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

[butters]

i found some more! in an old notepad. .... filing

handle with care

take those pieces
sharp, dark
pointless as broken vinyl
put them in boxes
labeled 'then'

close the door

out of sight
out of mind

now
swallow the key







not the first time

never going that deep again
i'll only carry
part of you

laid the rest down
with the receiver
after she called





Zoo View

a whole new world
running parallel to this
of scents and noses
tongues and
throbbing members
leashes, collars
manes, tails and fields of glory

and everyone panting -
including the dog

 

[butters]

new this afternoon - filing:

Who wants to live forever?

thought Eve,
gazing heavenward with only mild regret.
True, it was an easy life, no thorns
to catch and fester, and the food -
mmmm - am bro si al.

She shifted her gaze,
contemplating all fifty six of her children
and Adam there,
in the background,
scratching his balls
counting goats,

and the dust between her toes,
rich and red,
fertile as a floodplain,
apt to get into everything
even the matzah...

God's own sun warmed her bones
that showed a little too sharply,
a little bowed,
as she closed her eyes,
gave thanks to the four corners of this earth
and, wiping floury hands on her apron,
called all her lambs home to the fold.




published: Voices from the Web Poetry and Prose 2014

 

[butters]

filing:

LOST

the dead list
the missing list
grow with each hour
each day
he checks the lists
adds another photo
a smile to break his heart
a wave

he sits on steps
gathering snow
a bowling alley with row upon
row of uniform white
like pins all knocked down
waiting to be stood again
a silence of machines




amended with thanks to angeline and ishtat:

LOST

the dead list
the missing list
grow with each hour
each day
he checks the lists
adds another photo
a smile to break his heart
a wave

he sits on steps
gathering snow
a bowling alley with row
on row of uniform white
pins knocked down
waiting to be stood again -
a silence of machines

 

[butters]

from a bus window

blue bag nests in bare black branches
atop a spring-green embankment
alongside the dull hiss and shine of tracks

she-crow flaps in
inspects the eggless nest
coughs a harsh note, departs

----------------------------------------------
just getting it down before i forget to. now it can be revised.

 

[butters]

.... scrapped

 

[butters]

v2

a blue bag in black branches
that wave above the
spring-green bank
dull hiss and shine of tracks

a ragged crow comes flapping in
inspects the eggless, plastic nest
shuffles, shits and, quite bemused,
coughs harshly and takes flight

v3

there's a

a blue, bright bag in
black branches waving
to trains that disappear
along the hiss and shine of tracks
hugged by green embankment.

a curious crow flaps in,
black on black by blue;
inspects the eggless nest and,
quite bemused,
shuffles, shits and drops a feather -
coughing, takes to the air

 

[butters]

blue bag nests in bare black branches
atop a spring-green embankment
alongside the dull hiss and shine of tracks

she-crow flaps in
inspects the eggless nest
coughs a harsh note, departs

hmmn. maybe tighten further rather than expand:

blue bag in black branches
above green embankment
hiss and shine of tracks

crows flaps in
inspects this eggless nest
coughs harshly, departs

 

[butters]

my brain refuses to do anything with this at the moment. maybe in a while.

 

[butters]

Sunday morning poem

turn
into the cool space
air
on your face
and breathe
as light plays
on closed lids
lips
at rest

ease
thoughts into the day
as supple boughs
sing on the breeze
sway
a zest
a shimmer of pollen
up up
and away
in a poem

 

[butters]

v3. haven't found is title yet. still tinkering

so

d'ya still have nightmares?
i suppose you would
waking in the dark
in the dead
in the heart-choke, breath-broke
night
blind
terrified it's still real
can't scream
incase
incase
encased

incase
it's no dream
incase
no-one answers
incase
no-one hears
not even you
with eyes glued
and blood pumps
pumps
heavy as crude
your minerals
a viscous slew of
O-starved blue
in bottle-necked arteries

fingers find
the panic button
the god-light

 

[butters]

i like the concepts involved with 'god-light' but not sure it conveys the sense of grace, the relief, the bathing in the light of life.... the truth-light, being alive and not buried alive...


above all, the flooding sense of relief

 

[butters]

tinkering

so, ten years on...

do the nightmares still come...
of the planes and the
crumbling towers?
i suppose that they would
till you wake
in the dark
in the dead
in the heart-
choke, breath-broke
night
blind
and fear it's still real
won't scream
incase
incase
encased

incase
no-one answers
incase
no-one hears
not even you
with eyes glued
and blood pumps
pumps
heavy as crude
your minerals
a viscous slew
till fingers find
the panic button

the god-light
_____________

 

[butters]

not yet there....

