Fire Interrupted

Room

down to zero
SPARKS ignited,
doused
0 up to three
rekindled over lunch
illuminating walk back to
FLAMES
Put internal FIRE out by
pissing into the wind
3 down to two
sigh

2 back to three
HOT seat sorted
3 up to nine, oxygenated

bright sparks glowing
9 up to ten
a slow trickle

10 + one and 2 = thirteen

13 up to sixteen

HOT-spots dampened
6 bottles of WATER just in case

1 phone switched on
in case of emergencies
“Two laptops! My Giddy Aunt!”
says Ann

The Chief
crew cut neat

ENLIGHTENED

© Copyright 2007,  Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Dysthymia

D don’t mind the melancholic meanderings
of my psyche, festooned fervent ranting’s;
water-coloured lines distilled over time.
Y         you see what you want to see.  I
have no control of yours.  my only comfort is
the willingness to breathe life into otherwise
contrived lives.
S          see (ing) through opaque, leaded glass
cathedrals; coloured splendor giving
rise to the muse in me.  the sun in words
rises in the east with the future
and time.  I cannot see past the red
hue on the horizon.
T          the yew – an ancient tree.  synonymous
with dead wood; revered branches
of old. wisdom once gained, lost long ago
on mass hysteria.  I digress.
H         hunger pains
perverting the cruelness of lust rage and longing;  layering, serves
to cushion psychic blows.
Y         yearning only serves to belittle
normality; a figment of the imagination.
feeling isolated from the masses is probably
a blessing in disguise.
M         madness,  inviting
a semblance of restored faith to jaded
emotional jigsaw puzzles; sequestered
identities, like my idiosyncrasies. mundane
existence is tangible evidence that
conflict earns respect and
honour akin to martyrdom.  subjugation
I           intelligence? is nothing more than that of
the Descartes and Hippocrates of yester-world,  doomed.
archangel’s like Michael are
condemned by their own father;  there are no
mother’s in sight.
A         a deliberate oversight in my book.
It doesn’t matter at the end of the day,
mental illness is like God,  everywhere
but it’s only called dysthymia on a bad day

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Excerpt First Published by Like Minds Like Mine, 2010, ReTHiNK the Meaning of Madness, a Respond-Response Community Art Project, ‘Ethosphere Exhibition’, exhisbited at Te Karenga Gallery, Auckland

I Found My Heart

 

I found my heart
on the borderline
of too late
just in time;
a fine lined
delicate box
inlaid with
criss-crossed
tongue and groove
timber framed
and paper thin –
(such was the state it was in)
I found my heart
shaped box
tucked away
under the debris;
no recognition
of her guild
thick-skin scarred
tiny cracks
intricate and interlaced
weather worn
like washed up
driftwood
I found my heart
a mantle piece
and set it
alongside a glass
vase filled
with floral Oriental’s
her lip sealed
tightly shut
innocence and sin
full trust
representative of love
anaesthetized by pain
I found my heart
magnified by you
and your telescope
my vision opaque
like liquid amber
in silver teardrop earrings;
in remembrance of
friendships once
lost to train wrecks
a heart shaped
box filled with
precious memories
is where I found my heart
in all her glory –
thinking of you

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

First Published, Live Lines, volume 4, Anthology, 2011,  ISBN: 11787767, Poetry Live, http://www.poetrylive.co.nz/live-lines.html

Ours

Our hearts, snatch moments
filled with remorse, vehement
in truths. open
sesame seeds sown
willy nilly in back yard hovels –
dining on scraps
while junkyard dogs
howl.

Our time, spent
gorging on coronary
disbelief, tethered.
strings like chains,
embedded injustice;
cross over
invisible lines,
separated by fools.

Our past, mirrored
back and forth. etched
early Victorian details
beautifully inscribed.
a time of certainty
in knowing places. my
fractious splinters
render.

Our life, stapled
to tea-chests in storage
cubby holes. cramped
piled high walls
lived in once, now
embroidered in newspaper
cuttings – yesterday’s
old news.

Ours, together
demoralised. sucked dry.
used but(t)s,
in overflowing
ashtrays; crutches
stubbed into cajoled corners.
ashes to dust
till death do us part.

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved