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

[butters]

"Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" 17.31

furiously the poets scribe
seeking green ideas
to render sleep colourless

17.32


to sleep without dreams

how i crave colourless serenity,
where ideas won't churn furiously
till green-stomached
i vomit
kaleidoscopic dreams,
to sleep
perchance to wake refreshed

 

[butters]

etheree challenge

meant
to write
a poem
in another
earlier challenge
that involved a sand cat
whose presence was only marked
by silent press of damp pawprints;
how the hollowing attrition of
granular sadness made each print lighter
till, finally, she lacked enough hereness
to impress her being in soft sand
and the heat of july sunshine
sucked her atoms from the air
not a molecule left
and even old prints
gave up their shape
gravity
pushing
back

 

[butters]

sleeping dog

sprawled
middle of bed
growls when i try to get in
my side

injustice bites
snatches my one scrap of sheet
barks when i reclaim it

tonight he gets all the sheet
even my one corner
i'll bring another

 

[butters]

gathering, gathering

what to do with a tender heart?
protect it more, so it doesn't feel this?
or drop all defenses--let it grow tough
till nothing really matters any more?
__________________


birds were busy at just after 5
chattering and flapping
strutting and de-bugging the yard
gathering in the fruit tree
first black then reds
the reds darting in
when black birds hustled to the garage
swooping beneath the roof
taking the shortcuts
commenting all the way
even the pup dozing at my feet
look bemused
__________________





bury my feet in the red dirt
mulch me black till my toes wriggle
give me something to lean on
when i could use a little support
feed me every now and again
but not too much, it'll poison
touch me tenderly as you pass
a few kind words to encourage
let me breathe the wild air
summer in the shade
but most of all
there are days
i need
days when i really really need
a long
deep
soaking

watch me bloom
inhale my perfumed pleasure
__________________

 

[butters]

fictional characters challenge

acting out the part
he'll always have his Hamlet

seen too many stages
too many sets
too many women
and men
too many highs and lows
people selling themselves to the devil

worked most his life
some flicks shittier than others
always missing those days of yore
footlights, greasepaint, a papier-mâché crown
trading his soul for celluloid
popcorn in the aisles
a catchy theme-tune
and "ice-creams available from usherettes during the intervals"

but now
alone
in his bedsit
(and happily so
because most people are idiots
no, be honest -
cunts
-he's already sold his soul, ok?)
with his faded wallpaper
faded couch
faded corduroys
and house slippers
(yes, fuck you, house slippers)
he spends his waking hours
watching reruns of his roles
(not an oscar amongst them, fuck the critics!)
nursing a tepid can
smoking something "herbal"
half-eaten tv dinner on his lap

he hangs on every nuance
each glance, each pause
each subtle play on lines
whose writers first argued
and directors first sighed
before conceding
eventually
citing ''time is money''

and as the curtain-filtered light
waxes first then wanes
he's lost in time
in a silvered string of moments
in a golden age
forgetting all the times he's bitched
about ungainly blocks of speech
and unfit scripts
inept lighting-techs and costumes gone astray
poor casting and poor editing... these days
he's mesmerised, enchanted
living once again in colours
he can replay *tap-taps the worn button*
relishing these happy, happy tears
that spill unspoken adulation
silent applause
even if his agent never calls.

 

[butters]

cowboy challenge

whoa! there

cowboy has nice chaps, girls,
black leather over blues
head honcho in a poncho
dusty boots and a cheroot

he's stylin' hues of eastwood
his hat tipped over eyes
a combo working pronto
from toes right to his roots

no horse in sight so you can count
he's looking for a ride to mount

 

[butters]

foodies' delight challenge

if i could have my H and eat him...

pass me the spoon
i want to tunnel through frosting
scoop rainbowed thoughts
that spark and crackle
all the flavours of an artist
delve sweet bones
ingest salted marrow
suck on candied visions of his eyes
snack on a flowered heart
nibble on cinnamon tuilles of his skin
dip a finger in turquoise swirls
and lick him from my fingers
then
clean up any crumbs
return for seconds



revision:

if i could have my H and eat him
pass me the spoon
& i'll tunnel through frosting
scoop rainbowed thoughts
that spark and crackle
all flavours of an artist

ingest his salt-marrow
suck candied visions of his eyes
snack a flowering heart
nibble cinnamon tuilles of his skin
dip fingers in his turquoise swirls
lick them clean
& come again for seconds

 

[butters]

long distance challenge

i dedicate this to you
the one who not so much got away
as eluded me for many many years
lost as we were
in distance and thought

who knows
what we would have made of things
should we have come to be
before sweet time reeled in our loopy threads
bringing us face to face for the first time
apart for the last
flew me here across time zones and hormones

but i do know

the magic of science
the crackle of electricity
the opening of your heart
your thoughts
divided space
and time
distance would dissolve

two separated bodies
conjoined awareness
phosphorescent trails
as we travelled in the cosmos
of one mind

