The ships had since been scrapped
whilst the sailors had long since evaporated from this place.
Boards covered the windows of
dockers’ pubs, whilst warehouses forgot their purpose.

She always sat at the market by the port
looking at boats and people just the same.
I doubted she had ever been on either.
Never enjoyed a romantic cruise,
or travelled a million miles
on someone she loved.

“Are you cold?”
Shouted the Snowman,
to his mate in the next allotment.
“A bit,” came the reply.

Jasmine and I lay in the flowerbed,

amongst the buds about to bloom.

We moved intricately,
crushing shoot

pressing seed.

Watching as petals fell.

I tasted Jasmine,

pricked her.

Allowed scents to fill senses.

Flesh ripped by teeth and thorns.
Our roots penetrated,
impacted.

Pain was no dam.

We blossomed,

allowed our colours out.

Only Jasmine flowered in that bed.

© James Butler 2011

Looks down into Starbucks Flask
tear falls in.
Ruins the Cafe mocha.

© James Butler 2011

We’re not concrete in a seawall.
People are alive
not cemented together.
We move, sway with the quakes
bend with the wind.
Hold fast.
Until the wave smashes us apart.
Rips our walls
tugs us out to drift.
Wipes its but
washes its hands
and flushes us anew.
We rebuild our seawalls,
prepare to weather the next.

© James Butler 2011

Fiddlers Ferry powered the lights,
kept the TV on.

I remember being sat in granddad’s van
in the passenger seat on a booster.
We drove out that way before nursery,
let the pigeons out before racing them
back to the house.

When I was six we moved.
My mum spent ages in showrooms
looking at “modern developments with four bedrooms,
the master with an en-suite and an idyllic view”
of a power station.

I tried football for a while.
played my first game in the shadow
of one of the vast cooling towers.
It belched out steam for the midsummer friendly
and it rained.

Since then I’ve moved away.
Buses to Wigan for A-levels and trains to Newton
to sit with girls in parks,
playing love games.
I moved to Winchester for Uni,
developed an “individual view on the world,”
which we all shared.

I don’t really see Fiddlers Ferry anymore
but I know, it still rains there.

© James Butler 2011

Fiddlers Ferry powered the lights in our house.
It also kept the TV on and the tape recorder.
Later, it kept the discs in the Playstation spinning
and my iPod charged.

I remember being sat in my granddad’s van
in the passenger seat on a booster.
We used to drive out that way before nursery,
let the pidgins out before racing them back to the house.

When I was six we moved.
Me mum spent ages in show rooms looking
at “modern developments with four bedrooms,
the master with an en-suite and an idyllic view” of a power station.

I tried football for a while when I started high school.
I played my first game in the shadow
of one of the vast water towers.
It belched out steam for the midsummer friendly
and it rained.

Since then I’ve moved away.
Buses to Wigan for A-levels and trains to Newton
to sit with a girl in a park, play love games.
I moved to Winchester for Uni.
developed an “individual view on the world,”
which we all shared.
I don’t really see Fiddlers Ferry anymore,
but I know it still rains there.

Sonnet Yeah

Shall I compare thee to a summers day? 

Errr no. 

Iʼm not so cheesy as to talk about the bloody, blooming, buds of may 

Or how our summers have gone away. 

Iʼm not going to say how perfect you are 

Or how nature pales in comparison. 

Iʼm not going to reflect on our travels 

Or compare our time together to heaven. 

You donʼt need to hear these things from me. 

We donʼt need words. 

Iʼm not going to compare thee to things I see, 

Nature is nature and we are we. 

I love you. Thatʼs it, 

Just you. And me.

————————————————-

I met two Mormons in the street the other day.
They asked me about my beliefs
so I told them I was an Atheist and Gay.
They beat me up,
stole my dignity.
Just as Joseph Smith stole theirs.

© James Butler 2010