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

[butters]

vulnerable

nakedness
isn't something Eve and Adam worried about
at first
and babies certainly don't give a shit

but once we grow used to something
be it clothes
guns
religion
or rings

we fear the threat
of being stripped
we shiver
sure of our vulnerability

 

[butters]

Told You So

we tell ourselves stories
tales of futures yet to pass
limited only by imagination

from the rose-perfumed
to the stench of burnt rubber
pristine seas of trees
to shattered glass and torn steel
peaceful coexistence
to total annihilation

for those of us who live
to see the pages turn
our stories reach their natural conclusions
human nature's smug in validation
no matter how awful the ending





the unbelievable thinness of our atmosphere

when you reach such altitudes
nose-bleed heights
perspective curves
and the bigger picture
emerges

we are planetary

in rarefied air
lungs grow grateful
for acts of intercession
as the id floats—
a go-pro strung out
on the whim of a balloon
expecting to burst at any moment
but expanding, still, horizons





youth's beautiful certainties

those black and whites
pure, judgemental, righteous
such a stark contrast
to riotous rainbows of colour
we celebrated in greener days

but when the bright
the hellish blaze
of condemnation and conceit
burns everything down
& all that's left is ash
our mouths are drier
eyes damper
as we begin to understand
our shades of grey

 

[butters]

(reflections on the past)


bruises and mirrors

beneath dull eyes
a tentative, curious finger
acts of its own volition
visiting livid shades
of chartreuse, plum
old kale and sickly sulphur

a tickle of surprise brushes thought's fabric
recognition that pain's bright knife is absent
at least, on this ghost flesh
forgotten how to live
a sad exchange for existence

far deeper the true wounds
where pain still reigns
in places i rarely travel

 

[Lazaran]

(reflections on the past)


bruises and mirrors

beneath dull eyes
a tentative, curious finger
acts of its own volition
visiting livid shades
of chartreuse, plum
old kale and sickly sulphur

a tickle of surprise brushes thought's fabric
recognition that pain's bright knife is absent
at least, on this ghost flesh
forgotten how to live
a sad exchange for existence

far deeper the true wounds
where pain still reigns
in places i rarely travel

Thanks for sharing that.

 

[butters]

thanks for visiting the thread, your time and comment

distance in time allows perspective, makes some things easier to write

 

[haventgotaclue]

(reflections on the past)


bruises and mirrors

beneath dull eyes
a tentative, curious finger
acts of its own volition
visiting livid shades
of chartreuse, plum
old kale and sickly sulphur

a tickle of surprise brushes thought's fabric
recognition that pain's bright knife is absent
at least, on this ghost flesh
forgotten how to live
a sad exchange for existence

far deeper the true wounds
where pain still reigns
in places i rarely travel

I was reading with my mouth agape, it's superb.

 

[butters]

I was reading with my mouth agape, it's superb.

thankyou for this feedback

 

[butters]

how to time living

clouds slouch above the horizon
surly sentries straighten up
as company arrives
& entire battalions join ranks
a collective, potential threat

winds change and change again
accept it
you can't outrun the rain

it's a matter of timing

when lightning splits the skies
when thunder shudders
have your shelter ready
but when the wondrous wet stuff falls
from heavens where the sun still shines
dance like thirsty earth-gods
absorbing life
embracing rainbows

 

[butters]

touch wood

when i seek to still a mind
that turns and tumbles
there are times i find myself
transported back
to subtle echoes
of an empty church
a nave with vaulted ceilings
lost in light
the ghosts of old incense
& the poetry of Latin

that sense of space shrinks me
its timelessness smooths my edges
cool stone for souls
the solid silence of old yew
a mellow pew's simplicity
to soothe a fretting palm

a harmony flows
through stained glass
—no priest or prayers
no sins to be atoned nor absolutions
no choir, caskets, wedding wreaths—
i am Peace

 

[butters]

thanks for the eyes-on and likes, guys

 

[butters]

 

[butters]

 

[butters]

The Problem

You stare at it
it stares right back at you—
a crime board with too much
or too little
information
in desperate need of editing
connecting
unravelling

Sometimes it helps to turn your back
focus on a blank space

Minds are strange creatures
& solutions speak up
in the silence

 

[butters]

Royal Portrait

Today,
before a backcloth of infinite blue
a Queen poses
all silver and shadows

She's shed her couture gown
embraces the chill wind
elegantly naked
utterly regal

King's a nude in waiting—
imposing bulk and form
rougher, darker, split
bark scarred by time—
ready to slip between
crisp winter sheets

He fidgets, impatient
commands to be painted in all his glory
small artist expected to understand
how light and shade enhance
and how, crownless, still he reigns
majestic