Purple Rain

Image

image

My father, Malcolm Roy Ball, Vietnam 1967-1970

War Torn

our world is being torn apart
I threaten conflicted outbursts
in remembrance of him
and them

*

My great grandfather’s fought in WWI
My grandfather’s in WWII
My father in Vietnam

He protests in his own way
no purple reign on his parade
or Prince
to overshadow
dvd’s re running over blue
and red clashes – violent flashes
of memory
in black and white snapshots
of the fallen
and homeward bound comrades
of Malaya and Singapora

They were shafted
in one way or another
left to ponder life
and death
still

images Napoleon could not reconcile
nor the English continue to suppress

I don’t think he will ever forget.

‘See that guy there?
He had his arm blown off
and that one hung himself
a couple of years ago’

His way of keeping it real
as much as for him
as for us, who are held captive
in his momentum

They were drenched in Orange, Red
and Yellow agents
descendants of a Purple rain
then left to fend for themselves
amidst a wrath and fury
one can only call ignorance
blinded by a politically correct
notion of compassion

They were only nineteen
and nothing compares to youthful
enthusiasm; to be not unlike
their forefathers

Teenagers today
get their psychedelic fix
whining and dining on a scourge
that has become a pandemic –
a demonic frenzy
of self indulgent arrogance!

Mary-Jane makes
a Nightingale of pain

Today is ANZAC Day
I am both proud and sad

I have a legacy to uphold
and if it weren’t for those men
and women who experienced trauma
I would not have known complex PTSD
or to let my mind take me
to a battlefield of my own design

In remembrance of them
and parts of my self
lost forever,
I like the eulogy of
walking in the purple rain

Lest We Forget

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved

Prince, Street Art Eulogy

Simplicity

Image

image

Photographer: Unknown

Keep it simple
Stupid
It’s I thirst
Not I’m thirsty

I thirst
For simplicity
A life with freedoms
Human rights
Free healthcare
Free education
Freedom of speech
Harming no one
Just to simply be
Happy

I thirst
For life

Without complications
Or baggage
No corruption
No crime
No bikie gangs
Threatening to cut
Off hands for
Fifty thousand dollars
And a slice of pie

I thirst
For life

Searching for peace
Raising children
Content in knowing
I helped to create
A future
For generations
Creating stability
Creating trust
Creating an environment
Upon strong foundations
So they can feel safe
Secure

I thirst
For a life

Of my own making
Having learned
Freedom
Comes at a cost
My grandparents waged
Through wars and depression
Strengthened by knocks
Strengthened by hard work
Strengthened by community
Generosity
No where to be seen
These days

I thirst
For a life

Where I am not afraid
Of living
Loving
Wanting
Needing
At peace
With my aching bones
And weathered skin
Secure
In the knowledge
I have done my best

Then
And only then
I can take my final breath
Knowing
I have quenched
My thirst

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved

Alphabet Poem

Image

image

Artist: Jodine Majewski & Tabitha Lee, ‘Cairns Esplanade’ 2014

A
B
C
Do
E
For
God
Has
I
Just
Know
Let
Me
Now
Open
Please
Quality
R
So
The
U
View
We
X
You
Z

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved

Alphabet

Morph Feign

Image

image

Artist: Unknown

Morphing into something
Resembling reason

Feigning change; talk
Telling truth, lies heart

Punctured to the core
Bleeding out, spattering

Red, volcanic lava trails
Tearing through my skin.

The cracks, wrinkles
Widening like gulfs;

Rifts of etched nuances.
Cooled down cuts

I still want, telling
Morph Feign

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved

Morphing

There is Nothing Special about Mary

Image

image

Photographer: Judith Bender-Jura

1.

Mary, the one without
a Halo – a married whore,
found unconditional love
hiding in the soles of His feet.

After the fact – that
pseudo relationships
took precedence for a while,
she washed Him clean

for no other reason
than to show respect, reverence
for one that would give
his soul for her.

2.

