The Mariner’s Tale

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“Land Ahoy!”

his First Mate
not more than two feet away,
still doesn’t see her coming

after the full force
hits the stern with a swift kick
aimed right up the Jacksie!

“Bring her about
hard & fast
& shut your bloody mouth boy!”

she giggles

it’s an entertaining Port
full of surprises, guffaws
& sudden gusts of wind;
her Devil’s Tongue
quick as lightning
her Siren Song
slipping in & under

he lays it on thick

he would feed me grapes
if it weren’t for the Oyster’s
Swordfish, Tuna, Salmon – Lumpfish
a good bottle of Veuve
serving up a concoction
of frivolity with a sharp spank
on the arse for good measure

no sea legs required here

our naked flamboyance
barely creates a ripple
our island paradise
looking out over the sea
from a safe distance -
your bridge

I can see the stars up there
& planets
my world seems bigger
brighter
I stare transfixed into space
but I am not lost
I feel strangely nestled

Green Tree Frogs
& the hope of a Vine snake or two
keep my curiosity peaked

Michael rows
his boat ashore

I am not unlike an island

© Copyright 2013, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Catching That Butterfly

Ulysses butterfly (Papilio ulysses). This is t...

1.
miles away
collective unconsciousness
fills with laughter.

I see  you

through the tree’s
memories & nightmares interspersed
taking us back
to when we were Autumnal
seeding
sowing little reels of tape
monologue’s
weaving their way in
& out of us;
my imprint carving
out your name
as if you might disappear
in search of that wood
you left behind

we are like the wind.
she blows this place
stripping away the leaves
shredding bark
to Birch
& vulnerable

you remind me of Gulliver.
I am like Gretel leaving
a trail of bread crumbs
in case you find hunger
in Wellington

I see you

catching that butterfly
in that dream of mine

2.
Tijuana in the sunset
or is it dawn?
when the dust settles
& spray booths
become a silver lining

my partner in crime
one step removed;
Black & White
grey matter
masking the rusty holes
I’m tempted to poke

up ahead in the distance
mirage & cacti
& stoic self-pity
more solitary
than the tequila sun rising
on a hangover.
responsibilities best served
on the bones of our arse
in no man’s land

I see you

your sombrero
your poncho
your penchant for desolation
filtered by my Rose
& Tonto on the horizon
larger than life
living where two penny’s
don’t have a hope in hell.
charm pulling the wool
over bloodshot eye’s

3.
flowers adorn my living room
contrasting green
& pink
& white Lily’s
I am not afraid of death
I fear the cold
shoulders & backs
stealing blankets -
the rise & fall of sleep

seventeen
& eighteen years abroad
I live vicariously through you
your every move
a meta
physical
paradox.

magical thinking
unchartered waters
a tide on every pier -
I can pretend
to co-exist;
another time & space
where drama needs no theatre

I see you

I could leave everything behind
& risk all I have ever known
of love

Edited by Michael Rudd

© Copyright 2012, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Mother Natures Siren Song

a cold front over
night over
cast skies

ushers in
much needed
rain caught breath.

Swallow Hollow Road
the Appalachians
followed

where I found
Mother Natures
siren song irresistible

*

tough Winter months
out of season
tempered;

farmers
make hay
while the sun shines.

drought stricken pastures
threaten exposed
beams

general
stores fall victim
to the March of time.

the old farmhouse stands
abandoned; creaks
decay

E-tsi
E-ho-li re-claims
back-broken ground

*

young people leave
the older folks
behind

inside
green towers
concrete pockets split.

*

driving down the back roads
my breath is taken
away;

toughness
and determination
of early settler caravans.

rugged mountain terrain
today, sky city
frontier’s

new calls
of the wild wind
temporarily finding view

voices echo through the trees
whispering memories
lingering in the past

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Inspired by the article  The March of Time by Chip ‘Rocketman’ Allen

Mourning Tree

I muse onward full circle
still the dead whisper in my ear;
memories of ghosts torn asunder

I am left wandering

in silence our journey continues
to unfurl, tapping the undergrowth
like an
ancient drum
the wind caressing me windy
breathing words of comfort

I feel your voice
in the silence I resist tears
drawing power from the familiar
and yet unknown.
it is not my time

mistakenly I bend to embrace
a small child, bedraggled in the mire.

defying clay and rock
a river, the source of all that is
to return me to my self
my branches burst – thaw
seeping into treelike veins
my body aches to warm.
you turned your back

I am left behind in you

wounded.  afraid.
I snatch a quick glance
in your direction, damp
eyes I remember;
the dark is lonely without light

in spite of me
my gnarled roots continue to bore
deep into the earth, and live
still I make no sound.
the night is cold

I am shivering in my spine.

