Cordelia came in her Goddess gown, wild spring flowers in her hair.
She soothed my heart till I could lift my head high: pieces of me reflect back in her eyes.
I sobbed.
I let her see my broken vase and she caressed my skin like a lover.
My vase of cracks and fine lines filled—
The motherless child and I.
© Copyright 2022, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler. All rights reserved
i
Cyberus the black dog, creeps in under Mary’s skin, licking his lips, penetrating her holes, gnawing away at her sinewy tendons and succulent bones.
He rapes her subconscious crawl space, probing his wet nose into her closet crotch, sniffing out the buried remains there like Cujo; gnarled lips, protruding tongue and crazed eye stare.
Mary pricks her ears, Cyberus howls at the April blood moon, his mourn calling her out from behind her silvery veil, behind her mindful interludes – moonbeams bleed crimson and red rivers pour from her nightmares blurring the edges of her days.
Cyberus spreads his malaise like a disease.
He infiltrates cavities and grey matter mimicking the ebb and flow of tides; dopamine highs and serotonin lows, squalls hovering on the horizon – the ramblings of a mad woman batting her eye lashes, baring her sharp teeth.
ii
Mary flatter’s her fans upright for .50c an hour to satisfy Cyberus’ insatiable appetite, gulping down terabytes like an insomniac slip streaming strip scenes and Mary rubs herself raw, learning how to love the hands that feed her.
The water slides off her duck downed back, down valleys and cracks her bareback fingertips squeezing every last drip from her drops.
Mary turns off the shower, wipes away the steam from the window and peers outside. Two stray dogs have escaped lockdown, causing havoc on the streets.
She would take them both in and give them a good feed, if she had a backyard big enough to bury bones.
iii
Tom stands outside on the pavement, peers up at the window, his threadbare trenchcoat just as superfluous as his empty pockets, except for the cornerstone content bulge. He watches Mary’s jailbird swagger dance and sway behind a steam curtain.
iv
Cyberus can feel her skin crawl, he allows himself to rise – settling in between her mind and the blurred edges of breasts, buttocks and inner thighs.
Infared penetrating his night vision.
© Copyright 2020, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler Files. All rights reserved
It’s taken conciliatory surprise to remind Ariadne of her desires;
her pending resignation of all things malodorous and contrite.
Old crone bones proffer up a willingness to decay
lay still, let mummified old sticks and stones settle in.
A labyrinth of bygones remind her of a well spring run dry
a summer of joy, cut short. The autumn equinox bears down
bending boughs to straighten those willowy heart strings once and for all.
She feels the clew constrict, stretch the last of the wine —
the last dram of mortality’s mundane, quenching nothing in the end
But a lust for a life lost, rendering her a prisoner and one of Klimt’s women
peeling back the golden years in rebellion, a fight to the last breath.
Abandoned yule tides of December wax and wane
when all she wants are lilies, and to be crowned ‘Queen of the Damned’
to be held in the arms of a consecrated man.
Alas, winter brings sadness and loss, chaos organising
the last supper muted in surrender, a fish. One final beat
forces remnants of hope to leave as gracefully as the slamming
of a door / his melted wings and her angst roar!
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Graffiti at Rex Burger Bar, Cairns, Australia
A city scape.
Lovers embrace.
The setting sun.
Water.
Reflections of a distant ship on the horizon.
Windows
and doors;
rooves, roads and
glistening alley ways,
streetlights, pavements, bricks and gutters
all seeming to drain.
An abyss.
Underground taverns, sewers and stormwater rivers.
Steps.
Tunnels and trams – passengers obscured behind frosty glass.
Rain and wind, dripping
drops and lines.
Hurried footsteps.
Coats,
and umbrellas.
*
Memories of Melbourne in winter.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
I could smell it a mile away. The stench. It reeked. A purple suit jacket couldn’t distract my nasal passages, any more than the blue arse flies circling around my eggs bene and an old English breakfast. A seedy but not too bad cafe on Sandringham Road.
My submission was a waste of time and money in the end. His slobbering tongue may as well have slid around the inside of my mouth, probing for fishy morsels when he should have been licking the egg yolk, about to dribble from the corner of his. But there will be no saving the 1970’s retro tie from yet another polka dot stain.
I’m sure he could smell it too. My hot, pulsating wet pussy, soiling my knickers over the prospect of having my culinary words eaten out of context. It stinks. There is nothing quite like the smell of rotting meat to make a woman feel heavenly – retch! It cracks me up every time I regurgitate.
/
It was all business and no pleasure. A typical overcast Auckland day in the middle of winter, but it still didn’t stop him adjusting his oversized proportion trying it on for size. That would be a clichè, if he were unable to stop drooling over my salmon.
The damage is done. A lingering malaise assuming everyone thinks I suck. All it took was a piece of meat and all the fingering fucked me over. No conspiracy theory this time, just a stench and salmonella in my mouth.
/
Nazis were a problem.
I should have taken them all out.
© Copyright 2018, 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
Jean François Millet
‘Shepherdess with her Flock’
I’d be content
I think, maybe
if I put one
of those solar
thingy’s on the roof,
and grow my own
medication
in between the
herbs and gourmet
spuds. I could
collect rain water,
filtered by cheese cloth, milk
a Capricorn goat
and call her Billy
Bold tethered
to a tree on a long
line. I would have
to buy a hammock
and mosquito net
but first I’d have
to settle it all up,
let it go
to the highest bidders, then look
around off the beaten
track for somewhere
remote, outback
with at least a wellspring for summer
when it all dies
and I’m left
looking at the goat,
licking my mutton
chops wishing
for a pork, cracking
open a Veuve. I’d do it
and serve up a concoction of hysteria
only fit for the loony
bin – laden. I would
laugh at the irony
of having nothing
and no one to
complain about, except who I was
before I decided
to go off grid, fate
leading me astray
after yet another
furious outburst of
solipsism; cynicism
better left
with no one
to witness my demise, except for
Billy Bold
in my bed
keeping me awake,
chewing the fat.
Billy Bold – Graham Brazier (Hello Sailor)
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved
I am on the fringe
my destiny intertwined
money & lust
existence
paving a way for my future
I am loved
unconditionally.
he doesn’t presume
to try to control me
directly
indirectly I don’t know –
sometimes I feel bereft;
a single cell amoeba
searching
for another sign
of life
solitude
my friend & my enemy
co-exist;
uncertainty
at every new juncture
jeers in contempt
I am frozen in fear
for falling
& failing
humiliation burning
into my face
to spite me
ungracious
in pursuit of happiness
I take no prisoners
perhaps my journey
is my destination?
isolation & separation
inextricably linked,
pseudo relationships
taking precedence
lonely street’s
with or without corners
smoothing my transition
in the distance,
no picket fence to define me
or winter garden
or fire escape
I digress, sadly.
inner sanctum’s
flawed by design
serve only to mimic my life
contentment
knows no bounds
© Copyright 2012, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Summer nights
bbq’s & wine
friends & lovers
reflected in the flame
tiki torches;
wafts of citronella
drift up toward invisible clouds
random stars
make the night seem closer
no moonlight
just a gentle breeze
that cools my crimson skin
there is peace in the silence;
an afterglow,
yuletide’s sit in succulent ceramics
on the back steps
tonight I am content
tomorrow I am restless
here, I can take time
© Copyright 2011, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
a cold front over
night over
cast skies
ushers in
much needed
rain caught breath
Swallow Hollow Road
the Appalachians
followed
where I found
Mother Natures
siren song irresistible
/
tough Winter months
out of season
tempered;
farmers
make hay
while the sun shines
drought stricken pastures
threaten exposed
beams
general
stores fall victim
to the March of time
the old farmhouse stands
abandoned; creaks
decay
E-tsi
E-ho-li re-claims
back-broken ground
/
young people leave
the older folks
behind
inside
green towers
concrete pockets – split
/
driving down the back roads
his breath is taken
away;
toughness
and determination
of early settler caravans
rugged mountain terrain
today, sky city
frontier’s
new calls
of the wild wind
temporarily finding view
voices echo through the trees
whispering memories
lingering in the past
© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Inspired by the article The March of Time by Chip ‘Rocketman’ Allen
A green duvet and me
blue
Eeyore pyjamas missing a button
a gaping hole my solar plexus
books scattered
carpeted
the bed and the floor
three phones waiting
a clock ticking
a red candelabra
standing tall
white scented candles
mirrors and paintings
reflected image incomplete
a red slip
pillows
a thick winter coat, disembodied
folded towels
soft toys and clothes, strewn
careless
tissues not too far away
the bedside table ready
slatted curtains not really curtains at all
shafts of light
penetrating
my wheat-bag purple and warm
comforting
Klimts Women is wide open
to ‘The Kiss’
at the foot of my bed
© Copyright 2007 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
I muse onward full circle
still the dead whisper in my ear;
memories of ghosts torn asunder
I am left wandering
in silence our journey continues
to unfurl, tapping the undergrowth
like an ancient drum
the wind caressing me windy
breathing words of comfort
I feel your voice
in the silence I resist tears
drawing power from the familiar
and yet unknown.
it is not my time
mistakenly I bend to embrace
a small child, bedraggled in the mire.
defying clay and rock
a river, the source of all that is
to return me to my self
my branches burst – thaw
seeping into treelike veins
my body aches to warm.
you turned your back
I am left behind in you
wounded. afraid.
I snatch a quick glance
in your direction, damp
eyes I remember;
the dark is lonely without light
in spite of me
my gnarled roots continue to bore
deep into the earth, and live
still I make no sound.
the night is cold
I am shivering in my spine.
© 2009 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
My memory recalls
a time in the sunshine
at Christmas
those many years ago –
running and firing
the pistol drenched
us in tears
it was yellow
and red
like the times I bleed
like the time before that time
I thought I was dying
you remember laughter?
it comes and goes now
like a nervous leaf in Autumn
long after Summer
on the horizon
in the blue ute
down Tamaki Drive;
music loud
me singing a heart
shaped note in tune
I hoped
you’re bright Red tool
box taking pride
of place in the back seat
may as well.
You fell over me
warning you alarm bells
would soon wake you
for work
remember?
© Copyright 2008 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler. All rights Reserved
(appropriated from part of Ode to the Watermelon, Neruda, Pablo and Cesar Vallejo)
Poetry Out West 