Balkan Beauty

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Phil by Fuzion Photography, Cairns 2017

“An admiration she wouldn’t normally entertain… if he were only a passing stranger”. JD Butler

Lady Jane is in love

with Ashcat.

His strong silhouette slipping in and out of her

periphery, and her

ebony arches rise.

Ashcat, oblivious to her wicked wanton imagination, carries on his distraction,

impervious.

She murders a bottle of Brut in anticipation, while he continues to sway his hips like Arrow – taking no prisoners.

Lady Jane marvels at his beauty.

An admiration she wouldn’t normally entertain (appearing crudely shallow), if he were only a passing stranger.

Warmth, is magnified by his dark Balkan eyes shrouded in long, thick lashes – he is her lover.

He wears Jesus sandals, long sunbleached salt and pepper hair, a ponytail and a sculptured beard adorns his shirtless chest, complimenting his oh-so-sexy charisma.

Oozing like Fat Boy Slim, Craig Charles or Ronnie Size and the like,

he dances in joyous rapture, while gratitude tango’s a discourse; Shakespearean words leading Lady Jane into

break-dancing lines and sonnets.

Drawn to the outline of his magnificent manhood – her eyes,

widen

remembering that first feast of flesh under a cascading moonlit pool. His six foot one

stature conjuring lust and erotic embolisms.

Ashcat is her lush and she is his Lady Jane.

Gin and tonic martini’s mix into multiples of mischievous smiles, Mt Uncle

botanicals tittilating both of their senses.

*

Lady Jane snaps back to reality and uncrosses her legs,

flashing glimpses of her petite ankles in the pantomime.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Blink

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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.

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

Karma Keto

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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

Micro

Lady Lazarus & the Voice of Ratified Reason

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“If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment”. JD Butler

He’s using me, I’m using him – both of us working on a palatable means to several ends & everyone’s happy on the dance floor, except me / Lady Lazarus, fully loaded

machinations mimicking my madness & everything I have survived is temporarily erased from my memory / the neglect, the rapes, the con artists & the turning of blind eyes. The violence

of insanity, cleansing the last of my contemptible dirty pieces. A ruse in the end, designed to ratify my plea bargain, still set to drown in a sea of toxic shame, churning

out green bile – something the dogs love to salivate over.

/

It all sounds so depressing, except for the sun that continues to rise; refracted light beams infiltrating my cracks,

forcefully illuminating all remaining fragments of hope that haven’t yet marvelled at a setting sun. I am thankful.

If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment, you would all marvel at my unadulterated halo & drop to your knees, prostrate

but I am a mere mortal woman. No God could ever carry me across the sand or walk on water or set me down on the island of my choice,

without some sort of comeuppance; paying the ferryman requires nerves of steel / I lack the will to either live or die,

in peace.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Imagination

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.

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

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

Lady Jane’s Ashcat

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“…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

Nest

Angry Drunk Girl

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“It was well after midnight before the first cock crowed & the lights went out indefinitely.” JD Butler

We Ubered into town, once we got our shit together, sorted lines & tripped the lights. The Jack featured Bullhorn & us Dee Jay’s from Ashcats & Rizon, our Friday week off to a roaring 1920’s vintage swing finale! 

Bar tabs, Summers, champers & me, the bar bitch on fine swagger for most of the night – till the light flipped & the angry drunk girl was refused entry. She swung through mad backbeats in-between Bullhorns’ ska, till the shit hit the fan in spectacular speakeasy.

Rizon flipped digital vinyl, off & on like the open & shut of Phil’s steam punk pocketwatch – Ashcat’s in fine time. Me, almost deepthroating the mic, freestyling to a crowd of five hundred or more, just before angry drunk girl showed up again, taking the piss while she ripped off her brazen bustier & let it all hang out. 

It was not her finest hour, even though Carla’s lightbeam replaced stares, calming more than a sea of storming masculinity, it was well after midnight before the first cock crowed & the lights went out indefinitely.

*

Angry drunk girl reared her ugly head first thing in the morning – then decided it wasn’t worth the effort.


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


Witty

Persephone

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“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

Myth of Persephone & Demeter

Sympathy

Shedding my Skin (Shaking that Ass)

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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


Volume

Scent

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Photographer Veronika Marx – V’s Anchor Studio

The scent of a woman

made from floral Oriental arrangements

imbued sandlewood, tall poppies and heady ambient aura’s

is enough to make me linger – longer than wiser men swoon

tripping over their good fortune, as I sway through the market overflowing with trinkets

glittery things; replacing driftwood, pinecones, seeds and pods

cinnamon sticks and stones

eau de parfum of musk, nascent wafts of earth and wild rain
stay hidden from your touch, designed to draw you in
and leave you wanting

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

Check Mate

Photographer/Headpiece/Makeup by Andreas Boldt

You went back to the old ways, baby
let those speak for me, on their behalf
poisoning your mind and self
to bring you back home, tethered
to that place you’ve been trying to leave
you let them whisper in your ear,
sweet nothings to woo betrayal,
the only thing you trust
you’ve gone full circle
fear taking what was good for you
over love held in contempt,
lust luring you back again
already screwing you
now they’re trying to screw me
with phone calls, designer texts
intimidation sending me
into undercover, in disbelief
believing you have a hand in thuggery
you were so protective
of me, once family
willing to sell it all to the Devil you know
sending them all away
but they have your head in a vice
that false prophet Halo
surrounding you in darkness; checkmate,
stealing more than just Mary’s soul
you are weak, following
in your fathers footsteps
the one closest to you, the first
learned her place underfoot
her escape futile, her existance
cruel penance for that lost child
proving her guilt
she accepts her fate, now
that’s why she turns a blind eye
allowing your atrocious behaviour
to go unchecked – you raise your voice,
she see’s him in you and resigns
I have fallen by the way
learning to let go of my heart,
my mortality reminds me daily
that I am alone
I look forward to other things, now
bringing fulfillment here,
my father in his Twilight
where I can care for love
without risk, losing it all
the best part – his death
teaching me everything else
I need to know

/

one day, I hope
you sneak back into my bed,
just because you can and
we have an hour or two
to ourselves, like it was before
remembering our smell,
feeling our hearts open
loving each other well, adjusted
until the next time we say goodbye
and life goes on

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

Distant

Pan

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I could never look
at you the same way
I adored you, once
your true colours have me
in sensory overload
clutching my heaving chest
in shock, disbelief winded

reeling from the blows
taking such pride

inflicting pain, deliberately
fueling retribution over lack
of supply, shows me I never knew
you – you who would do anything
for me, except love me
finding unjustified reasons
to hurt me

because I don’t abide
I could never trust

the man that revels in pain
his empowerment borne
plotting, scheming manipulations
splitting love in two
my aorta left to bleed
out, powerless –
it makes him feel

like a man
you’re not my man

I was your meal ticket
your way to escape
demons; Dachau passing down
suffering, such a way of life
completely misunderstood
cruel Nazi mentality, heartless
your Mockingbird,

your SS badge of dishonour
worse, using children

an apparatus for torture
where love nurtured trust,
spiritual guidance squandered
on self-serving childhood needs,
your own metered out
shortcomings
love is not yours to ridicule away

denying its abundant existance
I will never trust my heart,

expose her soft underbelly
or offer her up
in sacrafice; like a lamb,
your God is a manmade
fallacy designed to subjugate
misogyny, displaced whores
rendering Madonna complexes

in perpetual conflict
I am disappointed in you

you had it all, proffered up on a silver platter
wanted for nothing, except coveted jealousy
lusting after sinful greed
you let breed and wreck havoc
Mr Black is a predator, a perpetrator
you let run roughshod over me
I am not the only one, women

your past is predictable by nature
I hope with what’s left,

you learn your lesson well
I wanted a man – a man,
not a spoiled little boy
throwing tantrums to up
the Antichrist in pursuit
of misspent youth,
ungrateful to the core

matters let go out of hand
I am in Hell

sent there to rot in your abandon
but you didn’t bargain on meeting Demeter,
who will hunt you down
to save herself, mourning winter
the long days and sleepless nights,
haunting your nightmares

she, who see’s right through you
will dance on your grave

 

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Pan

Meddle

All Is Not Lost

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Photographer: Jodine Majewski

I have no ill feelings

surprisingly

God knows I have plenty of reason to feel

angry or resentful, hurt

but it’s not in my nature

I feel proud actually,

that I helped a  family to have a future

I really worked hard for her, for him

I am satisfied here in my garden

now, pottering

I’ve found peace here

finally, after losing it all

on a gamble

I should have known much better too

but love is truly blind,

even though my eyes were wide open

I can’t take money with me

so I’ll let it go

they need it more than I

I can hold my head up and feel proud

I don’t have to hurt anyone

to get what I want, tenderness

I can give to myself 

*

when you love someone,

you don’t do anything to hurt them

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Bottle

The Joker

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The Joker
plays his cards then prays
for forgiveness
to a middle eastern Christian God
before hurling abuse
to those who aren’t white
professing to love women
secretly harbouring unfathomable hate
suppressed rage
staring Red indifference in the face
of reason, his reason
an excuse for payback; vindictive
retribution designed to maximize
powerfully charged emotional punches.

