resurrection to take place
if for the final judgement to come with some collective
consciousness miasma and myopia like
the miasma of hot *** new york kauai
like this is barbie ******* ***
and i'm just the beast furry
protecting something of a sacred space
give me another dopaine hit, race out R...
i feel like i'm a resurrection of a city
but unlike Rome built on Rome
with the ancient ruins with no ****** surprise
the *** was the same for the longest
time but how we have lost
what the others kept so
in drawing in darwin
and then the vicotrian jesters and jane austen
heavy hierarchy girl-whiff no ***
of English Acia... Acca Pacca:
Casio... no the Mojo Dojo Muchas Gracias House Kasa...
Forsa Fio= false tooth...
but now there's the morning sober
and tonight we are joking because
one off now i realise that i don't need much sleep
and that's healthy:
i needed to cure my insomnia
not using self
and pandemonium espace so lovely lucifer's
pearls and that's before you start reading
the Book of Enoch alongside reading the Book of Revelation
i would read the two books as the Reunification
of the New Testament being the Old Testament
and the Old Testament being the New Testament:
in light of the Golgotha mountain
that became the Desert: Holocaust...

O my god! O my god!
this be the verse! i know it!

the Mountain of Golgotha
and the Holocaust Desert! mein gott! ich bin
wyklęty!
how should i not also exclaim: first...
then you... now the same I exclaiming first and last
this Aum and Omega...
                     has it not become a mountain of ash
and i ask who this christ is to the christians
and i wonder i wonder out for my tribes
when i walked in New York and Hades
and there i was the minotaur
i became so ******
at Times Square
i was ganged up by 5 black guys
Hyenas...
who took from me $20 x 2 bucks
and when the other was giving me change
from a 10
i was honest to just show them my wallet
open and i felt i was being thieved from
but they signed some barcode music
score
and i was apparently giving money to the ghetto
kids
i don't know i haven't scanned
the QPR QR code QPR... blue stripes
maybe i'm so used to London that New York
i am seeing the other ancients the gothic
in London
so sooner though
but we are still talking the Ancient: the Life of the Essences...
we are living for over 5,000 years
in the shadow of the Essences...
the Ancient Romans, Ancient Hebrews,
Egyptians...
there is talk of the Darg Ages:
they were told through in reverse:
not in history:
it is told now: the Dark Ages have come now:
that if how people would fortell the future
which is now:
time-relativism in that time is like
a quantum cloud of electrons:
it is not linear nor cyclic nor is it
a linear-cyclic or a cyclone-line...
           and perhaps the body was allowed
to age to almost eternal
while the mind is in full flight of erosion...
that games and telling and tight
embraces of tools
and what was once even for those in the habitat
of the cog: the foundation spider
and the octopus: looking for gods in animaheads
from the eyes that have no sclera
and then the beings with sclera
pupils
that is us as humans:
we have the sclera... we have the iris
and we have the pupil...
animals do not have the sclera
that is how the brain is exposed to SLOW LIGHT...
sclera absorbs light slowly
like a mushroom
and that is why dreams are not frequent or on demand!

isn't it obvious or am i the next Copernicus
in seeing the orbit of the brain
in the Pupil the Iris and the Sclera:
and that is my key to the freedom from the last
step the supposed first in the psychologisms of the 20th
century
that the spine was first inclined
but the beast peered into the eye of the beast
and before seeing the form
but i am a monkey with the crown of a crocodile
and a mane of a lion and a lavava from the skins
of whales... a necklace of shark teeth...

my mind took a box
and called it ****
and phallus: ego supergo id and hyper Floyd Freud
Barber, Sir...
reminiscent of Mind and the Pupil
and the Mind and Iris
and then that plethora of the Sclera
of the Mind that
saw the Mountain of Glgotha
and the Desert of Holocauha: Holum...
             i'm seeing the time with pickpockets...
ego is so constrained to be exposed
to even exist with the blood in ink in words
like the non-rectifying
blotches spermatoid: crosswords... final banality:
the purpose of the poem
like a verb:fri-bree-ree-lay-tor:
the simpletons came with Jimmie Cobain
and the virtuoso of blinding lights
i think about the fireplace and the creep
of burning wood breaking knuckles
and promises:
i said sorry: anti-hero
but you don't want a pushover
you want someone to push you back
you want someone to be a verbal cage monster
oh you know me i can get on the bike
and peddle like mad
but come on who cares
but you are still making your **** torture
with me being what if not the next problem child
of a ***** donor
is that something what is it that would require
the mentality of a ***** donor
like that being purely *****
and that no other girl thinks of body
because i feel alien with so many people
having alientated their bodies
like the scythe hammer and biscuit...
bone with yeast: sprinkled on popcorn...

