Saturday, January 4, 2014

Jonathan Butcher- Two Poems


We burnt down what was left of our 
responsibilities on the midnight fire;
scarfs and drinks keeping us warm,
the powder's rush now creeping up our
backs like demented frost.

We share our tokens of pride without
judgement, clink glasses when great
minds think alike, "So will this continue
after we hit fifty?"- I have seen various 
casualties, and secretly pray that is not
our fate. 

The music from the battered stereo still
flows through the hiss, as we pick ourselves
up once more, and hope the end never finds
its path, as the fire leaves its embers to warm
the oncoming dawn, as we continue to drift
forward, but never even close to home. 

New Game

This whole scene has now disintegrated,
like melting icicles, grass now refuses to
grow on the spots we once stood.

I notice the swings and benches we burnt 
and so delicately smashed, are now 
replenished, artless, and without our 

The path that lead us here all those moons
ago now far to worn to hold any substance,
even the pebbles now creak. 

The new shelters, however, despite our gripes
against their imperfections, now keep out the
grey drops of rain, that we used to quench our
false misery, under which we once danced, 
without any fear of drowning.    

Jonathan Butcher has had work appear in various print and on-line publications including: Underground Voices, Gutter Eloquence, The Camel Saloon, Dead Beats,Electric Windmill Press, Elbow Room and others. His first chapbook 'Concrete Cradle' has recently been published by Fire Hazard Press. 

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