I don’t recognise myself anymore
That fool,
That blind stupid fool
Whose face lit up and smiled like Cheshire – following you everywhere, once
She saw the sun shine out of your arse like a fractured halo and dared to love you
it’s gone
And all I can think about is how to sign off, how to extricate myself from my humiliation;
That cacophony of cackling voices

The concept of love is as corrupt and meaningless as the world in which I live

Its not for me
I want out, I don’t want to look for anything to look forward to, or to be reborn
to have love fail and rubbed in my face like spent semen again and again
I want oblivion, finality
One painful life is enough for me

How can love co-exist anymore than Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Mary?

I am truly blind, and my refusal truly will offend
I’ve swallowed my insecurity, like my black & white thinking and let it corrode me like acid from the inside out
All that was left of me departed many many years ago
I can still remember that cold damp smell of death…
I should never have been allowed to live!

I think about death and dying
I am like that single stone that skips a few beats before it sinks to the bottom, out of sight, never to be thought of again
There is absolutely nowhere left for me to go
I am a shell of what I once was
A hollow husk of withered cells, dying my slow and agonizing death
Angry for being so magnificently vulnerable in contemptible self loathing

And to think that there are those among us who want to live!

There’s that optimism again,
I should feel blessed except everything feels jaded, burned and extinguished
Life just isn’t worth living
I guess that’s my ungrateful selfish nature showing her true colours

Interstellar Medium

Orion Constellation

Orion takes my breath away!

His belt & scabbard first
then shoulders
& I wrap myself around him
I am at peace
looking out over the ocean
& a sky full of stars

You are not unlike Orion
guiding distant ships on the horizon
I am like a Klingon
(Klingon usually mate for life)
but not this tide
we are an interstellar medium:
the space between
Euryale & Poseidon

We are of the Sea

reef, rocks & shoals
perilous waters
where foghorns & Siren songs sound familiar
where fishy tales flush pink
& my Veuve overflows

It doesn’t take me long to remember
expectation is one two threefold
we navigate in the dark sometimes
moonlit mirrors reflect only one part of the whole
our universe is bigger than most

I draw a line in the sand

for both our sakes
there can be only one
I feel the waves crash on the shore
we are all arms & legs
slipping & sliding
in & out of the water

I look to the stars & my faith
for one brief moment there is no existential crisis
Orion’s heavy breathing & sigh of relief
bring us both back to reality
under the surface
Death is not an unknown entity:
one last roll of the di
& our fate could be sealed

Thank you

Orion will always be near
Jupiter will always be the brightest planet
the full moon will always shine on me
I could never go past King Island
without thinking of you
candlelight, frogs & our best mate
Captain’s call still falling on deaf ears

but nevermind
I’m still as blind as a bat
& you’re as old as the hills

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved



One of my more random creative streams… Jx

Originally posted on Poetry Out West:

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…

View original 217 more words

Mr Black & the Muse


I’m addicted to you
& your crooked muse smile
Mr Black

I’ll have you
you stole my heart
rendering her useless;
undoing held together
your thick lens
drunk & debauchery

for a moment
nothing existed
except obsession,
compulsion mimicking
lust & Mr Black
rose like a Phoenix
under my skin

Every day, an eternity
to wait for you
my muse feigning temperance
the door handle turns
& I pick myself up off the floor
giggle & take the piss
Mr Black doesn’t
waste any time

Concord flights of fancy
meticulous mind-numbing marathons
whatever the abandoned mood once was,
I’m yours
you had me way back then,
smashed, crash landing on my bed
the sun about to rise
on the last place we left from

My balcony:
a table & two chairs
the Great Dividing Range
filtered by my Veuve Clichot
you with your Winnie Red
threshold surpassed
a box of beers,
tartan shorts & flannelette


I make you coffee.
night owls wouldn’t normally complain
under ordinary circumstances
but we are far from that place
the buzz & bleep of mobile phones
alter-egos known or not
pierce our cocoon
we drag our arse into work

Dreaming, we see all the children
& Grandma
Mr Black runs amok
kids fight over whose turn it is
blue smoke & green grass
my Harley under wraps
coveted like our memories

© Copyright 2014, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved


When I think about my Grandparents, I am instantly drawn back to my childhood.

So many memories.  Drum kits under the bed, electric helicopters, the piano, so many green bottles on the wall! The boat they named after me – Jodine. The new Kent fire. Those two Retro chairs.  The Army hut in the back yard where I got up to mischief.  The original Hibiscus Coast Taxi – a beautiful white Chevrolet that was to become the symbol of family pride. Poisonous berries on the way to the front door…I thought about eating them sometimes just to see what would happen.

So many memories.  Being with my Grandparents saved my life.  I spent every chance I had with them and their energy.  My home away from home.  I played dress-ups, created pottery, made string kaleidoscopes, learned how to draw, listened to Johnny Cash and Demis Roussous and learned how to sing.  I learned how to be independent… and how to access the Red paint from under the house!

