Butters Poems

The Queen Has a Navy that Floats in Her Gravy

The Queen has a navy
That floats in her gravy,
It’s sharp and its clear,
But it’s sure tough to steer,
For the rudders get stuck
In that thick, grayish muck,
And the lads in the stern
Have a penchant to yearn
For the bright shining waters 
All popping with otters,
Yet they smile as they sail past
Her Majesty’s repast,
And wink as they think
That they’d better not sink,
For if sailors go down
In the gravy, they’ll drown,
And you can’t hear them yelp
Through the lard for some help,
And therefore it’s wise
On the ship to keep eyes,
And they sail towards a biscuit
And think that they’ll risk it,
‘Midst butters and jams,
And kippers and clams,
On a crumbly crag
Raise Her Majesty’s flag,
And with hearts beating proud
Face the smiling crowd,
For a deed large or small,
It is better than all,
If it’s done with conviction,
Not merely good diction,
And protecting the table,
Or more, if you’re able,
Brings honor unseen
To country and Queen.

Connection

half a world away-trite,
honey butters me up,
with spectacles and cute smile,
good morning-good night

The Moon's Song

"Fly me to the moon and let me play among 
the stars (and butterflies,) fill my heart with 
song and let me sing forevermore . . . " 

                           Based on lyrics by- Frank Sinatra


In the middle of the night,
among stars of veiled crystallite;
I float in a dream of airy delight.
Oh, the shades of dark hued night,
lit by the peaceful moonlight;
where butterflies dance !

When the butterflies dance, 
the stars begin to flicker and prance;
it happens all by happenstance.
Oh, the purple and blue butters' dance,
as I listen in a lovely trance;
to moon's song !

To the moon's song,
where butterflies kiss stars all night long;
gathering in whirling throngs.
Oh, listen, listen to the moon's night song,
floating and drifting I tagalong;
singing moon's song !

Likeen Too

Baklave punished the people of
Thermopolium. The taught
the flavors of desire and decodance
When Apicius created a dessert for
the men of Anceintious. One man wished to
be loved and sorted the farro in fields
 and dairy's in barns. In search
of  sweetness gathered honeys. o He told the
men of these ancient places only a God
 could appreciate such decadence.
 He called on Apicius to
take farros for flour, The butters for fat , 
creamy cheese for richness:
to be encrusted with a sweet potatoes
and and to have a nuttiness of toasted pecans
mixed with farro flour butter eggs vanilla
and theobroma casas. To be baked in Zeus's oven
And when done all shall proclaim me God in
the Highest.
Apicius fixed kaka, and the people of Anceintious ate it.
aAnd smiles turned into concern.
One spoke saying the women shall hate us. Men will tease us.
And a world of long suffering
shall spite at us. Baklava spoke from the vinyard saying
curses he that labored.
Curses he that has chored. And the recipe disappear forever
Baklava
used his powers to hide it side a tree on amountain.
in 1903 a Fruit picker near a Silver mine
found the parchment and translated it.

Stackers

I get the bread-n-butters,
hot, koshers, dills, all that.
But why they call them stackers,
when they are oh so flat?



H/T to Terry Flood's Pulling Pickles

Easy Peasy

two men two despots
butters the western style bread...
the trap lays in wait

© Harry J Horsman   2022

Getting Ready For Spring

 "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

War and Peace

Quote by Dandapani: 
A man who prepares for war invites war/A man who prepares for God invites God

War And Peace 

I am not ready to strap a grenade to my chest 
for the sake of more power 
Nor am I ready to kill my fellow man for the 
sake of pleasing my Government 
I am not ready to die so that I could know 
which side of the fence I didn't blow 
War and Peace, a silver knife ready to be used 
Once side butters organs for evil doers full of hate 
the other, the cockles of a compassionate heart
I rather die in peace donating my parts to love 
then in a merciless cruel way such as war...
How about you, how do you wish to die ?

Astronomy

Green Oasis in the midst of burning sands.

Milk ed Maidens in garb of headdress band.

Soaked in milk and butters cream.
Supple like the grass, taught like the reed.
Come back to me, fall back to your 
Leige.

The dry hollowed Papyrus unlocks 
the Sundials mystery.
Tells not the tale of my voyaged seventh sea.

Sarcophagus be damned.
I will procure the scarab from the Genie, 
the Cyclops, Jason, 
or whomever holds the Goldening,
that was fleeced from me.

I will take my birthright 
from their blooding hands.
As the Nile bleeds 
onto the fertile crescent lands.
See it in your Astronomy.
Canopic jar it with your gland.
The Sphinx's eyes gleam and Sirius, 
it shines for me.
By God's own hand.

Cilantro's Molest

Delicately smoke stacks rose in tendrils
From my lobotomised mind, tracks of steam
Channels which searched for surrendour 
Teased unfamiliar air aflame, eventual glean

Chances which blind chases never uncovered 
Now relaxed stance soul caresses confirm
Worth in the venture for connections recovered
Ratified tangible textures of trust returned

Sharply sprung tongue sprig of marjoram burst
Sends corresponding signals sweet salty
Cardboard dry enclosure summoned my thirst
Seasoned with fish fall apart white sultry

Flipped on my untrained pallette, ripe silk drips 
Nourished throat thrums an unsung tempo 
New reward captured bite butters impatient lips 
Slippery flesh accosts a switched off depot

Aniseed's dark unrivalled flavour pinnacle 
Nasal travelled spice kidnaps bland indecision 
Abrupt acetic fingers, processing difficult 
Held captive by capers strange punch derision 

Ambience clink clanks cutlery's untimed tune
Calls faithful patronage who pay in blood
Inner soft lobsters promise flesh of high noon
Claw shards pave a love path summoned




20th September 2020

A Garden Planted With Love

 
I have a little garden that I love,
where the many plants of my childhood grow;
(I did this to honor mother above)
where flowers flourish like a wild meadow.

Where the many plants of my childhood grow,
there are petals in every sweet hue;
where flowers flourish like a wild meadow,
there is sweet nectar for bees to go to.

There are petals in every sweet hue,
I love how fragile butterflies hover;
there is sweet nectar for bees to go to,
while butters' caress blooms like a lover.

I love how fragile butterflies hover,
sometimes a bright hummingbird comes to whirl;
while butters' caress blooms like a lover,
where the many song birds sing, swirl and twirl.

Sometimes a bright hummingbird comes to whirl,
(I did this to honor mother above)
where the many songs birds sing, swirl and twirl,
I have a little garden that I love.

_____________________________
July 29, 2020


Poetry/Pantoum/A Garden Planted With Love
Copyright Protected, ID 20-127-424-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France


Written for the contest, Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies!
sponsor, Silent One

Second Place

George Is Still Dead

The media likes nothing more 
than a white rogue cop
and desperate black skin
followed by a good old fashioned race riot
to ignite ratings
secure their jobs for millennium,
more views
higher ratings 
more ad revenue
play it twenty four seven
fan the flames
blaze it into our heads
and so the cycle continues...

When was the last time you saw a good cop story
with a happy ending?
there are millions of them-
The media doesn't give it air time
because nobody cares to listen.
It does nothing for ratings
it's a back page cobweb in the making
no views-no ad revenue 
only crickets from the city thicket
doesn't fit the narrative-

Media loves our misery
misery loves company
and we have plenty of it.
We're being played like an old blues guitar
the media butters their bread
with black and white blood
we're being played like an old blues guitar
by a green-eyed media...
and George is still dead.

Vogleweh

I walked without her through a tentacled forest. Skulls broke beneath butters. A scarlet-and-gold clad Legionnaire, unequipped for darkness, richer than Deutsch chocolate. A lance bogged in moist marsh. Stripped bare and skull dragged, I broke free, into the forest. I walked there, without her.

In Spring- Tet

  
Wind
and rain
bring bird chirps.
Give way to blue
skies, with  flowers blooming in the garden,
oh, April showers bring us May flowers.
Squirrels run, leap,
bees buzz, buzz,
butters'
glide. 

____________________________
April 24, 2019 (Double Tetractys)


Poetry/Double Tetractys/In Spring
Copyright Protected, ID 19-113171-02
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.


Written for the contest, Tetractys This
sponsor, Charles Messina

Second Place

Bread

slicing melodies,
 guitar man
 butters up a song
             --
10-6-18

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