I have loved more than once
choosing my heart over head
batting eyelids deflecting
eggs scrambling to make sense
of the impossible scenario
time after time questioning
my self refusing to settle for anything
less than truth
watching loved ones turn
roll over, pulling the wool
over already unseeing orbs
holding on to contempt for love
lost

Death has defined me
grief ripping me apart
till I am stripped bare and
‘The Joker’ plays me for a fool
his denial hardly concealed now
his truth defining him in the end
hidden underneath a facade
charm dangerously like a predators
false sense of security
when his hands are tied
his dirty hands
he tries to launder abrasive
repeatedly.

Money
the root of all evil
threatens to ignite the paper trails
that have us entwined
enmeshed together by banks
loans and fine print
our future only leased
the balance drains the half full cup
sentiment caught never to be released
that Holy Grail
proving to be forever out of reach
what chance did we have?
the die has been cast.

My love
my darling
you were my everything
my beautiful sweet illusion
my heart aches for remembering you
how you were before you changed colour
I fell head over feet for you and yours
grazing my knee in the process
I succumbed, numbing my defenses
getting back up being pushed back down
losing another fragment of hope
each time threatening don’t
now, the joke is on you.

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

Illusion

Set Fire

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image

I’ve been living in a war zone

so it seems, three and a half years
of Hell with nothing left
to show for it,
except heartache
and pain
watching love leach
from my soul; phosphorescent,

sparks like spheres

float up, up and away
to fizzle out in to nothingness

Since when did I become
the enemy?

clumped into the annuls of misogyny
tarred / scarred
for being a woman empowered
because I threaten the old ways
where women were barefoot
and pregnant,
swathed in floral aprons
with floured hands kneading
wholesome Madonna complexes
designed to subdue

I love

depth and passion
moving my heart to where I am
mesmerized in awe; my fragile smile
let loose like an arrow
straight and true into you
and I, jubilant
where I am left wondering
where you have been
all my life – that I would do anything
for you

I love my self more

and I am not broken completely.
I can take those looks of contempt
along with those cutting words
and stand my ground against interrogation/subjugation
I lead myself in cycles, navigating
my way out of ear shot for a while
till I can stand it no more,
when I hide away inside
and stuff my fingers

All is not lost

despite my sense of guilt at not being
strong enough in your eyes,
un-like grandma whom you adored,
admiring resilience
I am merely a shade by comparison
if I subscribed to your anger and hurt
if I took her on and became
a better person, wife, mother for you
if only I chose to keep my mouth shut
like she learned in the war

I don’t believe

staying silent will keep us alive these days
my life requires I fight
for truth, freedom, rights and for love
so you may find your self, lifted from those ashes – Dachau,
and understand that women need
tenderness, a kindness that takes away
the hurt of injustices, finding safety
your arms filling me with hope
that I am not alone

It is with great sadness

that I must choose love
letting go the innocence of youth
and embrace my own mortality
if I am to be a survivor
I cannot condone atrocities
of any kind and turn a blind eye
without losing that part of myself
that wanted to die, finding respect
in being true to myself
Lest We Forget

I am mourning

a life of trials and tribulations
that had me in tears for the most part
my heart is broken, I no longer believe
in you, us – I am setting fire to the 3rd mar
closing my eyelids on my dreams
facing those feelings that I have been too afraid to feel
reaching in to pull them out
into the open and lay myself bare
so I can finally heal

goodbye my love

we will all be OK

Puncture

Snow Patrol

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

Visible Woman

Image

image

 

I’m a whore.
A hooker for all
Intents & purposes

I fuck

Men, women or both
If they show me
Respect & pay my fee

How they treat
Me is how I screen;
They peep through key
Holes in my web,
Mobile phone or face
Book

Leave me clues
I peruse at my leisure.

On my unpaid time,
Weeding
Always pulling
Out roots & bare
Back, barking mad
Messages

Cutting into my family!

