Poetry Blog by James Butler

Recent Comments

Weekend jobs on New York Snow (Tue, 24 May 2016 09:53 pm)

on Jasmine (Sat, 28 May 2011 01:22 pm)

on Jasmine (Fri, 27 May 2011 04:38 pm)

on Jasmine (Fri, 27 May 2011 01:23 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Jasmine (Wed, 25 May 2011 05:21 pm)

on Jasmine (Wed, 25 May 2011 04:39 pm)

Ann Foxglove on Jasmine (Wed, 25 May 2011 08:05 am)

Isobel on Jasmine (Tue, 24 May 2011 08:39 am)

Philipos on It Always Rains on Fiddlers Ferry (Sun, 30 Jan 2011 10:36 pm)

winston plowes on It Always Rains on Fiddlers Ferry (Sun, 30 Jan 2011 09:56 pm)

Chapped Lips

Do not let my hand slip into yours
if you do not want it to.
Do not let my arms embrace around
while my heart races in my mouth
begging yours to maybe do the same.
Thinking of you when I came.
Feeling my eyes burn with tiredness
whilst I wait for your text back.
Knowing it wont come,
unless it does.

In that case, i’m inspired.

I will reach for you.
Leap into any situation
just ...

Read and leave comments (0)


  Jasmine and I lay in the flowerbed

amongst the buds about to bloom.

We moved delicately,
crushing shoot
pressing seed.
Enticing attention of the ranger.

Flesh was ripped by teeth and thorns.
Pain was no dam
no issue.

I tasted Jasmine,
pricked her.
Allowed scent to fill senses.

Only Jasmine grew in that bed.

© James Butler 2011

Read and leave comments (7)

Toilet Tissues & Seawalls


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.

Read and leave comments (0)

It Always Rains on Fiddlers Ferry

  It Always Rains on Fiddlers Ferry (version 1)


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 rac...

Read and leave comments (4)

Am I Dead?

  Am I Dead?


We’re all going to die.

It’s not nice I know

but we’ve all got to face it.

Death’s coming and he burns

like time and the fat in your 

arteries that will one day

Stop your heart. Then spit

As you incinerate on a bed of fire

and your ashes lay forgotten on

a mantlepiece.


So what can we do?


How can I be happy knowing I ...

Read and leave comments (1)

I'm a Prick

  I get confused when poetry compares women to flowers.

I guess men waste words on paper

just for the sake of getting laid.


It isn’t like she is actually chlorophyl or petals.

He can’t promise eternal love

or endless orgasms.


I recycle every soppy poem I write.


Maybe I’ve never been in love,

or I’m just not a prick.

Read and leave comments (3)


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.

Read and leave comments (2)

New York Snow

entry picture

New York Snow


New York City 

youʼre so pretty 

Shitty, in the dirty snow. 

Your buildings, higher than 

the ambition of those you attract. 

Your people, so alone 

yet so together in the snow. 

In New York snow. 

Read and leave comments (3)

Underage and Pregnant: A Nativity

  Underage and Pregnant: A Nativity


Joseph turned and looked at Mary.

She glanced up at him, whimpered,

clasped her stomach. 

“Ow”, she whispered.

“What's wrong”, slurred Joseph.

“Nothing.” Mary looked down,

back at the unopened letter.


The DNA test results laid within.

Joseph knew the baby wasn’t his

but insisted on making sure.

Mary also...

Read and leave comments (3)

Poetry is Theft

Poetry is theft.
It takes an act
diminishes it, drags from context.
The poet makes a verse
binds it to a page
locked up in a book.
The book is released to the mainstream.
Sold, repackaged and shipped out.
The poem is put on a spoon
and forced down the mouths of 6J.
Analysed in exam.
Context forgotten.
We live in an Eden
where shackles keep you free.

Read and leave comments (2)

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...

Read and leave comments (4)

New York, New York - 11/09/01

The natureless jungle wakes up.
A whole world full
of grey and black battery humans
making their way to 40-story coops.


The last tent city has gone.
No real artists remain in Greenwich.
The poor are shipped up to Harlem
and bussed back in overalls.


8:46 AM.
Reports of a plane, a tragic accident.
The worlds media focuses in,
expands the microcosm.



Read and leave comments (7)

Mcdonalds Sky

entry picture

I stood by Mcdonalds the day the sky fell in.

Business as usual in “the town centre”.
Buy. Sell. Buy. Sell.

The world a watercolour
of Primark and Topshop fashion.

The bottled tans of the young
covered the pale petals of innocence.

The Big Issue sellers and
their modern street performance.

The moans of the old and the
stench of dignity lost with a dribble.

All ...

Read and leave comments (2)

JambutJames ButlerMcdonalds

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message