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

[butters]

Home
that place we see inside eachother's eyes
that door, that window, found within a touch
we're bricked and mortared, built on truth and trust
that spark of electricity - ah, lust
the fires of our hearts burn bright or banked
the ashes swept, and daily we give thanks
that though the miles between us bluely roam
we've never felt so close, as now, to home

 

[butters]

at last the rain
beats cold slick fingers against the
brown drum of the earth
to raise a steady rhythm
set the greens to dance
to dip and sway
feet straining to break surface
reaching
reaching
drinking
like a dry sea-bed welcoming the return of its tides
and the birds still
hold their breath
for the longest moment
confer in a shouldering of feather to feather
under the dim canopy

 

[butters]

had to go on a hunt to find this one

Behind the Girl in the Straw Hat

High-noon
and a slow, single bead
paints a copper line
over low stepping stones,
like the memory of water
in a dry river-bed
framed by a muscular valley.

Gravity has its way
pulls eyes
thoughts
to the peeking cleft,
the rolling hills,
where moisture slides
out of sight
to the dark and secret cave.

 

[twelveoone]

Behind the Girl in the Straw Hat

High-noon
and a slow, single bead
paints a copper line
over low stepping stones,
like the memory of water
in a dry river-bed
framed by a muscular valley.

Gravity has its way
pulls eyeshllock
thoughts
to the peeking cleft,
the rolling hills,
where moisture slides
out of sight
to the dark and secret cave.

Gravity has a way
with lead pulled eyes
o'er the roiled hillocks
toward the peeking cleft.
The cave (not nicholas)
secretes and dark sacred

some copper line goes zap
holy shit
someone threw an eel
in here

alright. i'm fucking around, but there should be an idea in this

 

[butters]

Gravity has a way
with lead pulled eyes
o'er the roiled hillocks
toward the peeking cleft.
The cave (not nicholas)
secretes and dark sacred

some copper line goes zap
holy shit
someone threw an eel
in here

alright. i'm fucking around, but there should be an idea in this

i'll give it proper consideration when my brain's not impersonating congealed porridge. thankyou

 

[twelveoone]

i'll give it proper consideration when my brain's not impersonating congealed porridge. thankyou

a little more congealed porridge, please.

 

[butters]

a little more congealed porridge, please.

*laughs*

you mama bear or am i goldilocks? i prefer my porridge 'just right'

 

[twelveoone]

*laughs*

you mama bear or am i goldilocks? i prefer my porridge 'just right'

*good*
as for me, some think I'm unbearable
wtf

 

[butters]

*good*
as for me, some think I'm unbearable
wtf

stars fall between the fingers of a hand
bone-white twist of tree trunk climbs
silence
in the death-grip of basalt
even the voice of the wind is lost
no translation possible
between painted eye and sewn lips
shadows fade
return




the past is only halted at the falling of the barrier
still there
for the wanderer
the traveller
the pilgrim

it is not gone
a memory
to fade with the untending
sad petals scattered on wet grass

candles will still burn for those gone before
for those keeping vigil



does the ringmaster never take off his hat?
too busy directing the marches
he'll watch you fall
smiling as the nets fail
the audience gasp
and all that's left
when the clowns have gone
are the rabbits
no miracles, no hats

edit to:

the ringmaster never takes off his hat
too busy directing the marches
he'll watch you fall
smile as the nets fail
the audience gasp
and all that's left
when the clowns have gone
are the rabbits
no miracles, no hats





miranda was cute
in her stripper-gram law-suit
cuffs and seamed stockings
but the taser was -
shocking!



despair where there should be an easy joy
blue touch-paper lit
a litmus test
right now he's acid
burning
and when tomorrow comes
the ashes are bitter



habit dictates
flowerpot or rock
bin or mat or nook
but people
being the creatures they are
want to cover eventualities
and the cat-burglar knows
and the cat-burglar thinks
and the cat
comes
back



sometimes the raw of reading here
hurts so much
this thread filled with pain
troubles
lust...

it should come with a warning
'Caution! Armour your hearts,
ye who enter here.'




something's gotta give (jack nicholson and diane keaton)

never been one
for romantic films
comedy's especially

try telling my eyes that
and the fat, hot tears that
after their twins have spilled
sit hot and thick and fat on my lashes

is it coincidence
the name and age,
or just fate poking a funning finger
into my soft middle?



there are wild peaches
in the woods
fuzzy skins beaded with dew
maybe not as showy
as their cultivar cousins
but
when ripened by longer days
restless nights
still sweet upon the lips
the pressing tongue




she thought she knew what she was doing
assured
confident
but then grew fearful
for bubbles burst if you're not careful
and she didn't want to be the one
to break the spell

deep down
underwater
she knew the skies were nothing to be feared
after all
the whole world spins
in its own blue bubble
looking out
looking in
it's all wonderful



pulls you close
kisses you fierce-sweet
fingers wrap and palm and press
coax and call blood to heat
to raise more than a smile
in eyes sparking passion's own dark fires



he

slips into my bed
slides whispers into my mind
smooths hands between ribs to hold my heart
stirs light and shadows to race across my plains
holds tender neck flesh in his teeth
pulse racing under his breath
prospecting for sweet waters



when he begins to speak
the long wave swells and rolls towards my shore
sound is sucked from the air
till only the subterranean roar of a distant heart is felt
and breath is held prisoner

a gull breaks and wheels overhead

the wave rushes
i breathe salt and fire
tremble like stars in twilight
know how a heart can fill the spaces
how fingertips can understand a world

v.final

when he begins to speak

...the long wave swells and rolls towards my shore
sound is sucked from air
till only the subterranean roar
of a distant heart is felt
and breath is held prisoner

a gull breaks and wheels overhead

the wave rushes
i breathe salt and fire
tremble like stars in twilight
know how a heart can fill the spaces
how fingertips can understand a world

accepted for front page publication in OAF sept. 15th 2023





citrus and salt
crystalised light sparking
reflections of times gone by
broken images, bright
sharp regrets
in a land all arid



he watches from half a world away
close enough to feel the stir
as lashes brush the fabric of reality
so close he can almost
taste what she's doing
with that raspberry held to her mouth
tongue wriggling to dip inside
lips closing against soft sweet plumpness
pressed between palate and tongue
to release a
flush of fresh juices
the bright note in her eyes

he remembers to breathe
and leans moments closer
to lick the errant cream from off her lips



a poet's words can
crush the grain on its stem
freeze water where it stands
call down the moonless night
and banish stars from murky heavens

if you let them

or if they have that way
that way of taking words and spinning them
of teasing and twisting zeros and ones
into living pictures
perfumes and textures

their words can
lift a veil
bring dawn to eyes that hurt for lack of light
bring solace to a heart grown small for want of joy
bring visions of a future's promise held

if you let them




the exploding kebab
or

Sheesh - kaboom!


that is all.
move along, nothing to see
here




whenever i think
of whips snap-crackin'
the thing i recall
is Rawhide, back in
the old black an' white
days past trackin'
and things were all a li'l rowdy
fer sure



red sun slips
into the valley
sets
fire to dark slopes
smoke hushes light
song bird cries
in tongues




no canute

his lips and tongue form incantations
call forth the tide
come

fingers weave deep magic
waves break over him
half-drowned he feels alive



How to fit america into england?

It seemed an unlikely puzzle
a folding of geology
new terrain to be mapped
calibrated, and mined
data-rich

Geometry, it seems,
is as much about pie as angles
about the twitch of the rod
the divining of water tables
occlusions
and mother-lodes

And when england's green and pleasant hills
were rocked by yankee mountains
her skies grew bright with southern stars
and he felt the wayward ocean lap
at all his shining shores



at last the rain
beats cold slick fingers against the
brown drum of the earth
to raise a steady rhythm
set the greens to dance
to dip and sway
feet straining to break surface
reaching
reaching
drinking
like a dry sea-bed welcoming the return of its tides
and the birds still
hold their breath
for the longest moment
confer in a shouldering of feather to feather
under the dim canopy

 

[butters]

age

my cunt is not the prize
nor heavy breasts grown soft
nor sagging belly where there once
was skin
all smooth and taut
all peach and cream
navel ~ sweet dimple for a tongue

thighs a force of nature
now are laced with silver
ripples from that tide of flesh
grown more transluscent by the year
revealing clumps of purple, blue
a study of some burrowed creature's plan
to excavate, explore before consent,
this dermal woman

hands, through years of holding on
look thirstier than they should
nails traced with ridges and
half-moons too long eclipsed
feet - well, yes, there're two
beset by workhorse wear n tear
nothin' new

and yet, inside, i dance and glow with joy
my eyes expose this pretty pulse of life
for having found the one for whom
all said before's of little consequence
i've found it is my heart he counts his prize



from the frozen well
a blessing
if you dare reach down into the dark
to break the ice




we sleep on corpses every night
unknown to us
the secrets of others
buried well
disturbed earth spread and trampled
so no sign remains

we bury our own
so they'll not walk the night
disturb the sleep of others
whilst they drift darkly through our dreams




in a narrow channel
choked by rampant reed
banks rank on rank of weed
a quiet water slips by
reflects glimpses of sky
refracts shards of light
examines, intimately, a gravel bed

but when the river runs
full spate
the muddy banks give willingly
their silt to the waters
as river and banks forget themselves
their boundaries

erosion's a strange term
for a process that broadens a river's run
a channel made wider
deeper
more accepting




on these rotten shores
the lacewing daintily decorates
green branchlets
hangs pale green bulbs
from stiff silk thread
lighting up my day





they saidi woz
an ugly bug
and soi hid away
then summer came
ispread my wings
and flew away to play




there's a freedom
like an intake of breath
in allowing oneself to be loved
as the other would love
no second-guessing
no weigh nor measure
no sense of falling short

it's not up to us
to hold the reins
to steer the wheel
just breathe out
relax
understand
for the other
we're enough

 

[butters]

when all the poems in me fall to silence
and words have gone to ground like fattened quail
he knows to take my hand in smiling patience
no beating of the muse will verse avail

instead he'll lead me to the naked window
where shadows breathe like clouds beneath the trees
or walk me to the eastern-facing hill top
to feast on views of nature's timeless ease

it's late and heavy limbs are now unwilling
to move beyond this spot, so settle down
his love's my gentle blanket and bonfire
and quails may rest or fly - all shades of brown




sleep, wake, ache

pale flower drugged on lethe's sick tide
pulled under into darker dreams
cast up once more to oilish surface
where memories float
a bloated corpse of rot
roll, seep pustulence
stink of . . .
s
i
n
k
.
.
.



imagine you could strip away
the bark, the pith, of every living tree
until all that remains
is the water, drawn,
up from the dark soil
to push high
into branching
glistening
arching rivulets
to pour pure water into the air
all around you
a sparkle of fountains
a mist of rainbows
in sunshine

come
take my hand and spin in child-like wonder
under such happy, rippling visions





when your life depends on nectar
fear the sudden summer blizzard
that blights the bloom upon its stem
shrinks stomach, slows the wing

or make like a bison
grow hooves
shrug off nature's tantrums -
the bison has endured bleak winter's bite




there's a freedom
like an intake of breath
in allowing oneself to be loved
as the other would love
no second-guessing
no weigh nor measure
no sense of falling short

it's not up to us
to hold the reins
to steer the wheel
just breathe out
relax
understand
for the other
we're enough



closer to him
deer antler
fashioned by his hands
to touch and feel at one with his touch
and to feel as light upon my feet as dainty-stepping deer
to see the world through their gaze
scent of crisp air and warm hide in nostrils
green taste of fresh herbs, clipped grass on tongue
and soft feet now fit with shellac tips
and, when i close my eyes,
two sweet, stiff prongs spring from my brow
as i watch him
and my breath comes light
and my heart beats as if i've run for miles
and our world stands still
for a moment
out of time





shamanic hands read fire that unfurls
speaks in exotic tongues
of the dance, the push
the edge
behind closed lids
there are trembles
sockets at once too loose, too tight
and the fire spreads
skin to skin
as minds burn
as smoke curls upwards
towards the milky sprawl




she takes his cupped hands
and lowering pursed lips
blows across the writhing sparks
that flare, cave-fire, on the walls of his palms
eyes whisper
burn for me





animal skin remembers the stroke of fur
relishes earthy aroma of supple hide
the cold blue electric pulse of fear rides our spines
some deep memory of jaws and blood
in the night when the fire's burned low
as we writhe in abandon to life
so pass the living coal from mouth to mouth
keep the dark at bay
howl to a moonless void





once upon atime
a girl - searching the stars
and a man - raking the earth

in the air she traced a simple key
in the soil he planted stones
there was no lock
and how were stones to grow?

but with fire and water
they breathed a magic into life

he plucked a muddy girl from the grit
she took that key, unlocked his star-dust heart
and when blue met blue
they reaped their how
to be happy





now those are pretty
baby blues-ings
lookin' outta windows,
choosings
on sun n shadows' lonesome broodings
nature boy's, with coffee, musings
each 'not' a-twisted in your beard
a memory of me n you-sings





cat smirks
points to his mouth
feed me he purrs

lazy predator, she smiles
what happened to your pounce
and swat? forget your saucer,
get your hunter on. supper's ready

although i'm here
and you are there,
sleepy, blue-eyes hid in hair
and lips that seek a coffee'd kiss,
home is where the true-heart is
and ours are 'home' -
a heart-felt promise​

