2 Poems by Jonathan Butcher


We burnt down what was left of our 
responsibilities on the midnight fire;
scarfs and drinks keeping us warm,
the powders 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. 
The Odds

We were ousted by the very mouths
that claimed to be our mentors, only
of course when our presence suited
them we are invited back to the fold.

When they wished to appear wise
about drugs, vandalism, walking
down parkways at 2.00am, and music
they only listened to in secret. 

Their false words of wisdom then trailed 
off like tired exhaust smoke, their eyes
that first seemed as bright as bonfires then
depleted, and stared stagnant like unmanned,
rotting sewage.

Yet we still repeated their phrases, 
their ill fitting wardrobes and backwards 
logic, yet always with a smile on our faces;
it was just far too easy aspiring to shit. 


  1. "Drifting" is excellent! Love the layers of meaning in this one. Great flow too. Good poem!

  2. Thanks for your comments Laura! Glad you liked it.