You’re dead to me. I’m dead.
My mother with her snide, jealous perversion sticking her tongue down my husband’s throat.
Sick cunt
Shit cunt
My mother’s a fucked up, narcissistic shit cunt
and I’m a whore.
© Copyright 2020, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler. All rights reserved
If it’s not the bloody buzzing mozzies, it’s a bell jar of mixed blessings and a monologue of nothing but geese!
Voices resounding, reimagining, conjuring up memories about red shoes and dwarves and something out of Aesopica!
This totally ridiculous,
unwanted attention seeking behaviour burns my eyes, while my jaw grinds like carpet burn and my ears ache.
If I have to bite the bullet – I need to do it by 9pm and knock it back with a big shot of poison!
I’m not up for this kind of angst, destined to play and replay on repeat. I already made peace a priority but where is she now?
(Sylvia is waiting in line for electroconvulsive therapy, just to wipe the slate clean; clear the air so-to-speak).
That’s the truth of the matter!
Finding my own voice and lifting the skullcap off Pandora’s Box, just enough to breathe.
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Sitting/
Staring/
Laying/
preparing for the long rest.
Avoidance/
of people, places, sights and sounds.
Depression/
an abyss-like-nightmare that wants to kill me and I battle for my life.
Anxiety/
strangling me to within an inch of my suffocated existence.
Silence/
except for the machine head that analyses and deciphers psychic projections.
Fear/
the worst my mind can conjure, always on the lookout for my nemesis.
Panic/
attacks that leave me exhausted, foolish, irrational, exposed and defeated.
Boundaries/
overflowing – pushing people away, proving that point I once knew.
Distraction/
compulsion’s that envelop me like a synthesized loop; engulfed, and left devoid of all feeling.
Mistakes/
battles to right wrongs, that fail apallingly.
Agoraphobia/
refusing to put myself at risk, unfortunately I still need to eat.
Guilt/
burdens I endure for both of us.
Sensory deprivation/
just to make it stop!
*
Complex PTSD/
is all of this and more.
Trauma/
leaves a lifelong scar.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“I think we’ve been put through the emotional wringer and there are only fraying threads left of the tapestry we once sewed together” JD Butler
Just like me to need a pacifier when the going gets tough but
it’s not all about me.
You’ve changed – maybe we’ve both changed, but not for the better. You used to care if I cried but
not any more.
I guess you’re strung out, over-worked, under-paid, under-sexed and looking for a way out in your Red Dead Redemption II,
outback adventure.
Maybe you also feel trapped? What if I left, left the house for you to rent? I can go anywhere to live
and start again.
Sydney, Melbourne, Perth perhaps. 6 months here, 6 months there (in New Zealand). Reinventing myself
is what I’m good at.
Jezabel is never too far away for me to find a way to survive. She never leaves me or changes. I can count on her
to do the right thing.
I’ll miss you. Everything about you. How wonderfully beautiful you are with your deep dark brown eyes. You are talented, loving and rich beyond anything resembling money.
I consider
myself blessed.
It’s time I moved on. I’ve reached a point where I don’t think we can offer each other the best part of ourselves any more. I think I hold you back from your true potential.
I think you resent not seeing your friends as often as you would like – cultivate those
friendships and opportunities.
I think you would feel better with money in your own pocket. I want to see you happier, less frustrated,
less aloof and less distracted.
When I met you, you were larger than life, full of happiness, generosity, love. You were loyal to me.
I think we’ve been put through the emotional wringer and there are only fraying threads left of the tapestry
we once sewed together.
I’m distressed. I’m trying to preserve the last of my sanity in order, to survive.
I’m concerned. I want to give you as much as I can for you to feel secure. You’ve worked hard and
I have no intention of ruining you.
I’m not like my ex because I love you – he never did.
I dont want to see you cry, or curl up and die inside, but I still choose
to run again this time.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
It’s going to hurt digging in, under my skin.
\
Trust. Pain.
Death before dishonour – the Cold War sits in Sylvia’s parlour,
pretending patience is a virtue. We all watch,
a slow burn, already warming the tips
of her lasciviously long
fingers,
licking at her lips.
/
She would rather shake you all off, than let loose another tirade,
another stone, another reason to beg
forgiveness.
Sabotage sinking to a new low.
\
Silvia’s far too unreasonable, although
she prefers irrational; madness defining her in the end. Hands
& feet securely strapped,
her mouth,
stuffed shut with gauze & gaffer tape.
No sign of life – metal bars
& padded cells
resembling reason.
/
Floral oriental lilies.
\
Shes always known how to let go.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“Karma…she doesn’t rely on intel, cointel, black or psy ops of any kind” JD Butler
1.
Relationships,
are not all they’re cracked up to be.
They are like sabotaged roses; severed from stems,
rolling like heads,
to feel like
Oh!
/
I don’t know.
2.
Denial,
is like sleep walking, except star gazing in day dreams,
avoiding
a fourth kind encounter, shining a light beam on all our useless airs & graces.
Waking hours are left,
wanting.
3.
Karma’s, not any dirtier than her alter ego would suggest either.
At least she let’s you in,
ties you up,
then fucks you up the arse before she withdraws.
/
In her world, she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t rely on intel, cointel, black or psy ops of any kind,
in order to see past you & into the future.
To her, we are all space invaders that have the potential to devour.
4.
Russia, may be all over the West but Brainiac’s got the universe covered.
He sucks & fucks his way though world’s several times over – therefore, we won’t have a shit show in hell, by the time he gets here.
Putin’s already won his war anyway (the West is going down).
By the time you realise WTF just happened, that warm thermonuclear feeling you have between your legs –
will be soiling more than just your knickers.
5.
There is no infinity & beyond when relationships are run on denial.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
One camel toe please,
two new boobs,
one new neck,
one flat stomach
& two stick arms.
The goal has been exceeded, in Thailand.
/
Swell hell, can go to hell!
Karma tells me she’s having Keto tonight.
Next stop, Brazil.
One fat transfer please,
two stick legs
& a Partridge in a pear tree.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Bangkok deconstructed:
fractured concrete buildings, ripped apart as I watch from my Somerset window.
Steel, jutting haphazard in tangled knots; a once perfectly acceptable infrastructure,
now crumbling blocks fall into piles of useless rubble, while machinery scrapes the lot into a perfect square level playing field.
Ready for the next wave of antagonists selling prosperity,
pins & pegs.
/
Nips & tucks,
scalpel’s cutting across corners, aligning smooth curves with invisible sutures.
Skin, falling into plastic bags; trophies with twistie ties, all captured by Five Eyes.
Fat globules disperse & intermingle among the blood & yellowing toxic waste,
stretch marks & saggy skin. Torture under white lights (hung, drawn & quartered), like medieval madness.
Discarded pieces of meat/flesh going up in smoke, incinerated into giant plumes.
*
Rancid ashes & suffocating dust resuscitating enlightenment
into a new age.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“…his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail” JD Butler
1.
Lady Jane breaks out into a smile, allowing her eyes to wander over Ashcat – watching play unfettered magnificently, staring at his beautiful body wanting, waiting for kisses & licks to parlay, his hands moving mountains.
2.
Ashcat, completely at home & grounded, giving; a generous lover of life & people (like she used to be before trauma showed her ugly), he takes the cake with no false pride – her ego aside.
He leaves her pinched – the tweaked kind (still not quite sure she made it out of purgatory), but all she can think about is decòr, finding that perfect vintage pattern, making bunting & a vendor box full of surprises.
3.
Lady Jane heal’s, while showing up under every stone who fake really are; womanizing, homophobic, racist, misogynist, hillbilly rednecks with mother complexes, she steer’s well clear.
Trust mistaking bogan’s for diamonds – fake faux for everything they’re worth (consciously unaware) & yet here he is authentic, laughter lines up between them & light sparks beam.
4.
Ashcat, full of life’s sugar & spice; saffron, baked Spanish cheesecake, sorbet & wine, swings 1920’s while Jane’s fat lady croon’s to wild cherries & Winehouse electro beats, ushering in new sensations where she doesn’t want to wipe that smirk from her face.
He hands her the mic & confidence soars, roaring through the midnight tunes ecstatic. He breaks out into an albatross the moment she hits her groove, arms pushing & pulling – MC funky time grinds her way into heaven, deliriously happy.
