Best Butters Poems
“And you call yourself a bloody cook”, this mongrel shearer said.
“I oughta ram this rubbish down yer’ throat, it’ll kill a bloke stone dead.”
He’s talking ‘bout the stew I burnt, which I hoped he couldn’t focus.
That he’d gulp it down with ‘red-eye’ wine, and he would fail to notice.
But no, my luck was out, he flew raging from his seat
“You’ve put a taste into my ‘gob’, now I need something sweet,
What’s in the fridge;” he yanked the door, took out a plate and bowl,
On one was chunky custard, and one a mouldy sausage roll.
“Look at this!” The shearer screamed, so all the mob could see.
First they eyed the sausage roll, and then looked back at their tea.
“Hang on” I said, “You ‘mangy’ lot, what you’re seeing here,
Is something I can’t be blamed for, they’re from the cook last year.”
“Git’ the boss!” I heard yelled out, and one went for the door.
I need this job and need it bad … to them I vowed and swore.
I’ll clean out the fridge and lift my act; then promised I would bake,
A treat for them on Wednesday ... my special chocolate cake.
My memory’s a little blank, for the ingredients I need,
I’ve got most in the cupboard, with no recipe to read,
Butters scarce but lard will do, and the milks a little sour.
None of them are ‘gunna’ notice, the weevils in the flour.
There’s salt and caster sugar, I need cocoa but there’s none,
There is a tin of milo though; its use by date is March of sixty-one,
That’s everything to make the cake; all I need’s an egg to bind,
Oh yes! There are two in the fridge; last years cook had left behind.
I got down the mixing bowl, and took some water from the tank,
Spooned out a couple of wrigglers … the dead ones to the bottom sank.
I’m not sure about the ounces or the tablespoons and such.
Cups of this with drops of that, but does that really matter much.
The only time I wasn’t sure, and felt maybe should I renege,
When I cracked the shell and found, a half grown chicken in the egg.
But they’re shearers here, big and strong, who’d never get to eat,
Let alone a chocolate cake, but one that’s made with meat.
The oven’s hot, the textures great, I greased the baking dish.
The cake was cooked and it smelt great … every shearers wish.
But a chicken’s foot stuck out the top; I cut out and ate that bit.
You know this chocolate cake of mine, tasted – more – like … ‘passionfruit’!
Categories:
butters, food, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
He's a WORD Casanova
He butters them up
Gives sips from his cup
words syrupy sweet
a tasty love treat
makes the girls swoon
to his sensual croon
The Word Casanova
His words are his charm
they dismantle alarm
“sugar and spice”
and they gush..."OH…SO... NICE!"
Demanding submission
to his domination
He metes out a rule
and watches them drool
The Word Casanova
The thing that's obscene
In his plan, in his scheme
He plays and he preys
as his trap there he lays
he wants every one
each heart must be won
Not content to befriend
Wants much more in the end...
The Word Casanova
So he hurts and he maims
And they writhe as he blames...
Ladies….LADIES!!
It's just a game...a GAME
What a shame!
The Word Casanova
This is a poem I wrote some time ago but deleted when I was considering leaving this place. I'm slowly reposting my deleted poems. I'm fully aware that a woman can play this role as well....a Casanovette! It is not gender specific
Categories:
butters, words, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
She moves in red and lights the room.
They see her hair in bloom, not wasting flames in doom her voice is meant to show the moon is out to play the night until, until, the end is soon, but keeps them wanting thrills and chills, of stories told.
They hang on utters, baiting flutters, heartfelt words of bread and butters, oaked in solid earthern golds enriching minds with finds of old.
They listen to her plays that make them wait and wait, red phoenix til its late.
She holds them close til darkness passes, rapt in words she moves their glasses, worlds of art she paints the path, those stories to oasis.
Categories:
butters, art, myth, red,
Form:
Free verse
slicing melodies,
guitar man
butters up a song
--
10-6-18
Categories:
butters, metaphor, music,
Form:
Haiku
Line of inquiry: track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within, your soul —Unseeking Seeker Contest
Fulcrum of a Rose
pinwheel spinning
reds, pinks, whites, butters
I found the garden’s rest in
peace s i g n
a spray, spewed across this holder
of breath
letting g o
the mailbox painted army green
underneath my nose
I know no more no less
than lessons l e a r n e d
with win some whiffs
does it pass the sniff test…
I’d like to find delightful the p r i c k i n g
of my nostrils, the inducement of petals
at first velvety soft
their perfumes
make my heart bleed
my uncle’s in a green suit, laid out
with just one truck punch, and it lingers
his scent, his lack of smile, the coldness of
the hand I touched -
he’s asleep…he didn’t move a finger
f r a g i l e
youth forever bathed in rose-scented water
a single red rose fought for his life in the snow
the scent lingers in
the leftover towers
I’m adept
in such ghostly afterglow
my husband knows
I prefer T U L I P S
Categories:
butters, flower, introspection, senses,
Form:
Free verse
"Bread and Butter"
Fickle pickles soaked in barrels of brine,
Along with drowned rats in vinegar’s wine,
Public non the wiser,
I am your advisor,
Take Tetanus when on pickles you dine!
Pickle plants in Arkansas where cucumbers are processes soak them in barrels of salt
brine a week or so before they are then processes in jars of vinegar. The soaking
process receives many visitor rats, and they fall into the barrels and drowned. The
dead and sometime decaying rats are simply dipped out and the process continues.
“Enjoy your BREAD AND BUTTERS!”
Categories:
butters, funny
Form:
Limerick
About six degrees of silly
Best describes my friend Billy,
Butters both sides of his bread,
Eats ice-cream standing on his head,
Walks backwards when it's hilly.
He embarrasses me all round town
With silly noises and faking frown,
He scares people in the park,
Jumping out of trees when it's dark,
Billy's such a hopeless clown.
Categories:
butters, children, funny,
Form:
Limerick
two men two despots
butters the western style bread...
the trap lays in wait
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Categories:
butters, power,
Form:
Senryu
"She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow
head, and whispered to her neighbor, Winter is dead. "
Quote _A.A. Milne
Waiting for the Aspens to put on their emerald gowns,
oh, I have been busy preparing my garden space;
so ready to say farewell to all the faded browns,
ready to plant seeds and to Spring totally embrace !
My sweet window boxes are full of earth just waiting,
hanging baskets are dangling in anticipation;
waiting to create my Spring garden is frustrating,
but, soon I will be the envy- for with my creation !
I will have herbs and Sunflowers and Nasturtium in one box,
and boxes with nectar wildflowers for butters' and bees;
I will have purple, yellow and pink blooms and Phlox
and baskets will be cascading jewels in the breeze !
______________________
April 26, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Getting Ready For Spring
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1451-105-26
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Spring Rhyme 8-12 Lines
sponsor, Tania Kitchin, Judged 05/14/2022
First Place
Categories:
butters, garden, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
I see a pattern Everywhere:
Circles and globes (three dimensional circles);
Shiny rings of fire.
Countless manifestations of this same shape.
Star-spangled galaxies wheeling through the sky:
That half-globe dome.
Earth, in circular orbit (more or less) around the Sun,
Escorted by the Moon.
Days give way to seasons,
Repeating every year.
Groundhog Days becoming
Groundhog Creations
Perhaps.
The list seems endless:
Hopkins’ dapples,
Planets, craters, cyclones, anti-cyclones, sea currents,
Balls, apples, oranges, nuts, potatoes,
Teardrops, heads, faces, eyes, mouths,
Holes!
Coins, bin lids, and plates;
Sunflowers, daisies, pansies,
Rings of mushrooms,
Circling birds of prey,
A cat curled in a circle,
Like a foetus.
Life as we know it
Is a circle
And a cycle too.
Birth, Death, Blossom, Wilt.
Reincarnation?
Renewal?
Clock-faced Time itself.
Eternity might be a circle,
Infinity the same.
Maybe even God,
Some way.
Perhaps we still are building God,
For Him or Her to travel back through time
Like Doctor Who
To Create The Big Bang,
And form this expanding Universe,
Thus taking us full circle.
Or maybe the Universe will fold back in upon itself,
Producing yet one more Big Bang,
In an endless cycle,
Of Big Bangs,
Amongst this ever circling
Multiverse.
Paul Butters
Categories:
butters, inspirational, life, space, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
My head feels dull.
Not even “comfortably numb”.
No mood for rhyme
Yet must cast my soul
Back through time.
No.
No more rhyme.
Just cast my mind back.
Seek that spark.
Call out my Muse.
Be inspired.
Excited.
Yes.
Excitement shines
Like a billion suns.
The merest touch
Explodes
My every nerve.
Magical mysteries
Unveil themselves.
Brilliant, fluttering butterflies
Flash and flicker
Those rainbow colours and more.
Deep inspiration.
Adrenaline rush.
Electrical discharge.
Cascading sweat.
Thunder-drummed tornadoes.
Lightning storms.
Rose tinged dawns,
And silver-ghosted Moons.
Inspirational volcanoes
Of Muse-blown delight.
That’s how it was,
To be in Love.
Paul Butters
Categories:
butters, emotions, feelings, inspiration, love,
Form:
Free verse
Butters Drippin’ From My Ears
Summer’s mostly over
I’ve not once mentioned Iowa corn.
It’s the symbol of the state
In which this rhymer’s born.
There are other places
That grows passable “sweet” corn.
I’ve eaten several others
But my druthers always torn.
In dead of winters dreary days
And it’s all the markets got
That “shipped in” product
May pacify the corn longing spot.
But when Iowa summer’s here
Weathers so hot & steamy.
There’s nothing like fresh corn
With melted butter. . . so creamy.
I’ve always thought eatin’ corn
Was the most sensible fashion reason
Hot butter drippin’ off my elbow
Makes short sleeves so now in season
We start dreaming of its coming
As soon as local gardening starts
Sweet corn & vine ripe tomatoes
Are close to this old couples hearts.
There are various spots to buy it
Lots of small, road side venders.
There are local “farmers markets”
Even “organic” stores for heavy spenders.
But my wife has a favorite seller
So weeks early we start spying.
To find that special farm fell'er
Many years his ears has been buying.
When she says, going out the door
”I’m going to see the little man”
I know I’m in for a real corn treat.
She’ll soon return with ears in hand.
It’s always cool and fresh picked
The husks are tight, the color bright.
The ears are chuck full of kernels
And almost never a bug in sight.
We get them all shucked
The waters now boiling
But the season is short
Soon there will be no more toiling.
We close out the season
Cut a few ears for the freezer.
Soon we’ll be saying “Good-by”
To this special taste “pleaser”.
Written by oldbuck after another
wonderful home cooked meal that
included “Iowa” corn on the cob.
Categories:
butters, farm, food, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
TING means “thing” said she who masquerades as my niece with the tongue stud and nose ring.
We used to put them in our ear, now they put them anywhere
BRAH is new for “bro” and does not have to be of your blood
Normal requirements would be a pit bull, mountain bike and hood
YOLO, now this one got me at first but after a minute
My niece stated that It means “you only live once” innit
BEEF easy, something you eat with veg and a roast spud
Nope, its full blown Armageddon and he's after your blood
BOUNCE means to go, scram, leave, nothing to do with up and down
I’m bouncing man, I'm off, gonna hit the town
Butters, she is butters man, nice fit body but ugly mush with no desire
We used to say you don't look at the mantle piece when you are poking the fire
HENCH, body building broadness, with or without the need of a gym
But if you don't lift the weights or drink the glucose protein, then stay forever slim
DENCH, relating to girls, cool, nice, fit, pretty, awesome, even a bit slow
I wouldn't mind giving her one, once or twice, what say you BRO
SWAG or be a SWAGGER is, self with egotistic attitude and pose
We have all met them and they get right up your nose
LEGEND is one who has done something "sick" which means "cool" at school
Like pouring Hydrochloric acid on a stool or pissing in the pool
JARRING not as some think, like pickling onions or even jam
Its your getting in my face and your gonna get a SLAM, which at a hunch is a punch
BOOM, is losing in a verbal battle, your argument has hit the floor
There are millions of them but I will give you just one more
OWNED is when someone has bored the ballocks of you all day with some shite story that just got worsen
Then you retaliate with a really cool one which means you own that person
DENCH! hey
Categories:
butters, children,
Form:
Rhyme
Well atleast the wall says hopscotch
Better than butter !
but butters too bitter.. in my scotch
So scorch the sapling that stays to say that the scorpians say they stay to prey !
While willingly waiting to see where we were
Pipers hate pepper plugging their pipes peaking purrs !
Pardon me Polly
Bonjour !
Good day !
But she never told me what she said that same day
She told me it would just get in my way..
Oh darn !!!
Hurray !.. ? My mistake..
dont frett.
she'll get by fine on her own I bet !
Categories:
butters, childrenme, me,
Form:
In life's' living gutter
I stutter and mutter
Eventually i falter
And did alter
The very life's' meter
That controls the matter
A bitter - like better
That butters the fighter
And makes him go higher
I needed a master
Who'll help my desire
And make me grow
stronger
Who is not a quitter
Even though i falter
And litter my letter
With words of a gloater
He'll bring me hither
Oh! just like a father
But i found another
Relative or father
Linked to my ancestor
Acting as the elevator
Taking me to the apex
floor
Terminator of the
imitator
And Creator the
inspirator
In the Orator
I found a MENTOR
Categories:
butters, inspirational, passion, people, me,
Form:
Rhyme