 

[butters]

a memory of a moon
casts pale gleam
before that, too,
is gulped whole
by greedy, filthy clouds
till all that remains
is the weight of its absence




for you i'll be a linen napkin
to fold and dab
pleat and furl
origami'd
oblivious to stains
leaving you fresh
and calling for seconds





we always knew
waiting was the hard part
after decisions made so easily
hot from the furnace

it's the cooling
reheating
reworking
that makes for endurance
trust in the tempering

so when the blade is finally drawn
fire ripples like light on oil
along its steely length
nothing brittle about it




Some days are
blue on blue
long shadows on banked snow
on ice in the mountain's pass
bitter teeth of the iron portcullis
sunk deep into bone made brittle by a
bite that sings of sunless northern wastes
and endless winds where no tree may stand in leaf
and all are stunted
gnarled
turned in upon their twisted heartwood
never knowing warmth

days
when even glorious purples of the august plum
ripe garnet of soft summer-swollen fruits
and subtle russet stir of elegant spices
fail to heat the flesh, the blood, the thinking
grey brain a motionless desert, frozen
numb as fingers senseless to the words, the breath
of others,
imprisoned in a welcomed white
that's always
always
blue




oh gentle flakes
shivering on winter's breath
nestle in our hair
wet stars to warm smiles
as hands visit european climes
rome
golden coasts
bask in heat's promise
roll with the swell of star-salted waves
a story of bait and bite
gasp and laughter
as there
on molten horizons
the dolphin leaps
scattering diamonds




transparencies
held up to the light

moon or sun
will determine cool or bright warmth

but held before the fire's glow -
revealed the ruddy heat of
blood beneath the snake's skin or
indeed
the feathers

what yet would be exposed
held up to the thunder sky,
the lightning bolt?

 

[butters]

catching up

although i'm here
and you are there,
sleepy, blue-eyes hid in hair
and lips that seek a coffee'd kiss,
home is where the true-heart is
and ours are 'home' -
a heart-felt promise




how i love
the fur and skin and bones of you
the gilden scales, the clockwork brain...
clockwork
that's not quite right
that image too cog-nitively precise for something more organic
fluid
pulsing with electronic sparks and waves
the wind across a river's curl
a rabbit's flank
warm updraught from an ocean's swell

there is so much to love
to try and measure is beyond me
so just open my heart
wide as can be
say 'here, the best of me'




awake before the clock's hello
from dreams of robots with human hearts
(of different sizes)
and al pacino sat at the bottom of my bed
crying his heart out
where the robot had sung its dreams to him
and i was both inventor
and robot/s
in some strange experiment
that showed
people couldn't tell borg from being
until
finally
it really didn't matter
when it came to affairs of the heart




bright morning, mister
wakeful puss
eyes sharp, paws soft
kneading you



the ornamental cherry trees have worn their best
a cloud of bridal whites to mark your day

the sun is thinking gentle thoughts
the daffodils raise their ear trumpets to listen

a plane climbs high
a trailing tail

and over the horizon
the same sun greets you
its warm touch on your hand
carrying mine to you




cusp

the air is soft today

not yet gentle as in weeks will grow
when catkins on the pussy wil-
-low sift the greening breeze
and shy dog-violets cede sway
to more narcissistic blooms

today though
bright ivy splashed in yellow boasts
proud heads of purpled beads
whilst snowflaked on pear's slender twigs
are cups of wafered white



metallic mistress hums a bluesy tone
jazzy warmth cajoled by lips
that slip n slide her cherry sides
proving age/experience combined
still make that low sweet music



she flows to him
languid in the heat of hunger
the bruise of her softness
swallows him whole

smiles dance on the soles of her feet
thunderheads lean, brew lightning
rivers of grass ripple
till he tastes all colours

sensory overload
trees twine in his head
root and branch
breach the shell of their skulls

breath grown paper-thin
lust - the peeling of their bark
the shedding of curled leaves
the joyous exaltation of love made
flesh, mind, heart



ah, Love ... that organic equation
its workings a mystery to a mind such as mine

and yet

my heart calculates the sum
furnishes the answer

even if it's so very long
to ever finish writing down




each year that passes
is as a single breath for mother earth
the slow drawn intake
where whites take on the colours of new
the rush of oxygen to the brain
kickstarting wakefulness
the pause
where all things warm live
the slow release
the shutting down
the gentle dying of activity
before the falling back beneath the white
the stillness