5.
It’s been an age in-between gigs, bands & dance halls, where her voice belted out highs & low’s to crowds of private dancer’s & partners swigging on beers, peering through plumes of green smoke. Auckland, on any given weekend seven years ago.
A complete cellular cycle gone by, where she sold it all for a plane ticket & a ride on a rollercoaster at the Cairns Show – the only thrill worth repeating. Now, she rolls back the years side-stepping potholes & speed bumps, without checking out her rear view for crazy motherfuckers, riding up her arse.
6.
A trip to Port with the top down blow’s the cobwebs, converting sea beans into tapas & something that blow’s her mind instead of arachnophobia (crab slider’s as close as it gets to eight legs). One brief unpleasant memory is replaced with a multitude of self soothing layers.
7.
Circus hijink’s at the yacht club – neon hoola hoops, Lady Jane wearing a purple corset handing out lollies & buxom beauties swanning about fanning burlesque, a sea of legs two-stepping tuxedos, federer’s & fancy candy canes. All it took was a little effort, a time machine & something worth fighting for on their part.
Both of them look karma in the face, willing everyone around them to join in the feast; happy, pulling them out of their own little world’s into old school vintage frivolity. It doesn’t take long for contagion to spread outward in waves of pure, pulsing momentum & before you know it, Lady Jane is whisked off her feet, Ashcat taking her flapper hand in his leading her astray backstage.
8.
An after party, extends to more bubbles & a jacuzzi full to the brim – delightful mayhem unfolds as Lady Jane unfasten’s her corset, Ashcat losing his cravatt & all of their twisted innuendos culminate in uncomplicated hedonism; flesh, tripping the night fantastic!
Lady Jane doesn’t complain. She has it all & Ashcat is himself in all of his illuminated glory; batting those thick lashes, his deep brown eyes a beauty to behold. He smiles before ordering another round, his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail.
9.
A late afternoon checkout sky, invites their bodies to embrace, Lady Jane rolls over & Ashcat fits the mould perfectly, heavy breathing stirring slumber from an evening full of stars.
10.
The parties over, it’s time to pack up.
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“Love & trust; butterflies dancing the jitterbug of intimacy” JD Butler
Eros,
enlightened, child-like & open, a huge lotus in full bloom, full of all the goodness in this world, his beautiful broken body without any malevolent, preconceived notion’s designed to use & abuse.
He stole Psyche away, saving her spirit in the process, magnetic pulses strobe lighting his way ahead, kinesthetic mind & limbs – delightful fullbodied jolts, his presence filling up the many holes in her senses.
Psyche,
a mere mortal woman; barefoot, pedicured nails flashing glimpses of autumn in-between the dirt, her toes digging in, surrounded by jealous sister’s who would pick & pull her apart given half the chance.
She struggles, resisting all that is good for her, sidestepping melodies with fragrant twists & turns; allowing old fashioned vintage love to lead her astray, before two left feet trip up & over, falling into his arms.
Trust,
in full swing, is the opposite of temptation & betrayal, so she stays & sways to his tune, soul breathing learning to trust a backbeat into grace.
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
#dailyprompt
“Persephone never quite forgave injustice, but she did learn to shed her skin” JD Butler
You came over larger than life, in all your big beautiful buxom-ness,
I got you naked.
My legs wrapping themselves around you like spider star’s, our flambuoyant embraces creating seismic ripples in our milky way.
When you weren’t whingeing about the cold – manifesting uncontrollable shivers & shakes, I watched your face smile like iridescent plankton sparkling in the moonlight; the ebb & flow of your once moored reserve.
You let it all hang out under cover of darkness, except for artificial red lights intermittently flashing, innocent for all of it’s risquè innuendos but oh so enlightening!
*
I don’t presume to know you intimately, although you remind me of Persephone – Hades having honed her fury, tempering Demeter’s mournful wrath all thanks to Hercate.
My third eye dived into your psyche, recognising myself in your reflection. Tidal waves of emotion crashed through and over, till I could see and you could see me.
*
Persephone never quite forgave injustice, but she did learn how to shed her skin & find rebirth in the spring,
bursting into wild rain.
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Live your life wishing well, for that is the only thing that will define you”, JD Butler
I know you loved me, because you still watch me, but guess what? I loved you too & where are we now?
I’m happy. I don’t know what you are but I feel you. Even now your eyes look me up & down from afar.
Such is life. You lost your shit & treated me like shit but guess what? This is the last thing you will ever read about you.
My life is mine & you can never take that from me, unless you follow through with your threats to torture, rape & murder.
That’s all you hold on to. Hate. It defines you in your moans, wingeing about this & that, who has done you wrong deserving payback.
Live your life wishing well, for that is the only thing that will define you. You owe it to your girls.
You have your head screwed in a vice.
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
I’m afraid to let you in
fear
open myself up in case I make another mistake
his hands around my throat
turning my vulnerability into high voltage more powerful than I
fear
harming me more than my imaginations interrogate
the fusion of vocal chords
when you say beautiful amazing things to me; I don’t know where to look
self doubt bonded to grey matter
on fire, using myself against myself, feeling violated – crazy
fear
wondering recognition, unseeing myself in you
your soulful eyes a lighthouse or warning?
my turbulent wake adjusting. I think I’m fucked up
fear, or is it?
*
You are so beautiful
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
I found myself once more
Remembering who, what & where I am – who my friends are
Reminding myself of love
Where I’ve been, where I’m going
Trusting whatever will be, letting go
Going with the flow
*
I’ve found my heart again
Radiating like a white lightening inferno
Spreading love like seeds to sow; in my happy place once more
Smiling, laughing
Dancing my way into the light, with a new lease on life
*
Once more I defy cruelty by design
Rising up, shaking you off
Washing myself clean, shedding my skin (shaking that ass)
My right place is right here now
& I’ve found more than hope this time
My spark is brighter than before
& it’s time I finally closed that door
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Artist Unknown
It costs nothing to show me you care;
holding my hand
makes me feel like I belong with you
stroking my face
makes me feel cherished
look into my eyes
and I feel seen, really seen by you
hug me
and I feel loved
when you smile
I feel warmed by you
when you praise me
it makes me want to do even better
when you run your fingers through my hair
I want to bury my face in your chest
when you tell me you love me
I feel like I’m yours
when you say and do all of the above
you show me how much you really care.
Now that isn’t so hard
is it?
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
1.
Oh God I was so proud of you, so proud to be your girl
Your wife
You made me feel beautiful, young and full of life again
I would often find myself picking myself up off the floor
When you’d walk in through the door
Your Cheshire beam warming me through and through
That’s how much I loved you
2.
I spend my time in the garden when I feel motivated
Motivation is a hit and miss affair these days, while I bide my time
Trying my best to work it all out, pulling the weeds, remembering songs I used to sing
I can do it – pace myself. It’s not like I have to be anywhere in particular?
Slowing things down to feel my way, has taken me to Europe
Where I wandered about on my card, searching for that part that has her roots in history
She’s done it before, moving, started over, moving but I’m tired
If only I knew how to put down my own roots and reap what I sow
3.
When all is said and done, I’ll be on the move – not run, telling you all to get fucked!
With a huge big smile on my face and crows feet
Happy 🙂
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
The great love of my life just walked away, for the last time
I fall in love with you every time I see you, preferring to forget your flaws
It was your smile, your cheeky grin ~ you’re looking up at me from under those lashes
I fear I would have you back in a heartbeat, if we were to meet again eye to eye
It’s the hardest thing, to choose what’s better for me, over my hearts desire
It would take years of reconciliation, together apart for the wound to heal to scar –
I think about it, us and you hoping, wishing, looking for bargains to bring us back
But it’s too late now
You left me four times, and I took you back; I could never trust a man like that
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Photos by me, Jodine Derena Butler, 2017
I landed in old Dublin town not far from Temple Bar
I found me seat beside the barman, drinking apple cider
My leprechaun he raised his eyebrows, looked at me and sang a smile
He strummed his guitar, tapped his feet and I was left my heart on fire
For I had lost my Ireland, Dublin calling me back home
I landed in old Dublin town not far from Temple bar
I found my seat beside the barman, drinking apple cider
A pint or three? he said to me, I laughed and clapped and danced a jig
He sang to me in Gaelic land and I held my Johnny’s strumming hand
And so it was, the cider flowed, and we were left beside us
I landed in old Dublin town not far from Temple Bar
I found my seat beside the barman, drinking apple cider
We made our way to Clontarf castle, almost tripping over feet
Now it could be said, of what he did, that roseyed my cold cheeks in bed…
My Dublin Leprechaun beside me, crying in his arms he held me
He found me in old Dublin town, not far from Temple Bar
On my seat beside the barman, drinking apple cider
My Dublin leprechaun he found me, and to this day he will remind me
I came home that Temple Bar, he sang to me and stole my heart…
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved
Version 2
I crossed the sea by winged plane
I landed in old Dublin town
I found my way to Temple Bar
Wth ruined roads a shambles
My Leprechaun was singing pretty
He sung to me of Dublin city
Fair lad and lass, love and loss
I felt my heart was heavy
I landed in old Dublin town
I found my way to Temple Bar
My ancestry lost long ago
Stories told me not remembered
My irish Leprechaun he told me
Some fair things are best forgotten
So I danced a jig to my long lost relies
And raised my glass of cider
I found myself in dublin city no Guinness factory
I raised my glass in Temple Bar
My Irish Leprechaun reminds me
Down at Temple Bar
I found myself in dublin town
Down at Temple Bar
My Leprechaun was a playin
I danced a jig for my long lost relies
I raised my glass of cider
And that was me, you see
I found myself in dublin city
Temple bar a clappin
One two three four times
I danced a jig for my long lost relies
Raised a jug to cider happy
Oh to be in Irish land
My irish Leprechaun held my hand
Oh my bonny lass
Anne Frank was here living in squalid conditions, only to be ratted out by patriots in 1944, Gestapo herding her and hers out like cattle transported far, far away from this place.
Just like the world today, history repeating in Chechnya where gays are sent into concentrated camps, denying their existence as the world watches with a limp dick or wet fish and everyone has an arsehole about Syria.
Patriots still hide behind fascism, racism, Islamo-xenophobic’s beating their sunken chests to within an inch of their white male privileged lives – nothing more than vitriol!
Passive narratives join in the furore, patting collective backs up against invisible walls dividing more than the usual apartheid regimes of monopoly – needing a change? Freedom comes in sanctioned collateral damage, onlookers merely pawns in the battle for world domination and white suited supremacy, lead by Uncle Sam of course!
My world is tainted, leftist humanity tipping the balance in favour of compassion and tolerance, set to split my heart in two where atrocities are rendered into political manipulations; illuminated lies and propaganda.
Religion sets the scene by revisiting inquisitions and crusaders choose selection over perception again, and again failing to unlearn the inevitable apathy and indignation that comes from slavery.
Amsterdam was once a safe haven till in her final hour she succumbed to insanity, and I remember Anne resisting adolescent outbursts in her diary – not unlike our Facebook counterparts where truth is confused with censorship and fake news by design.
I am here in Amsterdam with the weight of the world at war against my back, looking for salvation in the past, lessons to consolidate so that I can pilfer some sort of peace of mind from the rabble.
Mushroom soup set to lift the lid off my self imposed restraint. If only I could find a way forward that doesn’t leave me looking over my shoulder, and cannabis prohibition just makes no sense at all!
Longing for that balance to tip where I am appreciated for my self while belonging to no one, safe in my tulip tea party knowing I have a place to call home to go back to, is no consolation for rejected refugees.
My heart has an ancestry here in England, Ireland, Scotland, Spain and France with an Australian convict deportment threatening the sin of a potato famine, back to New Zealand where it all began.
If I’m not careful, I will be made to do penance against my Will and I don’t believe in god! No gods ever made sense to my rationale or their behaviour, and those postulating as priests are nothing but wolves!
Religion is best served cold, where it belongs tossed into a neocon salad with all the trimmings of Kali on the side just to rub it in to both christian and muslim radicals.
I prefer to chow down with the artists and define my existance as heresy and colour my world with its shadows and stalwart resistance, always resisting and history will be on my side eventually, when the smoke clears and everyone is looking for a scapegoat.
Amsterdam is set to blow!
Gay Concentration Camp
© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved
Creating a life
One sweet green leaf at a time
Entrusting my self
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