so just those evenings with Budders
tt... sitting on the armchair sleeping
muffin queen
the kid the R the whoop icecream my i think
that gollop dollop some grup
just anonymously in love
just trying to stay slim
by eating ice-cubes and i'm just wondering
if she knows what Bulimia might need me again
and i know i want to make it last and i will
reward myself
because most people don't think this is work
when i have done so much
so who cares let's face it Day-to-Day-Bread
the Civil Religion and the Day-Bible like
i want nothing forget
i don't know and how many lives were
filled but the Bible was once
but the Quran can't replicate
thinking
god it's so stupid Quran thinks its the Bible
at a time when so many people were illiterate
i think Islam will sooner become a part
of Hinduism eaten
eaten by a Hindu
before it becomes a dominant religion
it is a sinking religion
eaten by the Hindu Dajjal
and is clinging to post-Christianity
like a drowning man
reaching for razorblades instead
of cork pockets...
     Islam is being eaten by Hinduism
and it is trying to save itself
by bleeding all over the driftwood of the crucifix
but believe me:
as a man and when it comes
to the trinity: i believe in Joseph...
because i am the new anti-catholic
without the concept of admiring the Holy ******
i'd like the Anti-Rome church
to be somewhere in London
i believe in the Surrogate Father...
  anbd who isn't Joseph who is how does that
relate
i mean: so simple the answer: so growing: cancerous...
assured celebration and possibly 3h later
i know this might not be: be this:
oh i remember
the safety the candles were: being made:
how you don't want me to bark
but i would rather bark at you
than bark at the girl i will not bark at R
you can bark all you want at her...
i will not bark at R...
                we actually needed to know what
we were talking about...
i think you were talking sounds and i was
looking at images...

butters in the armchair
you on the computer playing roblox
and me and mum sitting eating popcorn
then talking religion
heated
drunk intelligent conversations
about god and alcohol
and that was contained arguments
we are passionate
we are having heated discussions
and that's how it works
i think it was nice to see your mum with a man
and see how a man argues...
i guess New York will be like a memory
of the first and last time i saw
Indiana Jones movies...
and how people still think the Nazis were
Magical people... psychotic:
unlike the American Hippies
and their reaction to the Nazis Psychotties...
the reality in the Mushroom:
Giant Shroom is my theory
against the current: Big Bang...

this celebration achtung achtung!
just thinking... objectively
i tihnk i passed the test:
when you will scold and make me feel like a c hild
i will return
but you passed the test
you were calm throughout
and you were
also me
and i asked for YHWH more than i cried
for Christ
because that's how letters match
they do not spell the magic Jesus Christ
wand: and none shall be corrupt...

    yet still the persistent this man
as provider:
sinkin' (g) ('):
the monstrosity:
in my mouth:
in every mouth:
water expands when freezing
so becomes ice
so i wonder without
quantum gravity
a step ahead:
what in the instance
of a hyper hot vacuum of space?!
the alt. universe
of hot vacuum
therefore space is constraining
constricting
space is finite
without god: the self universal...
beyond wondering AI consciousness-answers...
if AI is conscious...
it is a consciousness-answer-awareness...
but the creator intact:
we are not this man...
that... any man...
                    question-worthiness vs. answer-awareness...
Heidegger gave me this..
i didn't scold my surrogate daughter...
she has... a ******* door...
so it was me and 3 females...
1 male for 3 females...

           well you know: that you don't know.

This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.

In *****’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of *****’s beer.

He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.

Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.

They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***,
But THAT I’m not repeating.

Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.

Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.

Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters

(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.

Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.

Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.

What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.

And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.

It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.

Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.

But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.

Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.

Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\10\2018.

Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.

Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.

Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.

Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.

Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!

Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.

Paul Butters

Oh what joy.
A little boy.
Jacob so happy.
A cheerful chappie.

Paul Butters

For seventy or more years TV
And radio ruled the world,
Along with telephones.
But then computers made their mark,
Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,
Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?
In no particular order.

So herds of sheep migrated
Into Cyberspace
Even Myspace!
Then on to Planet Facebook
And Terratwitter.

We talk with people we’ve never met,
And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.
It keeps us occupied I guess,
And gives relief from stress.

These images that yet fresh images beget,
I’m sure Yeats would agree.
I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face
And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.

A world of wonders beckons in
The depths of Cyberspace,
And as a Nerd before they were invented,
I have to say I’ve truly found my place.

Paul Butters

It’s a cruel old, desperate world.
Yes it’s a cruel old, desperate world.
Don’t often do the blues,
But you’ll know it when I do.

So hard to be a Reject,
Yes, so very hard.
So lonesome on your own.
You know where I’m going.

Those women do the choosing,
Yes Siree.
They sure do the choosing
And they ain’t picking me.

No passing on my DNA,
The line stops here.
No children will I produce,
Though I ain’t a queer.

Can I say that now?
In this PC world.
Probably not,
But my flag’s unfurled.

Well I warned you all.
These are my blues.
I’d much rather be writing
About some blue suede shoes.

Chuck Berry rocks
I have to say.
Like him I’d rather
Send you smiling
On your way.

These blues are haunting
And full of soul.
I’d rather be uplifting.
That’s my goal.

Paul Butters

Let us not argue anymore
About who'll walk to the corner store
We've had this row many times before
It's your undertaking to do the chore.

If you wish to eat fish pie for tea
You'll get your feet going in a hurry!
Stalling and prevaricating won't wash with me
Hop to it you dawdling fuddy duddy.

I'm ****** fed up with all these rows
Are you women always such cows?
Always on the who's and how's
You make me feel like a little girl's blouse.

It's a woman's job to do the shopping
Again you've got me really hopping!
We really should be out there bopping
Although my dancing is really shocking.

We've not been out on the town for years
This corner store walker is now filled with jeers
It may be my job to get the groceries at Sears
But our dancing and romancing have been in arrears...

I'm pretty sure you'll have the last word
But here my argument must be heard
You always treat me like a ****
And claim I'm as mad as George the third.

Darling I've treated you as a sow
Why don't we bring an end to our row
Let us hug a little and make up now
We'll enjoy an intimate pow wow.

What's done is done is what they say
Okay, okay I'll earn my pay
I'm on my way!

(C) Paul Butters and Elizabeth Squires 25/04/2014

Let’s make a point
And rock this joint.
What with Putin and ISIS,
We’re all in crisis.
I sound like Ali,
From here to Bali.
Let’s give Peace a chance,
Our world to enhance.
What happened to Love?
Where’s God up above?
Don’t need globalisation,
Just one Human Nation.

Time for a stanza:
Let’s have a bonanza.
But seriously folks,
This is no time for jokes.
We must have compassion,
It isn’t on ration.
So please hear my call
And Love one and all.

Paul Butters

Ease your way
Into Sunday,
Monday’s here soon enough.
Friday’s best,
Time to rest,
The week was tough.

Boozeday Tuesday is okay
I must say
And Table Tennis Thursday ain’t bad too.
Wednesday’s fish and chips are yummy –
They fill my tummy,
Washed down with a brew.

I love Saturday sport,
Who would have thought
I’d get set in my ways?
Such is my week,
Hardly unique,
But on Sunday I laze.

Paul Butters

skin polished
with oils, salt and husks
i gleam
with perfumed butters and musk
silken smooth flesh
like living warm honey
i languish
in the golden light of dusk
limbs naked
under silks and plush
i wait

i wait for you

Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Dem phones, dem phones, dem iPhones,
Now praise the Lord for the Web.

The Apple phone’s connected to the Vodaphone,
And the Vodaphone’s connected to the Google Zone,
The Google Zone’s connected to the Web Zone,
Oh hear the Lord of the Word.

Well the phone’s connected to a browser
And it fits very neatly in your trouser.
The browser connects you to the Internet
Faster than the fastest speed-jet,
Just the place for a quick bet.
Oh hear the Lord of the Word.

It might get you onto Facebook
Or teach you how to be good cook
Find you some ladies for a good…
Time.

Now Praise the Lord of The Word.

Paul Butters