Patina Lovely

Image

I am left feeling enigmatic, but not uncomfortable. I like this mind-over-matter business…” JD Butler


National Geographic springs to mind, when I look at this building in Auckland on the Viaduct downtown

 

Comm bank not far behind

Its panels metallic, reflecting fractured light not unlike water & waves

But I find myself thinking of its timeless slow death in patina, lovely & natures natural weatherall beauty

I see the architectural intelligence by design, considering more than one aspect, contemplating angles & curves, combining the intersections of both

I am left feeling enigmatic but not uncomfortable & I like this mind-over-matter business, it see’s into the future without any preconceived notions

Much more than just a commercial project



© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Exposed

Banshee sponge melody

Image

‘the atomic composition of the seeming solid’ by Shane Hollands


My favourite ‘Urbis street crossings’ 

made me laugh

you’re – you seem to be a free spirit Shane

I’m too scared of tragedy, but suck it up like a lemon anyway

hardship and solitude 

in-between sudden bursts of intent 

I can see you in your poems like I remember you at Poetry Live, but you won’t remember me

I had my head firmly shoved right up my arse, but I like strangers

they are non threatening and don’t stick around

a much nicer interlude

the first time I saw you in Freaky Meat in Titirangi, I really watched you

your sidelong glances around the room from under your mic

I’m always enthralled with mystery; what I don’t know or understand

like a banshee sponge living off a melody

you inspire me. I wonder if women can do it too? Wander aimlesslike without getting fucked over

leave a mark instead of a scar

I know a lot of people like you and I feel like an imposter

a fraud and sometimes a piece of meat

Freaky

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved

Natty

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

Uniform

For my Sister

image

I remember when you were born
in 1977 mum had a fall, sprawled
out on the lawn
I had to dial dad in the cowshed
on one of those antiquated wind up
Long Short Short – telephones
I was 9

You had a stripy bouncy, I still have
that photo of you I need to find & post
I changed your nappies; whoa
what an eye opener that was!
I dressed you, fed you your bottle
I loved playing mum, babysitting

You didn’t have a dummy, preferring
an old cloth nappy that you wore down
bit by stringy bit, till all that was left
was the bias edge – you still have
shoved right up your nose
we all wondered what that stench was
when the doctor pull it out
green & gooey, everybody cleared out
gagging

When you grew older, I would sing
Roy Orbison ‘Crying’, I used to
make you cry but you wanted me to
you were my cute little blonde blister
we all loved you, you could do no wrong
that’s how it should be of course

When you had Stanlee, you were still a baby at 18
but so proud of your achievement
then you had Tayla, another blonde terrorist
lucky you
one of each to drive you round the bend
for the next 15 years or so

You always had a thing for cars
panelbeating, time out
in your woman-cave, your room/womb
you are now driving yourself
round the bend
your lead foot finally putting the boot in

Dad loved cars too, least you
haven’t lost a wheel yet – his wheel
won the race that day at Pukekohe
midget number 33
they used to race blind back in the 70’s
him & Barry Butterworth & Ted Tracey

Years went by & you met Ross
it all fell into place – finally
you make a great pair
‘Team Vulcanator’, team Campbell
my little sister all growed up
showing them all up
your happiness becomes you

I am proud of you, knowing you
have played your cards to suit
piggie-in-the-middle
tempered frustration behind the scenes
you tried for me, us and them
to see reason broaching the topic
with that fun sense of humour
laughing absurdity in the face

Thank you for being my big little sister
despite all the family bullshit
too young to understand
you can thank me for showing them
how to love you
they were too wrapped up
in themselves to notice me, such is life
children don’t come with a handbook
unfortunately

Anyhoo…I love you
I will always be here for you
no matter what they might say
I have money now (I hear you laughing)
I stole mine apparently (I’m laughing)
I don’t deserve anything
least of all happiness
but then I’ve only got to look at mum
trying to convince her self she is
her denial, anxiety & depression
past being passed down

Keep smiling & having fun
everything gets better with time
nothing else matters
but you’ve already worked that out
maybe there is hope for me yet?
but I hate everyone I don’t trust
having had the rug pulled out
from under me too many times
losing innocence & love
lost parts of my self I will never find
but as long as you are happy
I’m happy

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Family

Christmas with family at lunch.  loved
ones in spirit present. noticeable
some of us not our usual selves. all of us
a couple of weeks and months ago
father, mother, uncle, aunt, cousin
brother, sister, husband, wife, lovers.

love is in the air with a sombre undertone
changing and evolving.  stronger
softer holding on
our spirit’s enquiring gently.  hearts
like cedar louvres
blissfully breathing
lots of hugs and kisses
lots of smiles.

bull mastiffs lap attention unknowingly
giving of themselves.  more
a small child asks for help to go wee’s
as children do.  nona
chuckling as she leads her by the hand.

teenagers frolicking in the pool.  glorious
unfettered minds and bodies celebrating
organic feijoa wine freshly squeezed it seemed.  ripe
the sun in all of us.

pockets of people mingling.  glasses
raised and table laden.  giving thanks
quietly un-quiet mouths, eyes ,ears, skin
and something else.  savouring
sustaining the living and life.  gone
but not forgotten.

© 2008 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Feijoa Wine

Feijoa wine
organic
freshly squeezed
9% of nothing
but sublime
with an Apple base
no comparison
to additives
or preservatives
that pickle the brain
and nauseate
the mind.

The next day
fine and sunny
ready for another
sip, savouring the
yellowing heart
my nectar.

Soft on the palette
liquid amber pale
sparkly
like bursts of invisible
spontaneity,
aesthetically pleasing
to the soul yet
refined,
non judgemental;
yours evenly
tempered and
carefully constructed
subtle – calm.

Feijoa wine trails
with bubbles
lining up, titillating
my nose
my lips quiver
anticipating
my mouth waters,
our juices
mingle into lust
full thoughts.

Sensations swollen,
red cheeks peek
our virginal
sated body’s entwined
everytime divine
just divine!

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Stewart Island/Rakiura (for Squizzy)

A rare Hector’s dolphin
rides the bow of Lo Loma
returning to Halfmoon Bay –
everything is rare on Rakiura.
even the locals
born from rugged resignation
and angry moans
stand stoic, proud
wild as the South Sea
confronting island inlets and the ferry from Bluff
These men are calloused, weather-worn and feral
who ride the waves
and tend their waters like rose gardens
carefully thinning and pruning
long lines and skin furrows sinking further than the eye can see;
long meaningful looks, cast
as the tourists land with raucous bluster
and high pitched squeals and screams –
“Listen up!” says Squizzy, commanding his crew
his Captains beanie pulled, folded and rimmed
he is clean-shaven, his rosacea cheeks peeking,
rise to the booming command of his voice
but he is not brash
tumultuous sea’s lay calm this day
I take instruction not from a Mainlander
but from an icon
Mollymawks ski and bob
like pontoons moored just out of reach
Seagulls circle and Albatross grace
our presence, all of our mouths watering and
gawping, tasting the salty sips of paradise
I am in Heaven
I breath in the crisp seasoned fresh air
deep into my lungs, my nostrils flaring
the bite of the cold stands hairs on end
brings tears to my eyes. exhaling
through my mouth, I let it all out
I let the Auckland carbon monoxide drain from my body
only to be recycled again and again and again.
although these men have never experienced
the scourge of traffic on the motorways at 6, 7, 8, 9
I now know why because I have tasted
I could learn from these people.
the women are equally as strong, equally as fierce
equally as protective of their land
and their men
“Fresh meat!” us women from up North
I scanned the horizon as I landed and saw
more than I bargained for
Paua (Abalone) and Blue Cod in abundance
and plenty of trawlers on the horizon;
Inside the South Sea’s Hotel I saw a sign.
25c, 50c, $1.00, $2.00 fee’s for excuses
offered up to angry wives and girlfriends
I had to laugh at the underlying meaning of it all
local women have given up on their local men
they bide their time and wait
watching for a break in the weather
watching for the tide to turn
watching with bated breath to see who stays.
who goes is of no concern
Rain and wind, as unpredictable as the locals
intermingles with sun and warmth
four seasons in one day is an understatement!
a contradiction in terms as pristine
beaches are bereft of bathers or bikini
clad nymphs but take another look
everything is as it should be
Oyster Catchers will likely peck you on the head
I only brought my Rusty summer dress
because I was unprepared for the bite
I leave this island with my emotions rolling
and listing, crashing about in this battered brain
if I stayed I would be eaten alive by the sandfly’s
but I am also strangely drawn, drawn
to the peace and people as much
as to the trials and tribulations that make up this land.
it would take years, to return to the land and live
here, off my life – I would leave it all behind for simplicity
but somehow there is much more here than simplicity
here, I could be myself.

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved

Edited by Miriam Barr

First published by Blackmail Press, Issue 28,  http://www.blackmailpress.com/Index28.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)

Muldoons Evil Twin

Poetry Live on Tuesday
nights, open mic
from above the Comedy Club on Queen (07)
to Thirsty Dog on K (09)
my humble beginnings
behind the Glue Pot in the 90’s
Java Jive, Raw Fish Salad
Karen Hunter in one of her primes
Temple Bar up on stage
improvising on song
it didn’t take me long to piss the locals off –
less than a glass of wine
so don’t make a scene
too late
Bohemian floral skirts
and wacky hats, skinny
pin legs and black hair
standard poet garb it seems
Murray Haddow pushing buttons
swapping tongues,
split personalities
coming alive in accents
bigger than Graeme Brazier
Right on cue, sex workers
across the street, never
get rid of them or me
Montana Poetry Day (05?)
I wish I was a millionaire;
I would buy every great poet loser
their own book
Performance poetry at its best
Poetry Out West
a kaleidoscope of words
and I can hear the audience cringe
I’m looking better tonight, apparently
It’s been two years since
my presence spoke volumes –
I must have sounded like
Kerouac cackling back in the day
like Muldoon’s evil twin.

(Inspired by Murray Haddow at his Poetry Live performance at The Thirsty Dog on Karangahape Road, Auckland, New Zealand 07/04/09)

Copyright 2009. Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved.