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By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 6:58 AM

Here's two lines of poesy I've not yet figured out what to do with. Rather than just add it to my scrap heap of half written poems, I thought I'd post it. Hey, I needed something to post tonight.

Have walked the dark wood paneled rooms, smoke filled,
Have seen the wing backed chairs against the wall.

Late Night Haiku XIX

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:53 AM

LII. Silence walks softly
And lurks behind my mind's eye,
Careful! No more — no.

LIII. Tick the clock tocks soft,
And time tick rolls onward tock,
And I tick watch tock.

LIV. The snow melts slowly,
Old remnants of lighter times,
Flows down the hill now.

Bring On the Fiber!

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 6:07 AM

I need to write. I need some time free of distractions to write — and not to write something “practical,” but to see where the muses will take me. If it doesn't seem too strong of metaphor, I feel creatively constipated. I have ideas galore that need to be followed through on, but not the time and energy (at the same time) to do any of them. I need to get them out onto paper and see what can come of them. Even if they didn't accomplish anything, perhaps I'd at least be able to move on to better ideas.

I think I might try some experimentation here on asisaid for the moment. We'll see what happens.


By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:35 AM

I need to get away from distractions for awhile. I have written previously about my desire to write some larger works. Specifically, in October 2004, I wrote that I wanted to write a play and a non-fiction book, among other things. Since then, I have written one very brief and one somewhat longer play (the latter successfully adhering to the Unities, too.). That was a good start, but I have learned a lot since then (and through the experience of writing those works) and I think I know how to write a drama that is quite a bit better than my first attempts. I just need some free time.

Similarly, I have a much better perspective on book writing now. Although I've not even come close to writing a book, I do know clearly what I want to write about and my specific points. I have a lot of the chapters drawn out, so all that I need is time to do research and figure out the best way to explain the points. I'll tip my hat just a bit: the book will be on theology, but aimed at those who don't spend all their time studying theology. Again, I just need some free time.

What I really need is a free multi-day stay down at Big Cedar, on Table Rock Lake, so that I could just spend some time writing my thoughts and doing other writerly things. I need to ditch cell phones and e-mail for a few days too (well, as a sysadmin, I can't really do that, but I can at least limit my contact with such infernal devices).

One of these days.

Late Night Haiku XVIII

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 4:07 AM

L. A stream forgotten,
Yet it still flows, will anyone recall
Its existence — ever?

LI. The tree falls noiseless,
No one listening to what passed.
One bird lacks a nest.

LII. Ripple, ripple, the water
Flows by me as I write tonight,
What springs from that muse?

Late Night Haiku XVII

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:56 AM

XXXXVII. Anticipation,
A rushing stream runs by me,
Where do those waves go?

XXXXVIII. Thoughts drift like a kite,
Quiet, lest I stir the night,
Lower from this great height.

XXXXVIX. A fish once read Twain's
Huck Fin. He never finished.
He had finite time.

Late Night Haiku XVI

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:05 AM

XXXXIV. Tattered, it flutters,
“Is this all there was for me?”
Quoth the butterfly.

XXXXV. Late summer evening,
Not as musical as before,
Bugs sing their last songs.

XXXXVI. Was it yesterday,
That summer's joy passed by me,
While I looked elsewhere?

Chariot Unslowed

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 3:51 AM

To J.A.P. (T.S.E.)

“So like an empty coffee cup in June,
The winds of time blow me away too soon,
And so I tremble, question as I fade,
What does a life once lived do as a shade?
As weary sands do shift from dune to dune,
My melody is rift for a new tune.

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

The people pass, their heavy bags in tow,
As if the winds ne’er rain out a show,
“To shame! To shame! A shade have I become
To me full unawares – whilst beats life’s drum?
Please stop, oh death worn drum! Bring on the lyre!
Extend the wick where burns the fearsome fire!

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

“A little here I swung at hopes of glory,
Far more I gave to live in money’s story,
I conquered many things, enlarged my realm,
A master of my life I steered the helm!”
What waits for you, old questioner, what port?
What’s left? What mark is left of your great court?

“The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.

“From days came weeks, from weeks came years misled,
A promise for the next, unkept, unsaid.
Unnoticed for some greater good, I stayed
Upon the safer path I had long strayed,
Further moving myself from my hoped goals,
Ignoring them brought me to greater tolls.

The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

The chimes vibrate the ‘bandoned coffee cup,
It rolls along where he had hoped to sup,
A mix of blinded force and choice did lead,
To this a finished act, unopened deed.
Planned not to fault the thing, the point was missed,
And left to cry once more behind the mist,

“The clock strikes now, why not tomorrow?
Its sound leaves me with naught but sorrow.”

Late Night Haiku XV

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:16 AM

XXXXI. A stream babbles on,
Night slips into a new morn,
It is time to move on.

XXXXII. Moving. Seem to be,
But wasn't I hear last year?
Maybe I've not budged.

XXXXIII. Five, Seven, Five. It goes
simply. The Haiku cares not,
It just records thoughts.

Late Night Haiku XIV

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 3:40 AM

XXXVIII. Time. When did it pass?
The winged chariot flew by
When I looked away.

XXXIX. Wind fluttered the leaves,
A friendly voice heard near too,
Fade as distant now.

XXXX. Summer's energy
Burns fast in the waning days,
Do the crickets know?

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