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

[fridayam]

oh holy crap, found this one from 8 years ago. it says a lot about the marriage i was in at the time, and i guess it was sort of to some heavy metallish music in my head. lordy

crowman


lick my open eyes
cos the crowman's come
lick my open thighs
when the crowman's done

spread those tattered pinions wide
blink that swift grey wink, death-eyed
tilt that shining head just a little offside
summon from within all that's been said
cold slabs of meat to dress your buttered bread

yeah, lick my open wounds
cos the crowman's come
flick those shabby runes
having crowman's fun

carrion fan come pick the shreds
don't be shy cos i'm not kicking
just laying stiff as death here on our bed
that savage breath of life still hidden
lick lick licking thru my flesh unbidden

c'mon now
lick my open eyes like a crowman's son
lick my sweet surprise
with your crowman's tongue
life's a party
death's a ball
get over the smell
cos it comes to us all
crowman lick the putrid fruit
rotten to the very core
lick this dish of flies and shoot
but the crowman's never satisfied
crowman he'll want
crowman will want
crowman still wants
more

O Chip this sent shivers down my spine. It's brilliant, ghoulish, horrible, splendid.

 

[butters]

lol.

i think he must have been particularly insulting to me before i wrote that one, hahahaha

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

well, great seems a bit generous but i'll take the praise with the spirit it's offered in. ta, lol.

hope she finds it funny

It all depends on one's experience with the GB.

 

[butters]

...that ever-fertile breeding ground for worms

 

[butters]

the busker

i threw a golden coloured coin
wishing it were something more
his strings' refrains soft-kissed the walls
followed me with their encore
killing me
softly

 

[butters]

new one i wrote this morning and subbed.

have you ever read a poem
that pressed fingers, oh so lightly, to the roll of your rib
that left behind its prints in your blind clay?

and have you ever felt the touch
of another's written words
cool and steady upon the tremble of your heart

or the thin, electric probe
eliciting sensation
from deep within that grey and secret mass?

have tears welled, unguessed, from unknown springs
to slide the landscape of your face
to find your lips, your tongue, with their new taste?

and have you found you step in their footsteps
following half-hidden trails, uncertain but
rewarded for your faith?

for all the bright and stirring words
the burnished poets pen
i far prefer the quiet ones
that make me feel, again.

 

[fridayam]

have you ever read a poem
that pressed fingers, oh so lightly, to the roll of your rib
that left behind its prints in your blind clay?

and have you ever felt the touch
of another's written words
cool and steady upon the tremble of your heart

or the thin, electric probe
eliciting sensation
from deep within that grey and secret mass?

have tears welled, unguessed, from unknown springs
to slide the landscape of your face
to find your lips, your tongue, with their new taste?

and have you found you step in their footsteps
following half-hidden trails, uncertain but
rewarded for your faith?

for all the bright and stirring words
the burnished poets pen
i far prefer the quiet ones
that make me feel, again.

This is gorgeous, chip, and so true. Aren't the hairs on the back of your neck the truest guide?

 

[greenmountaineer]

have you ever read a poem
that pressed fingers, oh so lightly, to the roll of your rib
that left behind its prints in your blind clay?

and have you ever felt the touch
of another's written words
cool and steady upon the tremble of your heart

or the thin, electric probe
eliciting sensation
from deep within that grey and secret mass?

have tears welled, unguessed, from unknown springs
to slide the landscape of your face
to find your lips, your tongue, with their new taste?

and have you found you step in their footsteps
following half-hidden trails, uncertain but
rewarded for your faith?

for all the bright and stirring words
the burnished poets pen
i far prefer the quiet ones
that make me feel, again.

Wow!!

 

[butters]

This is gorgeous, chip, and so true. Aren't the hairs on the back of your neck the truest guide?

oh thankyou! glad you approve
and yes, yes they are - i trust them for everything from poetry to the x-factor

Wow!!

bloody hell. i must have done summat right. lol
ty

 

[butters]

if i were tree
you would always be sky
and i
would forever be reaching for you
forever unable to touch

except on those soft days
when the sky descends
and we're lost from the world
in your mist

 

[butters]

and if you were a leaf
i would map the very pores of you
caress the veins with pleasured eyes
will that your tenure on the stalk may last and last
even though your edges curl, your hues
mellow and meld
mindful of encroaching time

for i would know
to hold you in the sorrowing
would mean that you had fallen from on high
and you'd no more turn your face into the sun
your memories would crumble in my hands

 

[fridayam]

if i were tree
you would always be sky
and i
would forever be reaching for you
forever unable to touch

except on those soft, slow days
when the sky descends
and we're lost from the world
in your mist

and if you were a leaf
i would map the very pores of you
caress the veins with pleasured eyes
will that your tenure on the stalk may last and last
even though your edges curl, your hues
mellow and meld
mindful of encroaching time

for i would know
to hold you in the sorrowing
would mean that you had fallen from on high
and you'd no more turn your face into the sun
your memories would crumble in my hands

Is this one poem, chip? It reads like one and I love it to bits--such gorgeous tangible images.

 

[butters]

Is this one poem, chip? It reads like one and I love it to bits--such gorgeous tangible images.

well, i wrote the first bit, posted, then wrote the second as the thoughts were still arriving. they are definitely connected ...

and ty.