tsunamis of the heart
but gentle ones
enough to lap, to soothe, to
bring the new to already fertile shores
without the dark scouring
the bedrock scars -
those left behind along the way



flat dark waters speared
by a greening of the reeds
as yellow-crystal bubbles slide
towards the paler grey
linger then break
like a fish's gasp
unheard by those behind flat glass
who yearn for brighter days
the lightness of a sudden smile
when sparkling scales break water
the softening of the year



the gift of surprise

when first we crawl from the sea
gasp our first lungfuls of air
what first is given
is also taken away
as we're driven to our knees
flesh turned to lead
mind alive but trapped by gravity
foreheads pressed to wet sand
volatile and vulnerable
in humility
calling out for a god's protection
until we learn first to stand
then run
fear at our backs
walking the step we forgot to take




he fits me
like my mattress on the bottom bunk
shaped by child-i
holding me just right
comforting
bespoke
each evening happily to bed
each morning reluctant to leave its warm embrace
he fits me




a crumpled pair of dungarees
a damp patch on the earth
she glanced, askance, at underdrawers
and rolled her eyes in mirth

 

[butters]

as i stand at the sink
warm water running over my fingers
scent of lemons in the air
i can feel the tickle of your beard against my neck
the warmth of your arms around me
the long, lean you all pressed against me

a bead of sweat forms on my lip
a stray curl clings to my flushed cheek
and i squeeze the sponge a little harder
clean the plates a little faster
till they glide all smooth-ceramics
foam rising between my fingers
your murmur in my ear

 

[todski28]

crowman


lick my open eys
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

holy hell this is damn powerful stuff, the opening line is just plain disconcerting and you build on it in a disturbingly real way.

 

[butters]

holy hell this is damn powerful stuff, the opening line is just plain disconcerting and you build on it in a disturbingly real way.

ah ... that's an oldie. lovely second relationship that was - crowman/ringmaster/psychopath...

 

[greenmountaineer]

holy hell this is damn powerful stuff, the opening line is just plain disconcerting and you build on it in a disturbingly real way.

ah ... that's an oldie. lovely second relationship that was - crowman/ringmaster/psychopath...

and a very good one. I oughta know, if not poetry, psychopaths. I spent a career working with them in prisons and on the street.

 

[butters]

and a very good one. I oughta know, if not poetry, psychopaths. I spent a career working with them in prisons and on the street.

he was very skilful - he had a power over people, not just me. it wasn't till i saw a programme about psychopaths, how their minds work, how they operate by manipulation etc..., that it all fell into place.actually helped me feel less guilty about allowing myself to be controlled so long. inside the relationship there's no perspective.

 

[HarryHill]

Ask, no, beg butters to post the poem she sent me in private pm this morning

 

[Angeline]

Ask, no, beg butters to post the poem she sent me in private pm this morning

Please? Pretty please with wild strawberries on top? And chocolate? And Harry? (Sorry if it got a little messy.)

 

[HarryHill]

Please? Pretty please with wild strawberries on top? And chocolate? And Harry? (Sorry if it got a little messy.)

..
*Reclines on please, covered in chocolate, strawberry held in lips*

 

[Angeline]

..
*Reclines on please, covered in chocolate, strawberry held in lips*

She can't resist now!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

*Waits*

PS - where did you get the inspiration for "crowman"? It's compelling, brilliant.

 

[butters]

Please? Pretty please with wild strawberries on top? And chocolate? And Harry? (Sorry if it got a little messy.)

oh crikey it's just something i wrote quickly this morning after getting ready for work and before leaving. it's ... well, from the heart but not polished or nuthin'..... H is biased.

..
*Reclines on please, covered in chocolate, strawberry held in lips*

lololol
you clown

She can't resist now!

for chrissake, this'll be like a film trying to live up to its hype *pulls face*

*Waits*

PS - where did you get the inspiration for "crowman"? It's compelling, brilliant.

*facepalm* oh dear. second marriage. to the psycho. written during that.

 

[butters]

to harry, 7.30ish, 14/10/15

you are my cool stream and the vivid blaze
of orange sparks against a velvet night
the soft breeze in my ear and in the rain
the joyous song of green things in delight
you are the patch of ice on window pane
that catches and redistributes the light
the feathered hush of birds upon the bough
the bluster of their wings as they take flight
you are the worm that parts the rich damp earth
the autumn mists that float, confusing sight,
the wave that travels far to kiss the shore
you are my rock my moon and guiding star so bright
my duvet and the grey ash soft and warm
the comfort when i feel beset by plight
you are my freedom and retreat
and loving you will always feel so right