My family time
Intrigues you & yours –

Watching how we
Balance on that edge,
While I swing my leg
Over, hold on
Tight & tiptoe
Around the giant
Dildo in the room

But we do

Those Bill’s
Just don’t stop coming!

*

I work hard for the money
I work hard for family
I work hard
Pulling my weight where it counts
To make ends meet;
Reconciling differences
Underneath

I bleed red & my shit still
Stinks but that doesn’t make me
Invisible, unless you’re
Anti

Anti this, anti that
Why should it matter
What I do to support my
Self or my family?

I should ram my fist right up
Your arse, to my elbow
(I’d like to – bend you over) &
Piss all over your pride & prejudice!

Your mind is already made up.
Stuck up, to the eyeballs
In condescending lies pandering
To (un) popular beliefs;
Nothing like countering ‘prostitution
Narratives’ in the belly
Of the beast

I am a very tall poppy.
I am not so uneloquently on display
I am not a victim
I am not coerced
I am not a survivor
I am not damaged
I am not suffering any
More than anyone else

I don’t buy into
Negative, stereotypically ignorant
Profit driven victimisation
Either!

I choose to be the
Architect of my own life
Doing my bit,
Arousing your awareness
So that those who are
Tarred with the same brush
Can find support
Not rescue

It’s called autonomy.
Something I have more of than
Some, but you are not one

Tomorrow I’m going to wake up
Turn on my phone
Answer messages
Boil the jug & light up a dart,
Considering all my options
Before heading back in to sex work

It makes me stark raving
Mad, to think you could
Possibly be offended!

*

For what it’s worth,
I feel sorry for you

 

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

Paragon

Written in protest of the ‘World’s Oldest Oppression’ Conference in Melbourne, Victoria 2016

The Online Protest

Pieces of Meat

Sound of Silencing Sex Workers

Online Pocket Guide to Dealing with Antis

Murder & Mayhem

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image

I’m not preaching
But I am being true to

My self. There is
Murder and mayhem.

I asked for it. I asked
For learning,

Mourning views
At the ocean

Tasman Sea side, beside
my de-railed train.

Smart. Taking stock
Taking measures.

Working it all out
Through trial

And error’s; Finding pride
Empowering

*

Fuck mainstream
Stigmata up the arse!

I say. In the carnage,
In the afterglow

Of my Fukashima.
My sub-woofers’ set

To subvert you
From your dissonance

Apathy
Hatred

Denial there is a war. I choose
Resistance

And by God –
You will remember!

Fuck the world
For me

Lest We Forget

Peter Dutton

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

Infuse

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

Impression

Loopy Slut Whore

imageArtist: Samantha Thompson

Image used with permission

You’re a ‘loopy slut whore’
he says, breaking down the door
standing over me
pinning me to the bed
rage spitting in my face
threatening

He wants the car
He wants the bike
He wants the business
He wants a wage
He wants to expose & hurt me
He wants the house too I bet

I paid all his debts
I paid all the deposits
I paid all his tax
I paid his lawyers
I paid for clothing, books, food
I paid the bills
I lose my home
I lose my marriage
I lose my family
I lose Goodwill
I set him up in business
I set myself up in every way
I wasn’t enough

Such a fool for love
trusting again & I lose
more than a small fortune this time
last straws coming
sooner than expected
love & generosity presumed unkind
blinded by the tree’s

Neither of us can stand to see
our littlest princess slipping away
traumatized,  lost
defiance just the tip of the iceberg
anger is palpable
& justified
God I love her so much!

BUT

I can no longer bear witness
I can no longer bear the brunt
projected anger & disgust
my own psyche laid bare unprotected
I am not yours, his or her scapegoat
you all need to find your own way
I’ve done my best; my best
can no longer survive
this battle

It is a battleground
anger exploding like a grenade
no one is safe
of course its my fault
I brought it on myself, jumping the gun
what’s one more act of defiance?
I’m used to it – the ones closest
the cruelest people on earth

I don’t play bluff
I don’t care anymore
it’s not my problem
not my circus
& definitely not my monkeys

Thank you for everything
it all makes sense to me now
you needed me
you all needed me
you don’t need your little slut whore anymore
we are all loopy slut whores anyway

You have everyone & everything
Good bye & good luck

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

I am now the owner of this beautiful piece of art. One of two. Jx

Catapult