 

[bflagsst]

if i were tree
you would always be sky
and i
would forever be reaching for you
forever unable to touch

except on those soft, slow days
when the sky descends
and we're lost from the world
in your mist



and if you were a leaf
i would map the very pores of you
caress the veins with pleasured eyes
will that your tenure on the stalk may last and last
even though your edges curl, your hues
mellow and meld
mindful of encroaching time

for i would know
to hold you in the sorrowing
would mean that you had fallen from on high
and you'd no more turn your face into the sun
your memories would crumble in my hands

These poems remind me of Rumi. I'd gotten my teachings of Rumi book out earlier so I have him on the brain. The second is exceptional. Yesterday epmd reminded me of our minimalist poetry magazine. I'd put 'and if you were a leaf' up first for it if it began existing today.

 

[fridayam]

well, i wrote the first bit, posted, then wrote the second as the thoughts were still arriving. they are definitely connected ...

and ty.

It works on so many levels, I adore it. Is there a part 3? lol

 

[butters]

These poems remind me of Rumi. I'd gotten my teachings of Rumi book out earlier so I have him on the brain. The second is exceptional. Yesterday epmd reminded me of our minimalist poetry magazine. I'd put 'and if you were a leaf' up first for it if it began existing today.

wow! thankyou very much, b

It works on so many levels, I adore it. Is there a part 3? lol

not yet. i'm about to make dinner, lol.

 

[fridayam]

wow! thankyou very much, b

not yet. i'm about to make dinner, lol.

Me too! x

 

[butters]

well bang goes the frame of mind to resume this ... the 18er's just turned back up again (he was here thurs night - saturday evening) saying he's lent all his money to a mate yesterday and was meant to be getting it back today, only his "mate" now says he won't be able to pay him till thursday so ...

no, i'm not lending him money. yes, i will buy him food, cheap food, so he doesn't starve, and i'll put him up for tonight but that's his lot, not till thursday so he 'doesn't have to keep getting over here to be fed'

 

[fridayam]

well bang goes the frame of mind to resume this ... the 18er's just turned back up again (he was here thurs night - saturday evening) saying he's lent all his money to a mate yesterday and was meant to be getting it back today, only his "mate" now says he won't be able to pay him till thursday so ...

no, i'm not lending him money. yes, i will buy him food, cheap food, so he doesn't starve, and i'll put him up for tonight but that's his lot, not till thursday so he 'doesn't have to keep getting over here to be fed'

The gnashing of teeth can be heard down here in Kent

 

[butters]

Boo's challenge

for Boo - my gift


take my hand
let's stand
on the top of a mountain
shout your laugh
and watch the snow sparkle in response
shiver its crystals, excited by noise!
cling
together as the dizzying drop spins around us
panoramic
and colder than the ice in our lungs
we cast spells of magic breath with
let me take you there
we'll not fall

 

[butters]

and if i were the tree
you graced as a leaf
i'd hold you close
revel in the pale furl of you
new to the air and the sun and the rain
roots would finger further into moist soil
to channel all my pride up to your veins
plump you with bliss all green and sweet
feel with you as the wasp lands
banded with sun
laps your dewy sweat then
leaps to churn the air with cellophane wing

i'd hold your stem aloft - higher, finer than the rest
deny the sullen shrink within its fibers
rejoice in all the finery your adulthood displays
gaze with softened focus as the wrinkles worm their way
and light shines through you
borrowing your tones of gold
and fire

and when the sun no longer stirs your green
and roots close down and lose their summer suck
when air forms crystals on your mottled flesh
before the pearling of another dawn
i'd cling to you, i'd weep those others first
and hold you fast against the wind's old greed

the day breaks hard when i stand all forlorn
and you are gone from me, you chose to fall
and i am jealous of the grass
i cannot stoop to you and so stand stark
no moisture left to cry myself to sleep

 

[fridayam]

and if i were the tree
and you the leaf
i'd hold you close
revel in the pale furl of you
new to the air and the sun and the rain
roots would finger further into moist soil
to channel all my pride up to your veins
plump you with bliss all green and sweet
feel with you as the wasp lands
banded with sun
laps your dewy sweat then
leaps to churn the air once more with cellophane wing

i'd hold your stem aloft - higher, finer than the rest
deny the sullen shrink within its fibers
rejoice in all the finery your adulthood displays
gaze with softened focus as the wrinkles worm their way
and light shines through you
borrowing your tones of gold
and fire

and when the sun no longer stirs your green
and roots close down and lose their summer suck
when air forms crystals on your mottled flesh
before the pearling of another dawn
i'll cling to you, i'll weep those others first
and hold you fast against the wind's old greed

the day breaks hard when i stand all forlorn
and you are gone from me, you chose to fall
and i am jealous of the grass
i cannot stoop to you and so stand stark
no moisture left to cry myself to sleep

Part 3 was worth the wait--this is such a wonderful extended metaphor. Bravo! (and you got one of favourite words in there--cellophane!)

 

[butters]

hmmn


overworked, perhaps?

 

[butters]

Part 3 was worth the wait--this is such a wonderful extended metaphor. Bravo! (and you got one of favourite words in there--cellophane!)

blimey, you made me jump. thanks, F

these thinking aloud kind of pieces, i'm not sure if i don't know when to shut up sometimes

 

[Gi_Venus]

dug fingers into turf
rabbit-soft and just as sprung
hoping to find a poem

pulled loose a flap
exposing dull-dry dirt

no poem there
not even a worm

lol love it.