© 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

I Found My Heart

 

I found my heart
on the borderline
of too late
just in time;
a fine lined
delicate box
inlaid with
criss-crossed
tongue and groove
timber framed
and paper thin -
(such was the state it was in)
I found my heart
shaped box
tucked away
under the debris;
no recognition
of her guild
thick-skin scarred
tiny cracks
intricate and interlaced
weather worn
like washed up
driftwood
I found my heart
a mantle piece
and set it
alongside a glass
vase filled
with floral Oriental’s
her lip sealed
tightly shut
innocence and sin
full trust
representative of love
anaesthetized by pain
I found my heart
magnified by you
and your telescope
my vision opaque
like liquid amber
in silver teardrop earrings;
in remembrance of
friendships once
lost to train wrecks
a heart shaped
box filled with
precious memories
is where I found my heart
in all her glory -
thinking of you

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

First Published, Live Lines, volume 4, Anthology, 2011,  ISBN: 11787767, Poetry Live, http://www.poetrylive.co.nz/live-lines.html

Ode to te Kawakawa

The plant of altered
medicine,
strong,
in all green mist,
blue river,
filtered in beams,
a giant
within the walkways,
a holy scar
in the towns:
the poison and the trauma
are heavy,
soil us
in the mind
like cesspools of tar,
with stalking black arrows,
they torment
our soul
with invisible fingers,
with cold blankets,
and the skin
suffers
more than every bone:
the blood
becomes urgent,
the spirit,
the heart, the mouth:
we want to taste
mountains,
the yellow summer breeze,
the Rain Forrest,
and then
most sustaining of all
the seeds bursts
the earth,
the heady, magnificent,
lifegiving KawaKawa.

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All rights Reserved

(appropriated from part of Ode to the Watermelon, Neruda, Pablo and Cesar Vallejo)

Window’s

I remember sneaking out of my bedroom window when I lived with my grandparents for the second time the mescaline cactus was chopped off at the bottom which surprised the wall that held the house up lasting so long over the years  it was an old house but not prickly when the juice drained and my first boyfriend knocked I had to be very quiet except for the old metal blinds that didn’t work and I could hear them talking amongst themselves in the bedroom too  I didn’t think they could hear me then together snuggled under their feather duvet warm as I was soon to be most of the time when nana would bring me a cup of tea in the morning like soup but after she read the tea-leaves so I knew I had to be quiet I remember the house built by his own hands after the war it was farmed and raised by the family at the time the steps are gone now replaced and the house has sunken with age like grandfather buried at the rsa with nana soon when the results come back outside the window I remember climbing back in easier than outward appearances and a lot quieter than at night with the still crisp morning light over before it had begun again ahead of its time at breakfast with sweet leaf toast I was fifteen and I liked danger when the grass was much sweeter than the mescaline and the sex of two young lovers defying gravity on the window ledge of lust giggling and groping for the branches scraping the side of the house beside the hole giggling because I might catch the altered perspective and succeed with silence impossible with the teapot pouring I remember the pink bedspread sneaking into something paling by comparison more like crimson and stained like the window he once said to me but could not decide what it was about when the window slammed shut and I was angry for a moment  the front door was easier than tiptoes being bruised seeming to yellow past the bedroom door and the feathers were warm and soft cocooning them in embraces when I smiled I could hear their listening thoughts I remember the days when chairs sat in reclining positions side by side rocking by the fire looking out onto the front window like a doorway a much bigger window than mine was wiser than the cactus planted on the side of the road in season the windows were necessary to see into the future and the night and the teapot arrived as expected when I sat up in bed…

© 2007 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved