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

[vrosej10]

if i put a smile on yer face and a giggle in yer heart, i count it a day well-spent.

*security! come get this one... i think she got away *

Damn it! It took me four hours to chew through those restraints!

 

[butters]

Damn it! It took me four hours to chew through those restraints!

*proof positive that V's no twitchin' squirrel!*

 

[butters]

don't mind me, just squirrelin' these away in one place

he sat her next to mother
smiling stiffly in the rocking chair
told her to close her eyes and wait -
he had a surprise!
(but her eyes couldn't close
which disappointed him a little)
and when he presented her with the rose
(smelling sweeter than she)
he was pleased enough at the O
her rouged lips formed



revision:

blood 'n' roses
he sits her next to mother's
stiff smile in the rocking chair

tells her to close her eyes and wait
he has a surprise!

her eyes can't close
which disappoints him a little

but he presents his Red Rose
with a sweet-smelling bloom

satisfied by the O
her rouged lips form

 

[butters]

artistic temperaments

my head he said
is a dry gourd
scraped of its meat
scoured of its 'integrity'
i considered him awhile
then said
put on your hat. no one will know.

 

[butters]

well it made me laugh

 

[vrosej10]

I tried to describe the squirrel poem to my husband and ended up collapsing in a fit of laughter. For some reason I think squirrels are hilarious. Always have. This just proves it.

 

[butters]

I tried to describe the squirrel poem to my husband and ended up collapsing in a fit of laughter. For some reason I think squirrels are hilarious. Always have. This just proves it.

^^ nuts as a twitchin' squirrel *nods*

be'ave ... my ku was

wonderku

 

[butters]

don't mind this one

it's a small twitch i don't know what to do with as yet... and yeah, i know the meter's fooked
*eyes the bin*


*binned*

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

saving Grace


he sang a sprawl of stars
to glitter in her desert
fooled jerichos the rains had come
counted grains of sand
named each a world
painted a vortex
on her sole
a bird upon her throat
with hope
she'd find her sea again

This is beautiful.

 

[vrosej10]

Hi Chip,

I think this a brilliant poem with lovely bones but in need an edit. I am taking a run at it below. This is just a suggestion. By the by, you were COMPLETELY right about After Christmas Island. Passion was blinding me.

it's a small twitch i don't know what to do with as yet... and yeah, i know the meter's fooked
*eyes the bin*

it's gotta be love

she jangled, mad-angled,
flipping, tail scraping scales fell
a trail for moonbream or sunray...

a dry fish with a betty crocker smile
as soon as she could grow some legs
she'd walk the glass-strewn mile

she didn't think he'd mind
the gills though they might test him
he'd fixate on-her awesome breasts
how great she was at swimming

 

[butters]

This is beautiful.

thankyou very much, deepgreeneyes unfortunately it only managed to thoroughly confuse most people and so it kinda bombed

Hi Chip,

I think this a brilliant poem with lovely bones but in need an edit. I am taking a run at it below. This is just a suggestion. By the by, you were COMPLETELY right about After Christmas Island. Passion was blinding me.

fish bones? lol. your suggestions certainly work better than whatever it was before, V!


i was? goodness me, rumours might start

 

[vrosej10]

thankyou very much, deepgreeneyes unfortunately it only managed to thoroughly confuse most people and so it kinda bombed


fish bones? lol. your suggestions certainly work better than whatever it was before, V!


i was? goodness me, rumours might start

I get stuck with editing lots of people's stuff when they realise I edit other's stuff better than my own. I tried to stick with your original intention and your style. I love you work.

 

[butters]

I get stuck with editing lots of people's stuff when they realise I edit other's stuff better than my own. I tried to stick with your original intention and your style. I love you work.

i think that we're birds of a feather when it comes to that, V

and ty - it's reciprocal.

now just got to see if the spammer's left its greasy little load again....

 

[butters]

new poets under the spotlight


when i hold your wrist and press my thumb
down along the pulse of blue
it disappears
for moments
then fills in again upon itself
the stuff of life

and when i take your wrist
and hold your tender hand up to the light
each darkened thread appears
'neath skin so thin it bare contains
or shields

i kiss the hand and would advise
that callouses, encouraged,
will provide protection of a sorts
but
until time earns them
(and it does)
when gardening in the rough
(in your labourings of love)
wear gloves

 

[butters]

just tucking this one into the folder

Can muses be aroused to help me out?
Can words be found that hold poetic clout?
Determined as I am to see this through,
Decisions that I make, may bother you.



This one is just for you, your eye, your mind
Your ear, sweet reader, if I could but find
The words to turn to whispers my coarse shout;
Can muses be aroused to help me out?

To think that you would read this, perhaps smile,
Would help a poor lost poet for a while;
To think of you afrown engenders doubt;
Can words be found that hold poetic clout?

Ah, love, that old and many splendoured thing
In all its forms, will have me dance and bring
An empty bowl, a rose, a worn tap shoe -
Determined as I am to see this through.

So on the stage I face into your light;
There, blinded, smile and juggle words in fright
And, hoping for applause, expect your 'boo!'
Decisions that I make may bother you.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Can muses be aroused to help me out?
Can words be found that hold poetic clout?
Determined as I am to see this through,
Decisions that I make, may bother you.



This one is just for you, your eye, your mind
Your ear, sweet reader, if I could but find
The words to turn to whispers my coarse shout;
Can muses be aroused to help me out?

To think that you would read this, perhaps smile,
Would help a poor lost poet for a while;
To think of you afrown engenders doubt;
Can words be found that hold poetic clout?

Ah, love, that old and many splendoured thing
In all its forms, will have me dance and bring
An empty bowl, a rose, a worn tap shoe -
Determined as I am to see this through.

So on the stage I face into your light;
There, blinded, smile and juggle words in fright
And, hoping for applause, expect your 'boo!'
Decisions that I make may bother you.

Somehow missed this. I like it a lot.

 

[butters]

Somehow missed this. I like it a lot.

cheers, DGE it was an attempt at a glosa in Lauren's glosa challenge thread. thanks for stopping by to read and letting me know you enjoyed it.

 

[butters]

seems the...

the wasps are out early this year
their inarticulate buzz
fuzzes in each ear
meeting someplace between
in a whining higher note reminding me how very tired
this is
in a head empty
of everything else

 

[butters]

early morning fog

hung freezing in the air
coated rooftops with white glaze
baffled windows
denied the early birds' chorus
muffled geometry and geography
and really
really
really
pissed off my cat

 

[butters]

he always enjoyed nature

the sky doesn't weep
on this funeral day
but is determinedly bright
and blue
and fresh
and the birds' busy ruckus
and the gay daffodils
and the shiny crocuses and snowdrops
contrast so
with the black sunglasses, veils, coats, shoes
grey-sky hearts and the special black handbags...

even the stiff flowers
with their shiny purple bows
can't hold back spring

 

[butters]

a refound oldie i don't think i have here:

riven

of you
they look at me
as if i no longer belong
i've become an oddity
in their world of must and sureties
i

no longer know how to behave
my point of reference missing
my compass bearing lost

now my needle idly spins
bereft of direction

 

[butters]

just filing

more oldies:

epicentre

once
you were the epicentre of my tremors
when quaking limbs rejoiced in such bright madness
and perception lost all clarity
confused by passion's garbled codicils






temptation

behind the mask
street pedlar eyes
and the voice of a trickster

so plant myself deeper
the tempter nothing more than
silhouette of the assassin




spectres

thoughts sink
like cold air
rush into the breach like men already dead
- yet unaware

 

[butters]

can't remember if this is already here. i'll delete if so.

the falling

in a city of angels
an angel fell

past acres, miles, of steel and glass
into oblivion of grace
life's fleet details a blurring of his vision
the anguish of his tortured soul
a flame he wished extinguished

 

[butters]

Now

is that time
between then
and then

a lush green strip suspended

between
white-brushed
aching blues​

 

[butters]

last oldie found for now

metaphorically speaking

"Everything's a metaphor" he said,
deadheading the rosebush,
thick gloves protecting him from its spite.

"Is it?" I asked, "Even us?
Are we just a metaphor?"

And though he didn't look at me,
I saw a smile tilt the corner of his lips
as he nodded.

"Oh yes, especially us" he said,
pinching off a withered bloom
and dropping it into the dirt.