My feet are bare, scarred
by broken beer bottles and red
blood paint – tips to toes,
manicured to perfection once

upon a time. his feet
are cold; numbness held in a vice –
like grip, as she works her way up
past calves & quads seeking

warmth in the apex, comfort
sucking a thumb – print. embedded
ecstasy applying pressure
where it hurts, to ease the pain.

3.

She thinks the sun shines out –
back, cradling his head, healing hands
mindful of circular breathing; muscles
& tendons ache for release.

Mary doesn’t mind manipulating
bones, fingering the spaces
in – between, redirecting blood flow
to all the right places, kneading

stretches & burns ping – back,
sending signals like sparks, endorphins
take up the slack, ushering in sweet
sensation & nipples peek. there’s

nothing special about Mary, knowing
a thing or two, making money serving
more than a hand – full of life’s little pleasures. making hay while the sun

shines requires little effort on her part,
preferring to let it slide, up past
the point of no return. those days,
over now before they really took hold.

4.

Mary looks at him spent, kinesthetic
energy on standby as he reconsiders
where he stands. the party’s over,
someone has to clean up, Mary

learning to love the hand
that feeds her, wishing sometimes
for independence and silence, in –
between phone calls. those days

are over, up for tender for the next
wave of youthful antagonists who seek
an existence un – beholden. love
knows no rules of engagement.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved

Silence is White Noise

Image

image

Photographer: Michael Färber

1.

still calm waters
wrap itself around

my skin raised up –
lifted the lows, sinking

stones left turned.
bubbles barely breaking

the surface ebb
rebound. shock –

waves ripple bounce
back & forth, listening.

2.

reason resides in hidden depths,
brackish stagnant pools

resist light, black – out
stretching farther than first

thought. hindsight;
water – cooled fires

like lava, surface warmth down –
played where gravity catches

molten feelers, still
too cool to touch.

white noise, silence
hidden, hissing in the depths.

3.

healing is impossible
under these conditions

where I fight
to subdue feelings

while she floats
detached from her

body watching with
no arms & legs

visualizing her flops
failing to protect

her self sub – merged.
the hard unyielding

cold reaching out,
waiting for you to come home.

4.

afraid, fearing words,
attack another layer

scar – tissue, requires
exising. freed up

canker replacing foul
with pink flushes

rosey & open to
new life, breathing

where there was once decay.

5.

death, a living Hell
where Hades hath no fury

like a woman

hurt, drowning
in her own tears.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved

The Daily Post – Weightless

Malady Peg

Image

image

Artist: Unknown

You build a picture of me
outside the elongated square –
peg shaped box
I find myself circling.

each single step
widens – following
two side steps lengthening
nearly five decades deep

before I’m back in the shit,
standing in front of the same scale
stained window or solid Oak door,
or Samsung S4;

my self imposed barricade,
chain and key close
to my heart – safe, keep.
trusting no one,

except a chain gang
of miscreants and misfits
mulling over life just right.
subliminal messages

only those in the know can
decipher wisdom in code – words
biting off more than we can chew
at times, like these.

you help, build a picture of me
outside the elongated square –
peg shaped box
I find myself picking apart

with my fingernails, prying
into cracks like an un –
suspecting little upstart
who has everything and nothing.

we are social creatures
by nature, nurture featuring ways
to stray outside our four walls
where I space – out

dependent – distant; my avoidance
keeps my heart still, beating.
any attempt to heal is an affront
my demons wreck havoc,

threaten to cut me off at the knee’s
if I don’t conform or dance
to the Pipers tune. my malady
freaks the Hell out of everyone,

torture held captive.

you are a picture of my self
outside my elongated square –
peg shape box. my reason
to die, respectfully

circumnavigating
ways through and around,
bashing my head up
against invisible walls

that thwart my existence
here. questions, unanswered
philosophical paradoxical paradigm s;
the meaning of life and death.

I want to go home,
listen to the ebb and flow
of waves, seagulls and sand
crunching between my toes

and decide if I want to live.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved