Maximòn

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Photographer: Scott Wilcox, Fuzion Photography, 2017

“…fine tuning the in-between of harmony; hearts, earth & sky” JD Butler

Maximòn,

the epitome of balance:

patience & frustration,

softly spoken & vehement.

Ritual billowing, vaping

new life

into old lungs,

filtering

pure tobacco into undulating balls of steam.

His stage is an altar.

We dance, cleansing much more than our spirit,

fine tuning

the in-between

of harmony; hearts,

earth & sky.

Our effigy, enlightening the soul & keeping her secrets,

venerable in his wisdom.

Our Columbian overlord garnishes

the Mayan temple our grandfather’s bestowed.

Protective.

Upcycling shadows, illuminating the light –

breathing new life.

He is the embodiment of patronage & the people,

regenerating

health, crops, marriage, business, revenge & death.

Holding

our community together.

Maximòn

Glimmer

Cobalt Blue Wings

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The Daintree again,

eventually.

One more visit to Port Douglas & everything was shut!

For once, I didn’t feel

anything.

I never know if I’m going to see a cassowary,

or watch a ulysses flashing

cobalt blue wings

in the wood; my attention, caught off guard,

landing

on a branch or leaf – just out of

reach.

I hope for glimpses of colour

to blur my vision, invite me to follow that willow

like a wisp.

Steep curves in the road

climb &

descend &

slow down

for those shuddering bars strategically placed

becoming progressively more gnarly, closer

to paradise.

Lost.

Remembering chivalry – that warm endearing charm & seductive attention

that would set my seat aside, leaving me

to explore every crevice & fold.

For once, I didn’t feel

a thing.

Soldier crabs scurry into spherical holes dug deep into the sand, sidestepping that fine line; waves,

washing in & out

hiding those croc’s you know are just under the surface.

I dont bother scanning the rainforest for anything else

that moves.

I didn’t feel you there.

Braver than most – or foolish. I’m yet to decide.

I don’t remember butterflies.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Froth

Sylvia Prefers Madness over Insanity

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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.

Karma, Brainiac & Putin’s Balls of Steel

Posted on March 31, 2018 by Jodine

“Karma…she doesn’t rely on intel, cointel, black or psy ops of any kind” JD Butler

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.

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.

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.

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.

There is no infinity & beyond when relationships are run on denial.

Betrayed

Honesty Died with Bukowski

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“Brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens” JD Butler

People could learn to say what they mean, & mean what they say but

brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens; no professionalism, integrity or due process.

Fraudulent essentially – powerful people full of egotistical self righteous bigotry, who really don’t give a fuck! Zealots who would suck off anything & lick the rim, just to play the press.

I’ve retired, & that doesnt give anyone the license to try to get their end away by throwing a ‘seemingly solid’ literary curve ball at me, that’s totally full of shit!

Honesty died with Bukowski & I wish I lived in America, because I know exactly where to buy a cheap gun

without any background checks.

Dim

Spank

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“She will always lay down the spank & attempt to ignite your bright sparks…” JD Butler

I laid down the spank today, allowing my indignation to spontaneously combust. I exploded & so did he, backfiring.

My flame fired up appropriately ~ something didn’t sit quite well, was unethical, insensitive or just plain ignorant & I refused to douse

exceptions even now, although I risked being scorched ~ my truth, just too damn hot to handle, those nerves, just too damn uncomfortable; neuron’s,

doing some sort of defensive martial arts’ move off the back of a band wagon, straight into the proverbial bonfire; my face, red

eyes burning embers, boring into the heart of the matter, without blinking once.

My flame, extinguished in the end but it wasn’t all for nothing & I wasn’t inebriated, so I guess there was no excuse to offer up. I also refuse,

to apologise for my inner bitch. She will always lay down the spank & attempt to ignite your bright sparks, while you listen & learn.

You know it works both ways. I’d happily lie ~ across your knees while you give me a serve.

Conjure

Get Over It

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Original painting of Jodine Derena Butler, graffiti on canvas by Adrian Falkner aka SMASH, 2007

He said get over it,

& he’s right. My friend said to me once that I had to learn to live without needing a man. My daughter said, there’s plenty of replacements out there, (not that she was suggesting anything of the sort) but,

are these really the answers? I know they are all three, onto something, but me. I haven’t recovered from the last one, the trauma that stripped me down to my bare brittle bones & left me incarcerated in my mind – me, the iconoclast

reduced to a smidgen of my former self. I feel my body buzz, that digital alarm clock refusing to turn off, snoozing indefinitely in some futile attempt to deny it’s existence. My only relief,

an altered state that heals me, temporarily igniting serotonin filling me with laughter & lust, leading me astray into pleasure – the pain, retreating into recessed cavities like tooth decay.

In my natural state, my zombie-like vessel of despair is frozen in a headfuck, not dissimilar to those offering themselves up for cryogenic enlightenment; an obscene experiment, waiting for the utopian dream.

I struggle to hold on.

I smile at memories of when I was on fire, & you gathered around me like a moth, my flame fanning a wildfire of desire & I controlled the burn.

Life’s not like that now. I admire those who can turn a lemon into lemonade, mutton into lamb & a deep dish Russian pie served with liquor, into a feast for days.

I’m so introverted & egocentric that I can’t see you – you, with a heart the size of a universe, a mind as creative as Tesla’s & nature like a Phoenix that’s died a thousand times, only to be reborn, transformed into the beautiful man that you are.

I lie. It’s me who can’t seem to find herself, still lost in that ethereal realm inhabited by visceral ghosts, inciting death & despair into anger & self flagellation.

I am so blind I can’t find my way home. They say home is where the heart is – my home is an empty shell; it’s roof resembling dismembered body parts, now strewn across the lawn in a cyclonic fury, like pieces of me.

It was way too soon to start over again. I am still too fragile to smash.

Despite it all, you tell me you love me everyday.

Every. Single. Day.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Cavity

Sacred Reflections

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I can learn to trust:

Innocence, the touchy feely wonderfulness you share with everyone.

Respect, for private conversations with our beautiful friends.

Moments, when you forget you’re with me, until you remember lovingly.

Orbiter’s, that can barely disguise their agenda’s, until you assert yourself honestly.

Occasions, where I risk opening myself up to play – loving you.

Fear, when my thoughts take me to dark places & I have to learn to speak softly.

Silences, that are sacred reflections of us & I learn how to listen.

Times, when unconsciousness collides & I am awakened, letting go.

Your heart, that shines just for me in our togetherness.

I am learning to trust that I will be ok,

with you.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Lady Jane’s Ashcat

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“…his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail” JD Butler

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Nest

Guess What

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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.

Fear

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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

Gate

To Be Confirmed

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Maybe

I’ve met someone wonderfully new

Maybe

He’s into me & nothing like you

Maybe

He means what he says & says what he means

Maybe

He’s not full of shit or lying through his teeth

Maybe

He genuinely cares & thoughtfully thinks

Maybe

He’s been hurt, one too many times blue

Maybe

I’ve met someone wonderfully new

Maybe

I’ve met someone nothing like you

Harmonize

Man, Martyr & Misogynist

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One wooden desk

One black leather chair

One black office chair (all purchased from Marilyn)

One black laptop case (gift from Michelle)

One Brown square lamp table; Madang

One matching coffee table; Madang (both purchased from A-mart)

One pair of jumper leads

One complete set of original Tin Tin comics (Yes, ORIGINAL)

One colour drawing of Pink

One missing portrait (of my children)

One piece of art

One damaged hammock

One damaged gate

One damaged printer

One ruined painting

Numerous CD’s and DVD’s

Why?

Disastrous

Machiavellian Green-eyed Monster

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My Machiavellian green-eyed monster bats her surreptitious eyelids to within an inch of her lasciviously sly lips, barking out orders like Lady Muck subconsciously screwing her fucking finger, but all I can hear is a drum roll; her Devonshire high tea served & my Mad Hatter sets the scene with nothing more than a whistle

Scamper

Hyperbole

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“You colour my world igniting synapses into hyperbole…” JD Butler

Cairns Birdwing Butterfly

I saw a beautiful butterfly today, green with hints of red & yellow, not dissimilar to how I feel about you

I am reminded of transformation

My solar plexus squirms, churning up a cacophony of nervous tension & something else

Breathe, I tell myself or I fear I might pass out, fear having a lend of me

I tell myself you’re not him, over & over angry that even now his incubus infiltrates my psyche, penetrating my light

I’m an observer, always on the lookout for anomalies, my brain overthinking camouflaged sabotage

You colour my world igniting synapses into hyperbole; my protection in overdrive & you are my stargate

Just relax. Take all the time you need, whatever will be, will be

(Fuck you & your pathology!)

Transient

This Is How It’s Done

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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?

Create

Sold

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Photographer Barbora Biňovcovà

You sold me out, listening to thugs and bigots

I was the best thing since Findlay, only I ended up like Gaddafi with a knife in my back landing face down

What did I ever do to you?

I would have met, if it weren’t for the stench of deceit that smirks behind your false humour attempting to cast a shadow over my outlook

Gas lights your way ahead; a shimmer of truth in everything you say minus the facts, calculating my goodness to open up doors

You had it all Mr Black, and I gave it willingly till I saw past the facade – my asking questions was not the tell that gave you away

It was your penchant for believing I was like you, but I’m not

I am nothing like you!

I thought I saw a flicker of sadness on your face when I walked by, but I felt no penny’s fall

I blacked out your face in my periphery that protects an empty hole where you once lived, disconnected from everything about you

Just be thankful you couldn’t see the blue eyes that hide behind a white fluffy cloud, instead of staring

The future is up in the air

Let’s see if your hand/eye coordination is as good as you once thought, although my cards don’t rely on slight and my deck is not for sale

Are you happy now? You almost have what you want, but the yoke is still around your neck (mother)

I am where I’m meant to be, alone kicking up a storm in my grandmothers teacup, with my mouth wide open

Sold! To the highest bidder

Survive

All Those Times

Posted on December 31, 2016 by Jodine

All those times you wanted a home for the family and when I bought one, you didn’t like it and I felt disappointed

All those times you stalked me around the house and picked the locks, and I was afraid

All those times you cornered me, hurling foul put downs, till I stuffed my fingers in my ears to protect myself

All those times you told me I was loopy, a slut, a whore – a loopy slut whore and I was hurt

All those times you kicked open the door to pin me to the bed in a fit of rage, and I was struck dumb

All those times you pressured me to buy an investment property instead of renovating the house because you were plotting way back then and I felt betrayed

All those times you moved out, damaging property as you went. It hurt your youngest more than me, when you painted over her beautiful mural and I felt sad

All those times you misled me, hiding behind your Samsung, and your daughter for cover, conjuring plans to deceive and I was manipulated

All those times you spoke ill of me in front of others, your son and my friends – your friends and family and I felt ashamed

All those times you hid your cash, pleading poverty and gutted the

business and I trusted you

All those times you forbade me to enter our shop, and denied you wanted it for yourself and your daughter and I was controlled

All those times you refused to finish my tattoo’s, claiming you were too busy but not too busy for your daughters’ and I was left with rubbish

All those times you said you would draw me a portrait (like yours) and have it tattooed, but you didn’t have enough money even though I gave it to you

All those times you wanted me to go back to work, promising me you could handle it, but you couldn’t and it was my fault

All those times you withdrew your sex, claiming you could go without and I felt unwanted

All those times you accused me of fucking the neighbour, tradies, my boss, anyone and got upset because I sat too close to my ex and I withdrew

All those times you threatened to expose my client, and pounded on the apartment door and I was embarrassed

All those times you judged my friends, for no apparent reason and said they were damaged and I felt damaged

All those times I warned you not to stop taking your medication suddenly, but you did and became abusive and you told your daughter but I was deceived

All those times you resented my money, but took it anyway promising to pay it all back but you had other plans

All those times you said you would do anything for me, then complain you were my slave and I felt trapped

All those times you maligned your ex, your ex wife, your family and those who had crossed you, detailing your revenge and I felt scared

All those times you lied, gas lighting me to my face and Police, to make me doubt myself and instill madness and I became anxious

All those times you said you adored me, meaning as long as I shut my mouth and did as you expected and I went quiet

All those times you said you could never hurt me like your ex’s, because you loved me, giving me a false sense of security and I became depressed

All those times you stole our customers and redirected them to your personal email, yet I was silly for imagining it and I felt set up

All those times you put your personal email on our business pages, but it must have been me and I felt confused

All those times you damaged my property and denied it and allowed your daughter to do it too and I felt ganged up on

All those times you instructed your daughter to remove texts, business files and photographs from my phone and laptop, stating you knew nothing about it, and I felt tricked

All those times you refused to allow me to give a gift voucher to my friends and family, but you said family is always free and I felt nothing

All those times you withdrew your youngest daughter from me, assigning the mother role to your teenage daughter, leaving me outcast

All those times you washed your car, thrice, but wouldn’t wash mine and I felt insignificant

All those times you expected me to cook, but said you loved cooking your special diet anyway but I felt guilty

All those times you failed to communicate in texts for fear of litigation, so we agreed to delete them frequently so they couldn’t be used, but you secretly kept them and I was blind

All those times you said you wanted nothing to do with bikies, their associates or the security crew but you were in cahoots with them the whole time and I feel threatened

All those times you told me it only cost $5000 to get rid of someone and I asked you to stop talking like that, but you didn’t and I felt intimidated

All those times and more, happened but you have your own reasons for behaving this way, after all

You were angry

Transcript

Salt

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Grief is pouring out of me
unexpectedly violent, suddenly indecent

assault tempts me to die, stealing whatever else you left behind

my soul, violated

shredded skin, giving away my heart for safety

killing her off slowly

and I can’t bear it any longer – this pain

consumes me, squeezing every last breath I take

to want nondescript now; everything I had left with you

totally and utterly forlorn, I am bereft of any life, when you said
you loved me – that was an evil lie

there is no faith left in my world when I think of you

I am foetal, cradled in my own embryonic arms

closing bloodshot eyes

for darkness to caress my fetid skin, sinking in

lost; longing for you in vain, my grief is pouring out of me

and it won’t stop – I can’t make you stop

broken, and excrutiating to remember

you abandoned me, destroying everything I thought I meant to you

and the salt, knowing you’re laughing – telling how you want torture

before dismembering my body for a barrel

some days the grief is so bad I want to die, check

my self in to the nearest vein before I slice my way in – till I can’t feel you anymore

and watch my self disappear

Imaginary

Rabbit Court

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There has been a shift in me; side lining the old ways, finding hope where there was none, obstacles I once circled, dismantled cages my lion once fixated upon, the enemy – my feminine intuition

strength, I found without glasses raised in my periphery far beyond any sudden obscurant deviant landscape filled with Kings Pardon’s, crystal clear upon reflection – I’ve changed

my stipplings more fluid than transparency could have foretold a straight line in the beginning, my wagered war under siege, till it and I spilled out, replacing what was left with artistic endearment

I unpack my bundle now, denying lace doilies on the armrest and turn my back on your silhouette; wallowing in self pity, my demons are fornicating with your rosary beads, lambasted in disquiet

I have witnessed your demise and I too descended into Hell, double standards raping and pillaging my identity, till she was as bereft, staring your demons down so you could see yourself

I am raised from those ashes, I am emblazened wearing a Red beacon-like flag, my Phoenix set to soar North never looking back, for if I think of you, I am at once torn left blindside and I refuse

I stand alone in my dock; my blue eyes pierce your reign, my laser beams cutting through all those cloaked illusions you conjure, for I burn inside you, igniting scrolls of discarded deadwood you can’t deny

Let us be done with this shade! You can’t have your old school tart by eating her, out of business or waltz her off her feet with your inflated ego – the facts are irrefutable betrayal, denial won’t save you

falling into that rabbit hole, that jester court ball full of grandiose promises, all but a mirage in my crystal; my Goddess is much older than your crucified false prophet, and I am no Martyr for a lost cause

Polish

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