 

[butters]

poetic lovers challenge

k.i.s.s

let's be clear
it's not all apple pie
though know he'd take
his heart and kidneys
both
should he believe that
move might pleasure me
inside a pastry shell

in a blink it can get
complicated as all hell

in one breath
angry waves subside

hands connected
all is calm
blue as his serenity
simple as a nod, a kiss
a smile
sharp edges sheathed
abandoned
pain's lake a shrinking puddle
absorbed by verdant lands
mountains once more molehills
__________________







how this view
soothes and breaks our hearts
smoke-breath from wooded hillside
softens the world
as the sky stoops to embrace

and on the surface of the lake
green froth lays a living blanket
beneath which life still swarms
in sweet and clear spring waters

one heavy rain will sink the algae
sun's light will pierce the depths
the moon will ride a watery sky
fry will school and larger mouths will harvest

trees dance there on the sloping lawn
clover beads their dancing shoes
birds red and blue mark fairy'd time
wood-bees, forgetting words, still hum the tune

barks upon the hill bring smiles
small rabbits hide in seeding grass
and though the snakes can't hear the song
still they feel the music

and on those days when lightning rents black skies
our bodies shudder with the thunder's voice
more alive as fine hairs rise
in chasing breezes heralding the rain

all senses wrapt
we're shared minds
boundaries erased
feeling with eachother's flesh
life-scars one and the same
open-eyed, sensing this one world
eyes closed, inhabiting others

 

[butters]

parody challenge

i'm just a little omeletto of a man....
is this the real lit, or real reality?
step on a landmine to escape its banality
open your mind, now look deep inside and seek
more inspiration, create me a symphony

because i'm just a little hangry so
an apple would be nice to go
or a pie cooked nice and slow
doesn't really matter, jusssst feed me

dumber, must eat the fans
but - yikes - not until they've read
my sad drivel, wait - they're dead!
mama, writings just begun
no metaphors to blow it all away...

bummer... ooohhhh ooooh
you know i should have tried this high
if i don't post again until tomorrow
sing a song, bang a gong, 'cos fuck it if it matters

 

[butters]

pie challenge

pie-man

he's off the chart
a slice of sweet crust
berry delicious
at times upside down
assorted nuts
a tart experience
deep dish or finessed
crumbled or short
puffed-up or filo'd
finger-lickin'-chickin good
hammin' it up
creamy, jellied
unctuousness guaranteed
umami'd to the nth degree
hot or cold he has me
comin' back for seconds
thirds
and with a keen tongue
i wipe tell-tale crumbs
from his whiskers




pie-ous

it is said...
the meek shall inherit the earth
but the pious
oh, how they pray
the same god that they
confess to each saturday
before partaking of symbols
body and blood on a sunday
fails to notice how wafer-thin
their mask of humility
and how he'll not notice
in genuflection's stoop
the indecent caress of their piece
carried secretly, without proper permit
the turgid little hope
that burns just below their heart
that he'll allow just one screamer
allahu akbar!!
to rise up in passion
prime target
for a sweaty-pawed patriot
hot to trot




pie-ratical acts
errol flynn sure knew how to buckle his swash, swinging from the riggings
__________________


pie-bald

his hair has grown thin
forehead elongated
age taken a hand
to quantity and shade
still he smiles
no desperation to his name
dismissing shenanigans
claims piebald is in!
__________________

pi-ne nuts

it's not alllll about pesto, though i am a fan, verse-atility!

salad nuts, delicate, buttery, will elevate listless mixed leaves




PIn-ak-o-saurus

millions upon millions upon millions of years
before ghengis was a glint in yesugei's eye
on a cool night when luck rolled his dice,
motley bands of pinacosaur-juveniles roved;
grazed as they trolled 'cross mongolian sands,
wielding clubs on their tail-ends as heavy as stone;
sporting custom-fit armour on each of their heads
that the latter-day general might swiftly have said
to adopt удахгүй (pronto) to shield his own dome,
had his armies uncovered some long-buried bones
that made sense of an ankylosaur less immense.







pinacosaurus - 80-75 million years ago, a genus of ankylosaurus but a smaller, lighter build

yesugei = ghenghis khan's father, his name translating to the number 9, considered a very lucky number

 

[butters]

in light of the 4 mass shootings within one week in the usa

the weight of blue

some say sorrow's bitter. sweet.
others - blue's all salt, alone.

deep water. dead. sea. heavy.
stirred by seismic activity.

tendrils spool. rise
to bright and glistening cores'

heat, to coldly coil about with salt.
the gravity of loss.

constriction on each exhalation.
compression. weight on weight on weight.

the depths reclaim their own - and more.
the sinking. a last, cold bubble. bursts.

 

[butters]

beneath a silence of stars





it's a line i'm going to use someplace, when i can find the rest of the poem

 

[todski28]

beneath a silence of stars





it's a line i'm going to use someplace, when i can find the rest of the poem

My brain wrote a piece linking this with your piece above but I dunno about writing it

It's a multi-faceted gem of a line

 

[Piscator]

beneath a silence of stars
it's a line i'm going to use someplace, when i can find the rest of the poem

whatever you do with it - here is a pcture that might suit if you can get rid of the Getty Images box, which wasn't on my screen when wWindowsused it on my sign in page.

 

[butters]

whatever you do with it - here is a pcture that might suit if you can get rid of the Getty Images box, which wasn't on my screen when wWindowsused it on my sign in page.

wow, that's something, isn't it? thanks!

 

[butters]

mother oak

sat between thick-gnarly, dirt-hued thighs,
girl cups a polished acorn—content, sighs;

summer-bared, toes wriggle deep in loam,
within low arms' embrace—knows she's home.

back to fissured flesh, so broad and warm,
autumn-child feels safe—secure from harm.

glancing up—sky worn in tangled meshes
dressed with random nests, bright auburn tresses.

 

[butters]

on thin aluminium legs...

a single thought
skitters—
spastic robotic
dancing on glass—
just out of reach

and in this buffer-zone—
halfway-house
between fevered wakefulness
and medicated dreams—
lungs tire of breathing

glands swell in protest
desire
rendered apathetic

let the crazy spiders patter
just beyond focus


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




edit: removed this last stanza below as it reeks of the author, instead of leaving it open to the reader. it's a fault of mine i try to correct when i've distance enough to see it

i hear them
but immersed as i am
in lethargy's warm mallow
they simply don't matter—
not today

 

[butters]

beneath the sun's bright fury...

the boots of marching men—
the virgin pre-sacrificed
tattoed by heavy artillery
metal grin and grind of cogs

orchids wear the scent of death
anoint pocked grasslands
birds sweat silence
in the ghosting greens

a limp flag droops—
apathy and a painted pole
as soldiers breathe red dust
laced with carbon's stopped clock

 

[butters]

#1

autumn-sky koi
pond reflects—
maples and jet trails


#2

warm grey boulder
damselfly glistens, gone
—six wet prints
__________________


#3
birds stop singing
small cloud crossing sun
shadows fade, sharpen



before the chill settles
too long in your bones
turning toes blue—
and thoughts—
bright days
autumnal pleasures...

we're brick and mortar'd, baby
and ducks quack
mocking birds torment
squirrels eye the beaded feeders
and you're concerned with
mind-the-gap

so tonight's a slow sippin' whiskey kinda night
chickens gone to roost
white dog's on the porch
cats are curled
and there's a long
old look
in your eye

ryōan-ji





龍安寺

in a sea of white gravel no rock stands alone​

Ryōan-ji Temple
It is Japan's most famous "hiraniwa" (flat garden void of hills or ponds) and reveals the stunning simplicity and harmony of the principles of Zen meditation.

Ryōan-ji Temple is famous for its mysterious rock garden, the most celebrated in Japan, which defies attempts at explanation. Enclosed by an earthen wall, fifteen carefully placed rocks seem to drift in a sea of raked white gravel. A viewing platform right above the garden gives visitors an unimpeded view, although from whatever angle you view the garden, you can never see all fifteen stones.
__________________

kare-sansui



枯山水

white sand
raked daily
serene—contemplates
erosion​

kare-sansui, a 'japanese (or 'zen') dry garden, translates as 'creating a garden using no living things'

it came about as an art form in the 12th-14th century, when zen priests embraced the stoic, sparse beauty of its styling

Such Zen-inspired beliefs of 1) accepting ever-changing nature as is, and 2) denying a self-centric approach in art helped advance Japanese gardens from a fine, elegant and presentation-oriented style to a minimalist, empty and metaphysical style. It eventually crystallized as kare-sansui, and it was Muso Soseki who cemented its principles.
__________________

koke-dera




苔寺


turtle swims in green
meditation—silence ripples
stacked granite waterfall​

known as Koke-dera, the Moss Garden, can be found in the western part of Kyoto. The lower garden is in the traditional Heian period style; a pond with several rock compositions representing islands. The upper garden is a dry rock garden which features three rock "islands". The first, called Kameshima, the island of the turtle, resembles a turtle swimming in a "lake" of moss. The second, Zazen-seki, is a flat "meditation rock," which is believed to radiate calm and silence; and the third is the kare-taki, a dry "Waterfall" composed of a stairway of flat granite rocks. the moss was not original but grew over a period of neglect and is now the most famous feature of the garden.

ishi




石

presence of buddha
mountains washed by ocean
acceptance​

ishi is the name for the rocks found in japanese gardens. there are many kinds, often representing turtles and cranes, but the standing stones tend to represent mountains (against which the white ocean of sand/gravel laps), strength, the buddha... the overarching theme is of acceptance of nature for what it is








a ham that size
ain't gonna fit
not as it sits
till split
jammed in
filled to the brim
with salt-sweet
float-bath
pickling peppercorns
permeating
molasses and pink prague
mingling
—grains in dissolution—
with brown sugar and kosher

kosher and pork—
strange word-fellows
getting it on
blushing meat
__________________



Originally Posted by butters View Post
he's not a one for crowds
for balancing canapé-conversation
society's paper plates too thin
too unstable
for a man used to depths
the steadiness of rock beneath
as thoughts mingle with currents of air
and rivers run through him
so he'll wrap a cloak of shade about him
affect invisibility
outwardly still
while all hell's breaking loose inside
revised this oldie a little, hopefully improved it. even gave it a title!



socialising for hermits

he's not one for crowds
for balancing canapé-conversation—
society's paper plates too thin
too unstable

for a man used to depths,
the steadiness of rock beneath
as thoughts braid currents of air
and rivers run through him—

so wraps shade about himself
attempts invisibility
outwardly still
whilst, inside, hell breaks loose

last edited 5/16/23




new year
slept in late
well fed--nap time?

lazy beginnings
all change tomorrow
bye bye little tree

bowler hung on wall
will still look as cool
wearing century-years
without gold berries&leaves



sun shines on the man
as he fights the 100-year war
man.v.ants...

his war bonnet of sweat
met by fresh-turned soil
glistening with their busyness




reminder to self:

NEVER use that dark baking sheet
burns bottoms
not in a good way

fortunately
their brethren cookies
pnubt butter and choc-chip discs of goodness
shine
i am redeemed
make his mouth happy
his tummy smile



unruly pile
given sharp-shrift
loaded neat indoors
outdoors
in more regulatory hues
hooped and stacked
ready for the call to duty

the last hurrah for shredded chicken
a bow-ties affair—
perhaps i should dress for dinner
__________________




the artist
happiest when contemplating
nature's beauty
is a fish out of water
casting for shopping list items
in a store mid redistribution
of goods to aisles
becomes a cat on a hot tin roof
hopping mad

needs a little nature time
au naturel
restorative sex




on our third wedding anniversary
each day brings new aspects
rounding out the man i know
filling in the lines
creating paragraphs
new chapters to live
re-read in his poetry
the one true theme
runs endlessly
no rose-tinted glasses required




pour me somethin' long and cold
enough to fill me toe to brow
to chill the burning blood that growls
in turbulent tides that crowd my veins

itsa hot out there


hmn

pour me somethin' long and cold
enough to fill me, brow to toes,
to chill the growling blood—it burns
in turbulent tides that crowd my veins
__________________







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






latest: v



a ballerina
dances with poise, grace
borne aloft on soaring notes
a thing of beauty

music hides the thud and scuff of toe-blocked feet
the strain of breath, grunts of effort;
tights and flowing fabrics
enhance/disguise
rock-hard muscles born of labour—
years of mirrors and barre,
trained muscle memory;
greasepaint defies the sweat,
obscures the pain;
choreography defined in each performance

wings are filled with competent dancers
busy understudies

but primas rise above,
bring a fire all their own—
something that can't be taught
practised
learned

those of us who'll never soar—
rise
to lead the corps
or
through injury or age
need observe from auditorium—
may still enjoy the art,
appreciate its nuances,
leap
vicariously

 

[butters]

weeding can wait
on tardy rains
let them persuade
the jealous clay
to loosen its grip
as loam and leaf reconstitute
and soil gives up its claim
on greedy growth—
harvest for a patient 'barrow

 

[butters]

just filing stuff from forum

 

[todski28]

just filing stuff from forum

I can’t believe I forgot about this thread,

•Starts running around like a tourist ohhhing and ahhhing•

 

[butters]

the man who was scared of drowning

moved inland
as far from the coast as he could
set up home in desert-land
devoid of heavy rain
on a hill
safe from flooding
not a lake, pond, or pool in sight
the water table
way, way down

no bath
he'd shower beneath a frugal stream
he'd even had installed a chemical toilet

he barely had a tear spare to shed
when he contracted covid
developed double-pneumonia
drowned anyway

 

[butters]

I can’t believe I forgot about this thread,

•Starts running around like a tourist ohhhing and ahhhing•

take those rosy glasses off

i need to find the up-and-at-'em to go read/think/comment on everyone's. right now, just too hot, too dull-minded (the heat and humidity turns my mind to slush) but had a couple of ideas itching....