Cyberus & the Ramblings of a Mad Woman

Isolation Desolation

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

Ms Necessity & Tragedy’s Limbo

Ms Necessity, negates a decision to go left or right, preferring to stay on course crash landing her way through one of those flourescent white barrier’s that sneaks up in your headlights, at the end of a long road.

She chooses to wipe herself out by launching into a paddock full of daisies, coming to a screaming halt in an old weeping willow tree where her mangled wreck, dangles in its branches like Mr Wesley’s Flying Ford Anglia.

She wouldn’t leave behind any skid marks if it could be helped.

Necessity cares about the beautiful blue patch of meanies & over-ripe blackberries that would otherwise be squelched into bruised crimson & clover – leaving a blight on an otherwise picturesque, if not comedic scene.

Of course Tragedy saw her coming & spotted the wreck a mile off, while in a trance somewhere in limbo. She has a way of turning up unexpected-like & departs just as quickly & you’ll always end up with a little scratch to remember her by.

There’s not much room for Tradegy & Necessity to co-exist. Both see peace as an oxymoron. The why’s and what for’s are an irrelevant waste of grey matter, but the writing has always been on the wall, if anyone cares to look (behind the iron curtain).

They’ll both lock me up given half the chance & if I wasn’t so tired I’d do it my bloody self & throw away the key!

All I can say, is that the medication better be good or I’ll be asking for a second opinion. Mr Brownstone seems a lot more enlightened than big pharma right about now & all I need to do is find a little entertainment on Torrent!

Tragedy, bless her, is still leaning toward oblivion while Necessity would prefer to quietly pass over without any fuss.

Now, she likes the idea of flying.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Eyes Open

there was that initial air about you.
the first time we met
you were looking through
steel-framed glasses
but not through me;
you were stealing glances.
I could see you
putting two & two together

you said you were single
although your eyes
were screaming NO!
wary at the thought
of yet another
indecent intrusion
into your most private after-life
& I gave you space

your camera rested on your heart
I recall it suspended –
another set of eyes
leaving lasting impressions
that only you could render
I lowered my dress, let it fall to the ground
& you captured me
my heart beating like a drum

I waited for you

when I was on tour
when I was laid up on my bed
abandoned, lonely in Thailand
I wondered what sort of a man you were then,
those glasses reflected memories like prisms;
living colour
lighting up my room

I see you now
those delightfully dirty
deep dark eyes of yours
smouldering desire,
my cheeks aflame
is all I can do – Crimson
you leave me breathless
& I am head over feet

I can feel you inside me
even before you reach out
& touch my face
kiss my lips, neck
trace your fingertips
over my aching body
to where you melt me
my musk saturating your senses

your bones ache.
it is with love that I push
& pull the fibers of your undoing
stretch your consciousness to new lengths
winding & rewinding thoughts: feelings
every muscle memory
like a ray of sunshine
bursting through & into me

old souls
but we are still children
playful, inquisitive, experimental
age plays between us
our laughter, infectious
we remember those unfettered feelings
like they were yesterday
fifteen going on forty

*

Maureen said the number 8
is symbolic & infinite
eight years between us
the two of us plus six children equals 8
the 26th of March, 2013 our anniversary, equals 8
I will lock the car four more times for you baby
because two 4’s make an eight
we will have 40 years together too my darling

I have known you a lifetime.
everything about you is familiar, safe
your eyes are open
& I just keep falling into you
I love you more now
than this morning
but not as much as tomorrow –
I can hear you smiling in recognition

we are truly blessed
I am very happy
you are everything I could ever hope for
& then some
when I see your face,
watch your eyes lower for that split second
before holding my gaze, grinning
I know with all my heart, that you were meant for me

© Copyright 2013, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Tiki Torches and the Odd Random Star

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

Windows

I remember sneaking out of my bedroom window when I lived with my grandparents for the second time the mescaline cactus was chopped off at the bottom which surprised the wall that held the house up lasting so long over the years  it was an old house but not prickly when the juice drained and my first boyfriend knocked I had to be very quiet except for the old metal blinds that didn’t work and I could hear them talking amongst themselves in the bedroom too  I didn’t think they could hear me then together snuggled under their feather duvet warm as I was soon to be most of the time when nana would bring me a cup of tea in the morning like soup but after she read the tea-leaves so I knew I had to be quiet I remember the house built by his own hands after the war it was farmed and raised by the family at the time the steps are gone now replaced and the house has sunken with age like grandfather buried at the rsa with nana soon when the results come back outside the window I remember climbing back in easier than outward appearances and a lot quieter than at night with the still crisp morning light over before it had begun again ahead of its time at breakfast with sweet leaf toast I was fifteen and I liked danger when the grass was much sweeter than the mescaline and the sex of two young lovers defying gravity on the window ledge of lust giggling and groping for the branches scraping the side of the house beside the hole giggling because I might catch the altered perspective and succeed with silence impossible with the teapot pouring I remember the pink bedspread sneaking into something paling by comparison more like crimson and stained like the window he once said to me but could not decide what it was about when the window slammed shut and I was angry for a moment  the front door was easier than tiptoes being bruised seeming to yellow past the bedroom door and the feathers were warm and soft cocooning them in embraces when I smiled I could hear their listening thoughts I remember the days when chairs sat in reclining positions side by side rocking by the fire looking out onto the front window like a doorway a much bigger window than mine was wiser than the cactus planted on the side of the road in season the windows were necessary to see into the future and the night and the teapot arrived as expected when I sat up in bed…

© 2007 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved