butter's stuff: the good, the ugly, and the incomplete

[butters]

male p.o.v, obviously, and about 8 years ago

what a thing


i'm all shook up and i'm feeling sleepy
don't care to look up and it's kinda creepy
just wanna be free but you're tryin' to keep me
prisoner of this thing you call love

it's time to be clear, this is my confession
i'm near to erupting with primal aggression
smack in the face of your smug self-possession
casualty of this thing you call love

still reeling and bathed in her fountain of flowers
still dreamin' of feelin' love's temperate showers
on fallen moon sands i raised ivory towers
all in the name of this thing called 'love'
she wrote the book and
i turned the pages
broke her heart now i'm payin'
the price in steep wages
comprehension dawned slowly
so sadly, in stages,
all in the name of this thing called 'love'

now you glare at me with your come-to-bed faces
possessive legs spread in those hairy embraces
you're obsessive and scary and lacking in graces
and haven't a clue 'bout this thing called love
when alcohol slowed me you wrapped me in chains
to a bed quickly stale and depressingly stained
now i've nothing to lose and it all to gain
and i'm breakin' free from this thing you called love









oh dear

 

[butters]

what does he dream


that man in the dark?
shades drink his skin
press their bruise to eye-lids
lay a veil's kiss
across lips dry with life

what does he dream?

 

[butters]

what's in a name


there's a cat called Paris
from someplace down the street
i think his people came from Stepney, London East

he has a way about him
one might say a trifle rough
i guess coming from Stepney, it was tough

his left ear, well what's left of it
attracts the local flies
he's an appetite for garbage - no surprise

his tail bends at an angle that
it's not supposed to do
though it doesn't seem to bother him, it's true

his fur is somewhat threadbare
here and there and there and here
as he swaggers down the road - scarred buccaneer

his claws and bite are infamous
quite something to avoid
one wouldn't wish to risk him, if annoyed

but when he's simply resting in
the sun, his one eye closed
well, he's not so bad a cat, now, i suppose

 

[butters]

what's left to be said?
(we don't want to talk about it)


the weight of it
hung over our heads
a lion's belly
cumbersome and gorged
swaying with our every step
(we don't want to talk about it)

why did we always walk
beneath that heavy load
meat-breath rasping
moistly on our necks?

 

[butters]

think this must be an early

where poets walk


fingers anchored deep in moist earth-flesh
face raised to the siren of the skies
the kiss of the wind
rapt innocence dancing with stars

a poet's mind walks
on gifted words
gifted worlds

but the need to be rooted
runs deep
lose your roots
and madness shall set you adrift
freefalling, cold freedom

and it should be known
by the wise and the sad
the most dangerous journey
any poet might make
is the exploration of their own mind
for all they might discover therein

 

[butters]

"Mother's in the kit-chen,
doing a bit of stit-ching,
in comes the burglar and
out goes YOU!"

(old playground skipping rhyme)



windows


evening
all the homework's done
dinner's been and gone
the tv begs attention
friends phone or call around
the wine or cans of beer come out
feet are up
an evening's relaxation

upstairs
the screen flickers
casts its glow over
smiles and blushes
charmed, excited in equal measure
fingers tease the keys
in the sharing of secrets
pleasure found in plundering a heart

not all burglars come in
through the door

 

[butters]

white flags


fingers
are better than eyes
for discovering flaws

subconscious
speaks truer than
the heart

lovers
march blindly with the band
hands behind their backs
bright hearts exposed

 

[butters]

now me dad he danced a jig
when he won the thousand quid
and cried when he won twenty thousand more

by the time he reached the fifty
he were speechless, it were nifty
and the crowd were proper lovin it - 'encore!"

he gambled, reached five hundred
and me mum seemed struck by thunder
when he jumped right out his seat and gave a roar

when he hit the upper limits
final question - double or quits
the pair of them looked worried, now, for sure

he were sweating, pale and grim
then he scooped the million quid
and died laughing as he fell onto the floor

 

[butters]

04

without cream


insubstantial dragons chase
their lashing tails inside my head;
my psyche is revolting,
on incandescent thought-trails led.
if you're looking for a reason,
then disappointment will outpace
that sympathetic season
of idealism - idealism's fled.

just intellectual people making
insubstantial promises;
too many introspective steeples
and retrospective honesty,
and self-collected people shaping
insurrective policies -
such things they make me feeble,
a tired cup of coffee without cream.

unsound around inside my head
this twister spins me down and out;
my blistered brain is screaming but
it has no voice with which to shout.
if you're looking for a meaning,
then black is blue and orange - red;
if you're keen to try believing
in realism - realism's dead.

'cos it's just introspective people making
retrospective promises,
and insubstantial steeples marking
insurrective policies,
and self-collected people making
such a thing of honesty
while tired people drown in intel-
lectual cups of coffee without cream.
this insubstantial life ain't what it seems...

 

[butters]

working out with Jasper


oh fuzzy-faced, contented cat
preferring cushions to the mat;
rotund, we both need exercise
I touch my toes - you roll your eyes;
you stretch, I jog till oh so hot;
I sweat - you scratch an awkward spot.

determined to burn calories
I twist and lunge, bend at the knees;
you flick your tail and preen a whisker,
lick a paw and deign to risk a
little shake, and then you drop
down cushionwards just as I flop
exhausted, wondering if I'm thinner;
you eye your empty bowl - where's dinner?

 

[butters]

writing is as writing does
one aches
one wears one heart
alive
on sleeves of others' making

poor poor poem
drag and drop your muddied skirts
don't stare at me
eyes so wet and wide reproachful
maybe when, on other days
composure having been regained
you'll strut your stuff on red red carpets

 

[butters]

and look
see how the soul-suckers congregate
here
when they ought to have applied
their cold-breath need
to places
people
less holy than themselves

i hear the new Harry Potter film's
still seeking Dementors

 

[butters]

Nancy, oh Nancy
Oliver-betrayor
Lover of the murderer
Sought by Lloyd-Webber
Chosen by the populace
Plump up your cleavage and
Sing!

 

[butters]

year


drawing in breath
she rolls on her side
pauses
slowly parts pale eyes
then on to her back
stretches
smiles
breathes out as she turns
to face away
pulls deep white dreams
about her

 

[butters]

damn, i lost a big big chunk of writing a few years back. some of my better stuff, too. oh well, that's the reason for this thread. as a back up incase.

 

[butters]

up there
in the blue
your dark shape hurts my eyes
silhouette against the sun

looking down
you're entranced
your own shadow races
wavering over the dunes

and truly
it's far more interesting






one day i looked up at you
saw that i
was the dunes
you relied on my ripples
to make you appear
fascinating

 

[butters]

some poet
is something of
apoet
apoetical some
thing
a textual enigma

 

[butters]

ah, circe,
herb-wise and generous
with her cheese and honeyed meal
so sweet to serve up magic on a plate
how apt - pigs to pigs
ah - not so fair, those words
sailors' ways are not the most refined, but pigs?
perhaps it was a porkie of a tail -
no mind

just as well the one kept wits
about his precious hide and
made off to warn Odysseus

and Herme smiled
bestowed a gift
to change the pace
to change the outcome of the tail
and Batman gleaned his Robin's cry of
Holy Moly!
something new i learned.







edit: can no longer find the reference to Batman claiming that 'cry' for Robin to use, but DC Comics did have Captain Marvel (Shazam!) use it a whole damned lot

 

[butters]

Pasiphaë, Pasiphaë,
they really did a job on you;
where was Max Clifford when you needed a publicist?

 

[butters]

when it's really very frosty
and the birds are stiff with cold
a mug of soup works wonders
as do woollies, i am told
but here within the warmth and cheer
of writers often fogged with beer
a nipple is less shy, i've found
however frosty lies the ground

 

[butters]

of all the possibilities
this page affords

i still don't know if i can bring
my schtick to sing
of such deep broads and rising tides
that swell to rush and suck back down
a whirpool of i
deas

when really all's set off by you
your underwater gruff and bloom
that shudders, shivers, shatters high glass rooms
until, exposed, my core shines silver
wet but pulsing yet with scarlet
flame that's free to ..

free to ...

testing testing this be-coming word
free

free
dom's still too new for me
to know quite what to do or be

so back to possibilities
i cannot voice
i cannot vice
i cannot thrice and twice and throw the dice
and roll a pair of deuces like a
maestro
no

that's music not
a metaphor to sloppy-drop
to gamble with a score or move like props upon the dim-lit stage
thank god this bastard thing can be
erased

quick
cover me
snuff me
dry me
stop me

re
think
the brink

and stumble back from
sounding like a freak peer
ing through the muddy chink and looking for the light to ride
away

so gonna regret this

 

[butters]

fogged

dense
cut off from a bright world of
coherent thought
drugged, dragged, my tidal pools
sleep pulls the corners of my mouth
crawls in my ears
weighs down these lids

 

[butters]

to dance
cheek to cheek
at arm's length
within reach
word-contact
cha-sssaaaaaayyyyyyy

dip
pose
then spin me away on words po-
-etic
more than prose a rose in your teeth well
maybe not the rose but flick, kick,
point and
gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiddde

i'm more than pink content to ride
the night away as lorencino leads
paso paso
doblé me
stamp and clap and tango me
lorencino
but last
and last
and last of all
i wanna be waltzed


*john, i'm only dancin' but it turns me on - only dancin' ...*

 

[butters]

i practise
by looking in the mirror
performing the steps
but my spatial awareness is fooled
by reversals of fortune
made mockery of
by reflections in cold panes

my hands and feet stumble
on awkwardness and misdirection
and i have to take stock
close my eyes
feeeel the beat

when i can't see myself
that's when i dance best
body knows
becomes rhythm
melody
counterpoint

open my eyes and see another
meld the moment, movement, magic
harmonising's fun

 

[butters]

water's soft
till you hit it at speed
kinda like love

then

when you're too tired
to hold your head above the surface
you drown