Best Butler Poems
Hour upon unending hour, day upon unending day,
quietly, in her prison, our dear Jennie Butler lay.
No curses did she utter, never once did she complain,
though hands and feet were gnarled, swollen, and burning with pain.
Instead, she smiled, told us jokes, those she often would repeat,
and sing to us the old songs, in tones pleasant and sweet.
Down the hall outside her room, other voices mingled there,
mumbling and babbling or calling out in despair.
No one came to visit her, no one that we could recall,
though she waited patiently, no one ever came at all.
Published in Art With Words
Poetry Quarterly, Oct., 2005
Published in MSPS Anthology
Life on the Edge, Dec., 2005
(Aunt Juanita's roommate in the Nursing Home)
''little boy looks down
splashes into deep waters
dawns a hero''
What the Butler Heard
Extract from a memoir
Lord Illustrious Penge of Lampwicker Hall,
Welcomed local Toffs, to his Name-Dropper ball.
Noses upturned with a touch of conceit,
Hob-Knobbing with gentry and gentleman elite.
Colonel recalled, his luncheon with Churchill,
Discussing backbenchers and a new Commons bill.
Shooting down Stukas, Captains claim to fame
“We had no choice Sir, Hitler started the game”
Lady Bell and I, champion ballroom dance,
After meeting Fred Astaire, purely by chance.
I worked with Crosby, taught him to Croon,
Just as well really, he couldn’t sing in tune.
Rupert went to school with Dame Vera Lynn,
and starred in a war film with Anthony Quinn.
Mortenson served, in old Atlee’s Cabinet,
Roberta was a Barrister when they first met.
Bradman hit this Six, into the members stand,
Luckily, I caught it, stretching out one hand.
I got a hole in one, on the sixth at Upper Plumb,
Sir Monty looked aghast, utterly struck dumb.
Sent my son to Eton, toughen him up a tad,
Hopefully play at Flanker, just like my old Dad.
Got myself a Cadi’, drives like a dream,
Shiny sleek and black, trim of vintage cream.
Gielgud and Guinness, met me at the Royal,
A script for their new play, Rich Man & Toil.
Later with QE2, after receiving my MBE,
She asked my opinion, of the shows on BBC.
I stayed at base camp, nursing a busted leg,
Hilary splinted it up, with rope and spare tent peg.
Spent some time in Burma, till the Japs came in,
Came home to Blighty, temper wearing thin.
I was at the Oval when Hutton hit 364,
England posted 903, a record breaking score.
In service with his lordship, so many stories,
Serving champagne to upper class Tories.
Tales might be true, just a little overstated,
Like the one that got away, typically inflated.
They were rather pompous, but often kind,
Especially the ones, left with half a mind.
Get me a stiff one Walters, Champers is gassy,
Just Lords way, sounding snob and brassy.
Then I won the football pools,
Bought my wife a gem,
So now I am a gentleman,
Just like the rest of them.
Burning and burning in the widening grave.
My hero ends cannot hear the hero;
Foes fall and get pulled apart, this card is centered in my fold.
Named anarchist, as released upon the world.
This was before blood-dimmed for every vessel, and everywhere.
Before heaven's ceremony of innocence made my last breath drown;
The best lacked all conviction, while the worst still stood passionate, vigilante. While god's fire intensity came crashing to the ground.
Surely some salvation is in his hand. Surely the second coming is at hand. A second apology! Sharply these words are screamed even from my teeth.
A demon image, my spiritus mundis is cast.
Suddenly, my sight is bleak, and my brothers and the many others vanished somewhere in sands of the desert.
Not a cloud, nor sound, no bodies here in this place for me. No more man, no more woman. All set a blaze as I stand and gaze, blank and pitiless as the sun.
Only pain and isolation, angry and animosity. I feel this as their moving slowly down my legs and thighs.
Brother, love your real shadows. As loyal as they are, you've shown that loyalty doesn't matter. But still I'll love you in spite of them.
But their darkness steadily drops again. Even through twenty centuries of stony sleep, I hear your insects buzzing with sin. They are vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and awaken I am, your rough beast, your fallen brother.
My hour come round at last.
Slouching I am towards the shores of Bethlehem to be once born again.
Suspicion always finds the poor butler.
This time, he was carrying a large box.
I think I saw her fingers--if not her
perhaps it was her sister's golden locks.
People say that she slapped his lovely face.
Not one to pass stories loosely, mind you,
but a grain of truth may favor this case:
She loved him, but I hear, he wasn't true.
I've only heard these things, and, yet it's true:
his was an evil look I saw that night.
Passing judgment, I'm not accustomed to,
(he could have done it when far out of sight.)
At last this story is wrapped in a glove.
The Butler's name, by the way, is Daniel.
The box contained a gift for Daniel's love:
A golden, freckled-nose cocker spaniel!
July 20, 2022
Theme: #2, Suspicion Fell on the Butler
One in Five 2 poetry contest
by Joseph May ~ First Place!
“Our own Festival of Youth Sport reminds
us that the potential to achieving the highest
starts with home grown talent.” It's no jest.
Karen works for the Girl Guides, the finest.
She has spina bifida causing weak legs,
And started shooting in the year of 1984,
With the Duke of Edinburgh, open door,
The top award scheme where you core.
Stoke Mandeville introduced her to guns,
And she first shot in 1991 at the Euros,
Which were there with Belgium portfolios,
In the big West Flanders city of Bruges.
Karen made her debut at the Paralympics
Of Barcelona in Spain in the year 1992,
And went on to enjoy more Paras, due:
Three - Atlanta, Sydney and Rio with ado.
She thoroughly enjoyed Operation Raleigh,
Which was a disability trek to two islands,
Over the Atlantic to Turks, Caicos sands,
Where she dived among the coral strands.
Scarlet O'Hara,
Arrogant misunderstood belle and beauty, from the plantation Tara
caught up in war, love for Rhett, and her OWN survival and money,
she made a dress from green velvet drapes, fiddle-dee-dee, honey.
Rhett Butler
a handsome rogue, a charmer, a gambler of many a dollar,
with knowledge of women, EXCEPT Scarlet, is that WHY he was enthralled,
his final words to Scarlet, I don't give a damn, as his name she called.
___________________________
January 11, 2019
Poetry/Clerihew/Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1103-978-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Clerihew Couples For Valentine's Day
sponsor, Carolyn Devonshire
Third Place
Hour upon unending hour,
day upon unending day,
quietly, in her prison, our
dear Jennie Butler lay.
No curses did she utter,
never once did she complain,
though hands and feet were gnarled,
swollen, and burning with pain.
Instead, she smiled, told us jokes,
those she often would repeat,
and sing to us the old songs,
in tones pleasant and sweet.
Down the hall outside her room,
other voices mingled there,
mumbling and babbling
or calling out in despair.
No one came to visit her,
no one we could recall,
though she waited patiently,
no one ever came at all.
*Aunt Juanita's roommate in the Nursing Home. Also written in free verse (Cameo Acquaintance)
Murder was served at the table.
The fellow is dead, not stable.
Page turned, nothing could be subtler -
Suspicion fell on the butler.
It was the salt and peppering -
It’s clear his oversteppering
was found out this night…all knives out.
Stone cold - the butler gave a shout.
The poison sealed the rim of glass
to coup de gras the loudmouth bass.
Another page was turned, we’d learn
the butler’s dead - a great concern!
The guests, now accuse each other,
but one by one they fall. Bother!
Who hates them all? Who’s caused this strife?
One’s still standing - the butler’s wife!
The reader, glares at the writer,
declares it was a nail biter.
She tells the author to drink up.
He hopes it is a loving cup.
7/21/2022
SPONSOR: Joseph May
Contest: One In Five 2
Chose #2 - SUSPICION FELL ON THE BUTLER
For if I had a pence for every pound,
I would ponder first for it to be sound,
For it bears on my soul, I contemplate,
Do they that is endowed suffer this fate,
The teaching I present whose life is poor,
For I fear naught my dream be it grandeur,
Then having the means, beyond all measure,
As dreams are a place that gives me pleasure,
A charming approach opts best for our themes,
"Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
2020 January 28
Famous poetic lines that inspire Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
"Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” By William Butler Yeats
it was therefore disappointing
but what ain't
hardcore science fiction
climate fiction
ecological lollocks
hero's journey balloon juice
Patrick Stewart on the baliset
is the definition of rock and roll
keep your expectations low going into the cinema
keep them low on the film
keep them low on the audience
for there can be no greater relief
leaving the theatre
when you say to a friend,
'thank christ everyone behaved.'
*Image of Suspicion & Doubt by Pixabay.
Suspicion Fell on the Butler
'Twas a murky damp eve at the big house,
A frightening hallway clock tolls troll-less,
Hark the wayward butler a standard louse,
I glanced via the house he's gone I guess.
You're confident you've dug in everywhere,
Every nook and cranny cracks in the fence,
All we found were pipes but he is nowhere,
The shadiness of mistrust emerged dense,
He yelled at Mr. Cheevers, the louse claim,
He saw nothing he know nothing came up,
And shortly haunting tolling trolls proclaim,
Straggled Suspicion fell on the Butler, yup!
2022 July 25
*2nd Place*
One In Five 2
~~Joseph May: Judged 2022 July 29
SON OF SLIGO
To William Butler Yeats - Feb 5 2017
You'll feel the voice of Sligo's heart
in pubs as music plays,
while spirits of the viking's quest
comes on, and here it stays;
their mournful song of blood and death
'tis not what it's about,
but bonding from much harder times
with friends while drinking stout;
their singing raises it to heights
the human spirits need,
and chains that bound their lives before
are loosed, and they are freed;
and here a giant poets words
came to the light of day
to shake the world another time,
but in another way;
this lady's man, always in love,
this Irishman born true,
with little thought, except for all
the things he couldn't do;
so Willie, here's a stout for you,
come sing with us a song,
and be assured, the dreams you had,
didn't turn out wrong.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Not pied but a piper of a different sort,
Partakers tend to frequent cuff and court.
He seldom leads prefers to follow,
Decorates flesh while insides hollow.
And slowly lets his ways go shady,
And lowers bar on choice of lady.
Will blame the Mayor and Council Board,
As if actions be not of his own accord.
Why all’d be in his favor if only not
For that darned raw deal that he got!
Plus ‘cause of him and also her
For was them that made it all occur.
“The unfairness! Those in cahoots!”
Falling on deaf ears; points are moot.
Child throws tantrums, teens rebel,
Twenties, thirties, gone to Hell.
Not of Hamelin or setting exotic,
Just the state of confusion, the city
psychotic.
Suspicion fell on the butler.
one scone was missing
a chair askew.
The constable scratched his chin
tapped his note pad.
The butler stood
Idly guilty in the doorway.
This was not the first such incident.
The Lady of the Manor strode into the room,
surveyed the situation
muttered under her breath.
The constable observed her behavior.
Discretely followed her
to the garden
where she inquired of the gardener
“Where is he?”
The gardeners reply:
“Behind the shed, Ma’am”
The constable joined her
as she looked behind the shed.
He was there all right.
Crumbs on his lips
jelly on his paws.
Guilty.
John G. Lawless
©7/15/2022