Mother Nature In All Her Glory

I'm tied to nature unfolding
Oh mama, I'm so tired of this nature unfolding
Backs are breaking
And the money they're making!
Let the black sun rise
And the bad moon fall black
Into my hands
It breaks my back
Nature, she's on the attack.
She's got around to me -
It's my turn for her mood to be black

The roles have reversed
A greater power
A perverse dig
You're gonna make me fall
With this weight

AJ Buttle February 2011

Tom & Jerry

Hypnotic Gaze reflects Tom's heartbeat-slow state of mind,
It's a little mouse called Jerry.
Tom's motionless moonlight stance, then
Sense the lull before the dance and
Lets loose this dog of war,
A flashing swipe with
Tom's hook claws,
No retreat for what's in store,
And then the decisive needling teeth and,
"Oh come finish me!"
Tom's charitable vice-like jaws.

That hypnotic gaze,
"I'm gonna play for days,
I'll let him think he's free",
Tom caught him once more in his eyes,
(His leg was broke by then - easy - Jerry gonna too fast die)
"So I'll
Toss him high
So he can see the birds
Flyin' free and high".
And Jerry can
Wish for the life
With the doves and the kites
In the
Soaring truly vast sweet skies.

Close your eyes
Little Jerry,
It's no surprise
To see the neutral grimace
In the mirror
Of your fading eyes.

AJ Buttle February 2011

The King and I

I am King of all on Earth
I am Absolute
I rule with rod and iron my country and my god my father looks well down on me
And my subjects the worms squirm at my toes
They slither beneath my feet and do feel pain
I bestow some of my kingdom to the higher subjects, the snakes
I hold Court wherever I be
I watch with my beady eyes as
A Golden Eagle soaring in the sky
Spying acts of weakness -
Where to spike the knife
Timing is everything in this business

The growing piles of butchered feverishly simmering bodies
From the youthfully precocious
To the Old begging at their sons feet
There is famine about I am told by my spies
War, Famine and Pestilence
And the Medieval mounds grow
My daffodils and violets are abundant with energy
And my subjects enjoy a new indulgence called cannibalism -
Everything is well and as it should be


One of the worms asked
"Is the Second Coming at hand?
"Are you the Messiah my God has promised?"
And the man tattered and torn held up his hands worn, blistered and tiring of this earth replied
"Yes, I am the New Messiah. Have you not learnt? You thought your king might be God's chosen Son?
"In my name you snakes you princes commit genocide and others live not by my word but as a heathen,
"Blaspheming and murder is as nothing to you
"You shut the door on the poor downcast and the falling and fallen
"Not thinking "there but for the Grace of God"
"Thus you have failed
"My heart is tears dyed red with your blood
"My heart is shattered as forked lightening in black and blue sky
"Pour some opiate into me for I leave you to your sinning and My Father's wrath to come
"He will cast you into muddied and heaving gutted waters that were once blue as summers sky
"You will see all your sins unfold before you when slowly drowning
"Then you will enter your personal domain -
"Your nightmares have given you hints as to how you will exist"

And the ice sheets melted and the more they melted the faster they melted
The Godless tread water and were treading water and tiring
(Give me an anchor to root me to the sea, and I will feel happy, secure, and I will be free.)
And the pain just starts for the masses who are not God's Saints
The thumbscrews are nothing compared to
Your life being replayed and replayed
Despair growing at every new nuance of error in life ensuring I sit here
Watching my life being replayed.

AJ Buttle January 2011

Untitled Number Two

In between the midnight moonlight
And the high noon searing sun
I see the girl with piercing eyes
She's the One
She's my Hydrogen Bomb

Playing a beat up beat guitar
To dying among the dead of night stars
Visions of the woman I crave
She's the One
She's my Hydrogen Bomb

Drugs I take I crave to sleep
Poppy vapours inhale bittersweet
Her fragrance in my dream I sense
She's the one
She's the Truth and Beauty we call True Love

From miracles of a sunning butterfly
And the hard-working bees
Beneath her skin such beauty I see
She's the one
She's my Exploding Bomb

She's the one who will save me
Yes, in that do not underestimate the strength of that reality
From the madness to come
For my soul to be free
For beyond dreadful sadness dare I see?

circa 1997

There is a place...

There is a place
A place that I want to go
Into the valley of the woods
Onto the purple heather
Lying down with deep brown eyes
Gazing and all-seeing
The ensnaring small of an angel's back
Entwined in that spiritual purple for ever.

But the humble bumble bee
In the wild marjoram and the lilac flowers
Sweet nectar and death comes within a year
Falling, struggling to fly,
Fading, flailing, crying, more time
To lick that sweet colour nectar.
But god in his wisdom did not dispense that
He deigned to leave the pleasure with the pain
And now I know where God goes I need not go
Again.

Can She See Me?

And into her sad young eyes,
I saw her searching vainly for her mother,
Knowing in her heart she has gone,
Deep in the mists that their time brought along.

And into her sad blue eyes,
I look around to see if she sees me,
For if she handed gave me a one and only chance,
I'd find her happiness with eyes which gave her my eternal thanks.

And into her sad ageing eyes,
I saw her searching for her red childhood bows,
That she wore in her wild long hair,
That she wore with her happiest gaze,
When she was lively as a child.

What the People Said

"I am the Alpha and the Omega"
Scripture said.
These people wrote
These people in my head.

I see demons' snarling lips
They come for the children in their beds
While they dream of the holidays at the seaside they swam
Their innocent small unscarred bodies in the foam-filled waves
Throwing them around.

Amongst the corruption and the desolation
The seeds of desperation
In the faces of the needed
The abandoned, the conceded.

I see the homeless lie in downcast eyes
Humble at heart, guilt-laden to die
And the up-front, asking for one pound
To go to the crack house
And when alone to cry.

tired

I'm weary of walking in slippers in streets of sliding snow,
I want to float away
Float away
Float away elsewhere...

Porchester Poem Two

Wave your magic wand for you and I
Reserve a seat of comfort in the skies
Let me know pray before I die

Seek, and ye shall not find -
Blind leading the Blind
Forget and be Forgotten

The oiled gates are opening
into the ice & flames and
Broken glass sharp as a brand new razor
Of Hell

Standing upright and glaring
Realizing I'm looking from within
Hammered with mirrored nails of psychic horror
The walls are so steep
I cannot fall...

Notes from Porchester Ward 2009

Porchester Poem

The Pawns they Fall
The Queen correctly stands tall
And the King lies drunk
Within his Mistresses lair

The Knights
The Golden Eyes
Meet Mine
There's no Design
But Mine

Give me her eyes opium brown
Calmness descends
Crackling Excitement Intensifies
Blue & Red
Metamorphoses to two wings of a Peacock Butterfly
Fluttering & Bliss
And
No Fear
No More
Surrounds...

Found in a Notepad from Porchester Ward

Lamb Fucking Chops

Lamb Chop half eaten with Hungry Fingers n Eyes,
Strewn upon the sparse tea-stained floor.
Christmas Time and I,
In a Box in the Corner -
The room still and will lie unadorned with Glitter within my Eyes.

A crate upside down is my table,
Such furniture used by smooth Clark Gable?
Sharp, groomed, tidy, moustached,
Unadorned by half eaten hungry fingers n Eyes Lamb Chops.

Bob Dylan playin' his favourite tunes,
Clever 'n' cool,
Nobody's fool-
He'd make the antiquated the in-thing to do.
Laid back 'Play Misty' in deep tones,
Bathed in good music,
Lock the Door,
Turn off the Phone.

Unread newspapers to straddle,
with intent to read, and
Crossword to attempt.
But somehow there's too much
And no time to make amends;
Yes, the house and hair to brush,
Teeth and worktops to scrub the land, downtown land;
Then relax in ease and comfort lie back:
No
Don't think where it's all going,
Nor the places where its been;
The whereabouts of my friends the ragged people -
and the aching, dying monsters -
The deterioration of what they've seen 'n' been.
Christmas shopping,
Feel better to toss a coin
At the Priest now Itinerant,
Whose faith has faded 'n' passed away,
Camouflaged by the Decaying furniture
Of the Streets.

