Set Fire

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,
unlike 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. 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
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

Pan

Image

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

reeling from the blows
you took such pride in

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 made him feel

like a man.
You’re not my man

I was your meal ticket,
your way to escape
demons; Dachau passed down
suffering in such a way
life was completely misunderstood.
Cruel Nazi mentality was a heartless
Mockingbird,

your SS badge of dishonour
worse, using children

as an apparatus for torture.
Where love nurtured trust,
spiritual guidance you 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; a lamb.
Your God is a manmade
fallacy designed to subjugate
where misogyny, displaced whores
render Madonna complexes

in perpetual conflict.
I am disappointed in you

you, who had it all, proffered up
on a silver platter
a want 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 future 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 a 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 upon your grave.

Pan

Meddle

Set Fire

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

I love my self more

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

Maria Mandel – The Beast

Posted on November 28, 2015 by Jodine

1.
Third Reich temporarily relocated
manageable – tangible concentration
Dachau liberation still being released
freedom taking years, eyes
adjust to light rays that pierce
our subconscious; burning
holes into our darkness

Reminds me of ‘The Beast’
her subtle sweet nasty streak
tempered in her ‘pets’
lecherous humiliation glares & whips
insubordination; any excuse
to lash out, eventually hanging
out for a punch up – not on my watch!

2.
I’m being overly dramatic
she is only a girl, ten feet tall
bulletproof but not yet vested
she is her mother & father
two degrees of indignant separation
dug heels into her size 10 boots
perpetrated under false pretenses
I am not like her mother

History is steep, Polish
past times remembered; repeated
incomprehendable trauma, still
repugnant infanticide – saving
your self in her
I admire your determination albeit,
age will polish temperance

3.
Soon we will all
coalesce together
one among many survivor’s
life is a journey not a destination
cliche, abundant blessings; gall
being called not by the balls
you wear on your T-shirt
our hearts on our sleeve

Category five winds rage
all that was before happened
lest we forget past lives forged ahead
sowing love, light & laughter
your time will come to transcend
armed with everything you need
carving your own temple & peace

4.
So will you my love
Grandma told you the stories
you pass down with pride
living, while others died for worse
your blessing may be a curse
but your heart is proud; a sin
none the less, reconciled with compassion
anger only perpetrates hatred

5.
Me? A well spring of knowledge
understanding beyond my years
faltering in the face of adversity
my strength testing integrity; loyalty
fidelity & trust
foolishness where my past collided
but I don’t have intent to harm
sadistic pleasure
is not mine to give

Rheumatic Stigmata

Posted on August 7, 2015 by Jodine

The bed creaks like your bones
that moan and groan
that slow grind through clenched teeth,
that need between the sheets

It’s August now
as cold as it gets here in Winter.
I’m buying an electric blanket
to warm you through; least I run you through
with my lasciviously pointy finger!

Still, I wrap my legs
around your freezing appendages,
making a spoonful of sugar
while you lick the cream
from your Cheshire 😀

I can’t help but bear your stubborn,
stoic Far North Queenslander pride;
pleasured simplicity, complicit
with your Will to burn the wick
at both ends, ajoint screaming
a string of profanity

In Summer, I knead
your splintered lamb shank
while you shovel nutrition down
with a tincture of mindfullness,
layer upon layer of oil, and Green Tea
setting the scene for a modern beer

I find it hard, to watch your tenacity
come face to face with Dachau – Grim
barking out his contempt
while she ducks for cover in sewage…

We have to make the trip worthwhile
or its all for naught; she signs a cross
Pope John Paul II raised the host
because he had all the respect in the world

for Mary. Sometimes I wonder
what will become of our inheritance
if the light at the end of the tunnel
really is another oncoming train?

We have to find a way through
our fragile past lives where we would
seethe on the outside and cower on the in,
if it weren’t for temperance; sharp edges constrained by blunt force trauma

In the meantime, I heat the purple wheat bag in the microwave
laying it carefully between the sheets

You know I love you most when you least expect it

RE BLOGGED on Dream Big Dream Often

Poetry Out West

Poetry & Prose by Jodine Derena Butler

Tag Archives: Dachau

Set Fire

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Pan

Image

Set Fire

Image

Maria Mandel – The Beast

Rheumatic Stigmata

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