![\"\"](\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/ScratchedVinyl.png\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n2 Poems by Redd Butler<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
The Trav\u2019ler<\/strong>
<\/h4>\n\n\n\nThe wind chimes danced \u2018bove autumn leaves
while the robin bore the crown.
A sweet duet, for those that grieve
for the trav\u2019ler we brought down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lilies bobbed along in time
as we passed the cenotaph.
Fifty strong, a heartbroken line
all along the broken path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bukowski was no use to me
or Hughes or young T.S.
So, I murmured psalms, twenty-three
and prayed the Lord would bless\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bless all those who were present then,
from his glory there, afar.
And guide the trav\u2019ler he set free
like the Shepherds by the star.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/11\/free-online-fiction-poetry-art-300x225.png\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
Barflies<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\nAuthor\u2019s Note: Barflies is a confessional poem of reminiscing with my atheist grandfather, sharing memories; his death near, it became a wonderful moment where he chose to pray with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You sat in your chair
and spoke with the whisper of scratched vinyl.
Your face like candle wax
that bore your contagious, slanted smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We reminisced in our childhoods;
yours filled with soot-stained windows and doodlebugs;
mine, with barflies and your laughter
on Sunday afternoons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Sunday afternoons
that ended with me riding my bicycle drunk
to the house made of mud,
where I would dream of the barflies
that tap danced on my pint glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I told you of Jesus, to which you responded
that faith was a young man\u2019s game.
Yet you prayed with me
just to get a taste of the joy I was drinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You had taken up smoking
after half a century\u2019s absence.
You had become bored with old age
and ten cigarettes a day helped pass the time.
And so, we passed the time together;
passed what little time we had with fish \u2018n chips and music.
Guy Mitchell singing the blues and you
proclaiming \u201cThey don\u2019t make them like they used too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I found myself gazing
at your candle wax face
watching the flame go out;
counting the blessings that I will long for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The barflies and the bitter;
Guy Mitchell singing the blues;
you calling me \u201cBoy.\u201d
Time can be a real bastard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nRedd Butler<\/strong> is 31 years old and from the United Kingdom. He writes faith-based works and is currently working on his first book. He recently became a \u201cstreet pastor\u201d for Ascension, a UK Christian charity.
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"2 Poems by Redd Butler<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10422","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"yoast_head":"\n
The Trav\u2019ler & Barflies | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-travler-barflies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Trav\u2019ler & Barflies | Faith Hope & Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"2 Poems by Redd Butler\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-travler-barflies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Faith Hope & Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/FaithHopeAndFiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2025-02-07T22:21:37+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" 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The Trav\u2019ler<\/strong>
<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
The wind chimes danced \u2018bove autumn leaves
while the robin bore the crown.
A sweet duet, for those that grieve
for the trav\u2019ler we brought down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lilies bobbed along in time
as we passed the cenotaph.
Fifty strong, a heartbroken line
all along the broken path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bukowski was no use to me
or Hughes or young T.S.
So, I murmured psalms, twenty-three
and prayed the Lord would bless\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bless all those who were present then,
from his glory there, afar.
And guide the trav\u2019ler he set free
like the Shepherds by the star.<\/p>\n\n\n
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
Barflies<\/strong><\/h4>\n\n\n\nAuthor\u2019s Note: Barflies is a confessional poem of reminiscing with my atheist grandfather, sharing memories; his death near, it became a wonderful moment where he chose to pray with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You sat in your chair
and spoke with the whisper of scratched vinyl.
Your face like candle wax
that bore your contagious, slanted smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We reminisced in our childhoods;
yours filled with soot-stained windows and doodlebugs;
mine, with barflies and your laughter
on Sunday afternoons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Sunday afternoons
that ended with me riding my bicycle drunk
to the house made of mud,
where I would dream of the barflies
that tap danced on my pint glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I told you of Jesus, to which you responded
that faith was a young man\u2019s game.
Yet you prayed with me
just to get a taste of the joy I was drinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You had taken up smoking
after half a century\u2019s absence.
You had become bored with old age
and ten cigarettes a day helped pass the time.
And so, we passed the time together;
passed what little time we had with fish \u2018n chips and music.
Guy Mitchell singing the blues and you
proclaiming \u201cThey don\u2019t make them like they used too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I found myself gazing
at your candle wax face
watching the flame go out;
counting the blessings that I will long for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The barflies and the bitter;
Guy Mitchell singing the blues;
you calling me \u201cBoy.\u201d
Time can be a real bastard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nRedd Butler<\/strong> is 31 years old and from the United Kingdom. He writes faith-based works and is currently working on his first book. He recently became a \u201cstreet pastor\u201d for Ascension, a UK Christian charity.
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"2 Poems by Redd Butler<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10422","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"yoast_head":"\n
The Trav\u2019ler & Barflies | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-travler-barflies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Trav\u2019ler & Barflies | Faith Hope & Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"2 Poems by Redd Butler\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/the-travler-barflies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Faith Hope & Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/FaithHopeAndFiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2025-02-07T22:21:37+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" 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and spoke with the whisper of scratched vinyl.
Your face like candle wax
that bore your contagious, slanted smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
yours filled with soot-stained windows and doodlebugs;
mine, with barflies and your laughter
on Sunday afternoons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that ended with me riding my bicycle drunk
to the house made of mud,
where I would dream of the barflies
that tap danced on my pint glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that faith was a young man\u2019s game.
Yet you prayed with me
just to get a taste of the joy I was drinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
after half a century\u2019s absence.
You had become bored with old age
and ten cigarettes a day helped pass the time.
And so, we passed the time together;
passed what little time we had with fish \u2018n chips and music.
Guy Mitchell singing the blues and you
proclaiming \u201cThey don\u2019t make them like they used too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
at your candle wax face
watching the flame go out;
counting the blessings that I will long for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Guy Mitchell singing the blues;
you calling me \u201cBoy.\u201d
Time can be a real bastard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
2 Poems by Redd Butler<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10422","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"yoast_head":"\n