Yes, "The Shadow", the black & white detective knows,
The radio stumbles across to say,
Another concept to try not think about,
Pots and pans and well-being Strays.

when did this transpire out of that cleaved mind I don't call a self?

Another poem for nobody to read. Why do I bother?

Found this little ditty written the 17th August 2006.

I try to find my way back home,
To the Evergreen trees softening the stream-smoothed stones.

I never knew which path to take:
were there many, narrow and wide?
Were there few,
Or only two, or,
Was there sadly but one way?

I try to find my way back home.
But all things change;
People get old;
Life and death move on.

I try to find my way back home,
But I fear I'm losing my way.
I never walked in solid stride,
But fell into unkind jungle
(Dressed with creatures in camouflage, some say satan, some say god.)
Where demons prowl, behind benign eyes,
Where the sad people laugh, and the happy people cry,
Where beauty is spiteful, and where love is ice cold,
Where all walk naked in the drifting snow,
Where most wear fur on skin-searing days,
Where the sun brings night
And the moon is ablaze.
Where the Doe hunts the Tiger
And the Flies eat the Spiders.
Where everything and all is turned upside down,
And all things in Dark and Light,
Bring terror and wonder and do astound.
Where the weak and strong,
And the lost now belong.
Where slaves become kings,
And kings become slaves,
Carrying iron binding chains,
To be plucked by their masters into the blood lust arena,
Starving lions to be slain.
Where the wife becomes her husband,
And the husband becomes his wife,
Where feminine becomes metallic
And the chisel-faced men soft.

What is this vortex, this whirlpool of confusions?
Of harsh realities and illusions?
In this jungle so strangling dense,
Hostile life is rapidly growing.
Is their no way to escape?

Pathways, if they existed, have ceased.
If there was a pathway I have strayed.
What can I do but lie in deepening blue swirling waters?
And think and dream of how to find out my way.
Out into the sunlight and open expanse,
Where all is in order,
And confusion has ceased.
Where the iron bar have vanished,
And I am released.
And I find a small track
And along I walk -
No cracks in the walls,
and words flow when I talk.
And when I go to bed,
And dream peaceful dreams,
Of stream-smoothed stones and trees Evergreen.

Post Script 3rd September 2006 0915hours

I found a path out the jungle,
and now I run
And every day is cloudy and misty cold.
There are no clear blue sunflower-filled days here.

"The Stranger on a Train" (Regards to Patricia Highsmith)

The Victories of the throngs
Shadows a Stranger on a train;
And that Stranger on that train
Is the new Messiah,
The Second Coming;
But none but the mad
Saw his Coming, thus
He stayed that 'Stranger on a Train' -
A cult-class compartmentalised sacrificial lamb,
That's what he was, and that's all he can.
"If they cannot see me,
If they cannot read my expressions,
Why, Father, must it be?
Why not create me to be a Doctor of Medicine,
And then I will follow in my Father's Footsteps!"

Early Morning Rock n Strolling

I scribbled this little ditty during my foraging into the mental health services of Nottinghamshire, the largest mental health trust in the whole little continent of Europe, apparently. If you can be bothered to read it, it reveals my state of mind is in the negative fields. I will have to upload some more comical odes so you leave my blog with at least not a noose-making manual. I noted, during my stay in the drug/alcohol ward I was in, that the likelihood of oceans or seas appearing in my verse was concurrent with the more my mental health was going downhill (or uphill, whichever way one views the sorry situation).
I have thus, through my personal experiences with my very own mind (no surveys here) come to the conclusion that the great oceans/seas and madness or mental breakdown is deeply linked - for want of a better word - within the human psyche. Must think of this more. I probably will have no choice...


And the seas and the sands,
And the quiet desperate lands;
And the mountain and the snow
Where the quiet desperate go.
And colours green and the brown,
And the hungry people frown.
Searching for the seas
Where the fragile people drown.
In the cities and the towns,
The screaming shrieking sounds,
Dressed and prepared
In their tattered funeral gowns.

Body bags stricken
Slippin’ n slidin’
In the Setting Sun

Christ, I wish I believed in God!