a poem by Paul Butters, UK

I know an artist-singer who did see
Cowled ghosts of monks afloat
Along the lane one night
In Leeds.
When entering Howarth Church one day
She froze, afraid, and could not stay;
Her senses did betray
What unknown ghouls and forces
Way beyond our comprehension.

Yet I was there at Leeds and Howarth too.
Oblivious in my sunny mood.
Too busy having fun to feel
Those terrors hanging over us.
Like Doctor Who!
I laughed with Daleks lurking near.

Did I miss out?
Not knowing danger inches from my head.
An ostrich hidden in the sand.
What’s for the best?
To see or feel
Or Not to see or feel?
In blissful ignorance,
Or depressed and scared:
Freaked out,
Yet ultimately safe,
Evasive action taken when required.

A Sylvia Plath,
Or rhino-skinned tourist like me?
You pays your money then
And make your choice:
If, indeed, you have one!

Paul Butters or Skryboss
(C) Yorkshire, Monday 12th October 2009, at 3.30 AM.

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