 

[butters]

ok, will have to come back to that and look again. sigh. need to find the right angles.

 

[butters]

deception

smoke falls
rolls across silver
obscuring clear-water clarity

mirror
confident in its honesty
is fooled every time

truth's reflection depends
on more than one
perspective

 

[butters]

version 'i've lost count'

ten years on...


do the nightmares still come
of the planes and the
crumbling towers?
i suppose that they would
till you wake
in the dark
in the dead
in the heart-choke, breath-broke
night
blind
and fear it's still real
won't scream
incase
incase
encased

incase
no-one answers
incase
no-one hears
not even you
with eyes glued
and blood pumps
pumps
heavy as crude
your minerals
a viscous slew
till fingers find
the panic button

the god-light

 

[butters]

still discontent with this part. in particular. it's what i want to say, but needs saying better. or implied and not spoken.

incase
no-one answers
incase
no-one hears
not even you

 

[butters]

ten years on...


do the nightmares still come
of the planes and the
crumbling towers?
i suppose that they would
till you wake
in the dark
in the dead
in the heart-choke, breath-broke
night
blind
afraid it's still real
won't scream
incase
encased

incase
no-one hears
not even you
with eyes glued
and blood pumps
pumps
heavy as crude
your minerals
a viscous slew
till fingers find
the panic button

the god-light



----------------




am i getting there yet, anyone?
still unsure about 'won't scream'. it's what i mean but feels a bit off.

 

[butters]

ten years on...


do the nightmares still come
of the planes and the
crumbling towers?
i suppose that they would
till you wake
in the dark
in the dead
in the heart-choke, breath-broke
night
blind
afraid it's still real
stifling scream
incase
incase
encased

incase
no-one hears
not even you
with eyes glued
and blood pumps
pumps
heavy as crude
your minerals
a viscous slew
till fingers find
the panic button

the god-light



----------------

 

[butters]

sleep

charms
from its darkened cradle
invites
with a backscore of rain
wraps
soft woolly fingers
around a brain's membrane
till focus slips
the fall is welcome
and landing too soft to notice

 

[butters]

cataloguing

summit


when a mountain floats
when you've eaten too much ice
when you're snowblind
and breathing air too rare
when your bones know
they tether muscles as they quiver -
thin strings in drawn-out notes -
still your heart swells
as the falling sun paints purple thoughts
and roseate desire




immaculate
"isn't she lovely..?"


harlem girl in ankle socks
writes on walls
hand on her belly
all because

the radio was turned up high
no-one heard her awful cries
so now whenever the blind man sings
she shuts her eyes and dreams of wings

and somewhere deep
inside its sleep
a rough beast shudders

 

[butters]

and still...

perhaps

when the sun scoops low to the wave
when the sauce
bubbles slowly in the pan
when words fall
or fail
depending on the quickbreath in my ear
when something screams a chill right up your spine
i'll look and find the hammer's in my hand
and how the last nail glimmers
rightly mine

 

[butters]

..gathering

sometimes i ponder

about the human state-of-being
size is relative, true
but
the inside
the insides of us
bear no relation

we are vast
oceans
deserts
skies
timelines

we are enormous
and complex
simple as an atom
convoluted as theory
restless and calm and hazy allatthesametime

no answers
observations

how do we fit into skins?

 

[butters]

thinking aloud

if we were turned
insides out
it might be
amazing

no-one would know what we looked like though
eyes tucked away inside

but all that insidedness
unbound
we'd necessarily overlap
surely
swim into oneness

would there be gaps?

 

[butters]

sorry about this, it's from a dream, for real

still sleeping


in my dream i woke up laughing
me and zainab from eastenders
running across the manicured green
in front of some diplomatic building -
all grey-white protocol on the north bank

such an unlikely pair
to be running
on a mission
i just couldn't help but shout it out...

"Fratman and Bumboy!"