So many memories of driving up North to the Bach at Omamari Beach in the Great White Chev, always looking for the road markers along the way: The Three Furlongs Tavern at Kaiwaka on the way to the Brynderwyns.  Playing Eye Spy and  “Are we there yet” all the way, completely winding them both up till we spied the Toka Toka hill (thinking it was some sort of magic mountain pacifier) . I remember learning to drive the Chev too but I preferred the yellow Beach buggy, taking it out every chance I got to speed along the beach by myself – bliss.

So many memories of wild west coast surf, Tussock grass, sunburn, cliffs, caves, rock pools, the Kai Iwi Lakes, Contiki’s, Kahawai, Toheroa’s, Tua Tua’s and heading up to Bluff for fresh Green-lipped Mussels off the rocks. My world was full of good old-fashioned love.  My Grandparents taught me how to believe in myself too.  I now know what it means to follow my dreams and remain true to myself no matter what other people might say, think, speculate or fabricate.  To this day I still remain free-spirited.  I live a very full, open, creative, exotic and vibrant life.  I will not be told to shut up.  I will not be put in my ‘so-called’ place.  My voice will no longer be silenced.

My Grandparents were my whole world back then and now that Nana is with Grandpop, I can once again see them sitting side by side, their bones warmed by the fire, looking out onto the world they helped create – for me, for us.  My Grandparents will always be my happy place.  I even have a fond memory of Nana’s tea that was more like soup and her cheese and pickle onion sandwiches.  My Grandparents were my first love.  Nothing or no one can take these memories away from me.  I was there for it all and I thank them both for loving me.


you are my best friend
my confidante
my partner
my lover

The best day of my life was when you said you would run with me.
I love you Jason with all of my heart.  I will run with you forever.

I promise to make a faithful and passionate marriage with you.
I promise to treat you with kindness, respect, appreciation and playfulness.
I promise to participate in our relationship, even when it might be hard.
I promise to make laughter an integral part of our family.
I promise to love you all my life until we meet again in the next.
I promise to be your _______________________ for the rest of my life.

Thank you for loving me.

Grey Matters

Trax (bar) in Haight Ashbury

Trax (bar) in Haight Ashbury (Photo credit: shandopics)

She stepped down from the Northern Explorer, weary after the 12 hour sojourn from Auckland to Wellington, her body distorted from the array of baggage adhered haphazardly to her frame.  All reasonable precautions had been taken to appear non-plussed but she was feeling more than a little ridiculous.  She unfurled her fingers letting go of the hand luggage, simultaneously dropping one shoulder, gravity to catch and release the taut strap of her laptop.  All hit the platform with a collective thud!

To make matters worse, the baggage door rolled up, revealing more purple Sabini suitcases, added one by one to the mountain of dogs balls now assembled on the pavement. She picked past heads, shoulders and backs, furtive in her search of recognition, an extra pair of hands, a baggage cart.  It had been 12 years since the last time he had crash landed on her doorstep, his purple XC Falcon panel van parked in the driveway.  Jandles, jeans and a T-shirt, cap in hand.

He was at Trax Bar, pint in hand, chatting up the female bouncer, blind.  His goat-skin duffel bag slung over the corner of a bar stool.  He had let his Yahoo Serious attitude to life be rolled up into unkempt, sun-kissed natural dreadlocks that leapt out at all angles, confronting even the most liberal senses.  He was in no hurry.  What did she expect?  It had been 20 years since they were an item that could only be described as an ‘eventful interlude at the crossroads of life’ from which he would soon trade in everything he had accumulated and buy a ticket to nowhere in particular.  His favourite mantra being replayed like an adored record on repeat; “Life is black & white.  There is no grey”.

Grey was something she understood but for once there were no shades of grey anywhere to be found.  What on earth had possessed her to cross the Tasman with her most worldly possessions, an array of Summer dresses and shoes?  She could feel her stomach tighten, those butterflies rising like her awareness now threatening to expose her guilt.  She had walked away from her former life, pinning all her hopes and desires, clutching at another loose end she knew much better to mess around with.  What had urged her on was the hope that time had been kind to him, that an old flame may be re-ignited.  God knows she needed to feel something.  Her mind and body had long since turned down any flicker of excitement, preferring to wallow in stoic self-pity, feigning permanent damage had rendered her helpless.

He had always been her potential escape.  Her reason to live without seeming too dramatic.  She would have gone anywhere with him, she reflected, knowing he would see straight through her faux par – her cheeks peak that most wanton shade of Crimson.  She lowered her eyes before making up her mind, wrestling her way toward the lone baggage cart, daring anyone to make a beeline.  Heading into the terminal, sweat running down the crevice of her back, mobile phone in hand, she tapped out what she needed to say and waited, checking her appearance in its reflection.

Her long brown hair was a true expression of her frustration.  Her large blue eyes smudged and blurred, as her once perfect Charcoal eyeliner betrayed her yet again.  Why did it have to be the hottest clear day of the most piss poor Summer New Zealand had ever known?