Sea of Possibility

Aurora Australis

Wrap me in a padded cell
so I may kick
& flail
eke out my existence
purge my maelstrom,
those configured fires
left to smoulder
in relative calm

bound by containment.
I strain every sinew
to breaking point
every muscle to burn
my cognisance; fragmented
Freudian slips
of recognition
rubbed raw.

I will break free.
Stretch the threads
of my fabric,
my very being
so that I may ignite
the Phoenix
to take on life
& soar.

My thoughts are like charred embers;
reminiscent remains
of a Godless era,
mountains of mole hills
set in the West
cast shadows
my gauntlet
rearing its ugly head.

What will become of her?
My desolation, left
to wander this Papa
where great lakes
threaten to burst
their asides
remind us
we are at Her mercy

but to fail is not an option.
Deliverance stands
turning on my heel
to where the sunrise
promises more
than just to warm
my bones
hope, skipping pebbles —

perhaps to sail?
Riding the salt & pepper coast,
my salvation avoiding
complex low pressure systems
preferring to watch the Seagulls
negotiate on my behalf
squalls rolling
in my wake.

Mollymawks
crash land burly trails
full of anticipation
my Mull
living on a prayer
an easy meal
but not without compromise
black, white & grey.

Pre-determined destinations
finding solace
at the end of the Earth,
Aurora Australis
leading me
not into temptation
for Albatross are always on the lookout
searching the sea.

*

Sandal-less feet
pale skin tinged olive,
doves on a distant spire
cooing a lull; my cradle,
rocks
a fishing line
tied to my big toe
where everything is as it should be.

© Copyright 2012, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved

Happy Bubble

Matthew William Haylock ‘The Rainmaker’

The best thing
since sliced bread
this partnership / relationship.
Two whole slabs of
canna-buttered magic,
set the scene for
an esoteric mind fuck that
wrecks our bed,
churns what the water gave us
into fountains of esctasy.
You’ve ruined me.
Turned my counterparts
into full beam,
full steam ahead
where I don’t want to hide. Hiccups
where opposing forces
try to fuck with our chi,
set us back a step or two
but we bounce, roll & resolve. Easy
to give up — walk away,
put grandiose expectations down
to paranoid delusions of grandeur.
Our past lives set us up
to fail, prove that point
we once knew without a shadow.
Done with kowtow!
Fire; vibrating nuclear fission
fuels my frequency, propels
inertia from the fulcrum,
devouring adversity like a black hole
creates nothing out of something.
I make peace my lover, pray
to my Godhead & surrender
my self to you & only you.
My happy bubble
blessed by a big God
blessed by a bigger Goddess,
stirring up a pagan concoction
that’s good enough for royalty.
Good enough, is good enough!
You are my equal.
I will fight to the death
to hold on to you, knowing
I need to let go
ride the lightening
set the Phoenix alight into freedom
before the day is done.
You’re big, blue & beautiful
my whole world right here, now
centred in my universe
Florence & the Machine
creating an atmosphere for us
to breathe.

© Copyright 2020, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler. All rights reserved

Get Over It

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

Rabbit Court

There has been a shift in me; side lining the old ways, finding hope where there was none, obstacles I once circled, dismantled cages my lion once fixated upon, the enemy – my feminine intuition

strength, I found without glasses raised in my periphery far beyond any sudden obscurant deviant landscape filled with Kings Pardon’s, crystal clear upon reflection – I’ve changed

my stipplings more fluid than transparency could have foretold a straight line in the beginning, my wagered war under siege, till it and I spilled out, replacing what was left with artistic endearment

I unpack my bundle now, denying lace doilies on the armrest and turn my back on your silhouette; wallowing in self pity, my demons are fornicating with your rosary beads, lambasted in disquiet

I have witnessed your demise and I too descended into Hell, double standards raping and pillaging my identity, till she was as bereft, staring your demons down so you could see yourself

I am raised from those ashes, I am emblazened wearing a Red beacon-like flag, my Phoenix set to soar North never looking back, for if I think of you, I am at once torn left blindside and I refuse

I stand alone in my dock; my blue eyes pierce your reign, my laser beams cutting through all those cloaked illusions you conjure, for I burn inside you, igniting scrolls of discarded deadwood you can’t deny

Let us be done with this shade! You can’t have your old school tart by eating her, out of business or waltz her off her feet with your inflated ego – the facts are irrefutable betrayal, denial won’t save you

falling into that rabbit hole, that jester court ball full of grandiose promises, all but a mirage in my crystal; my Goddess is much older than your crucified false prophet, and I am no Martyr for a lost cause.

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

Polish

Mr Black & the Muse

I’m addicted to you
& your crooked muse smile
Mr Black

I’ll have you
know
you stole my heart
rendering her useless;
undoing held together
your thick lens
penetrating.
drunk & debauchery

Incognito
for a moment
nothing existed
except obsession,
compulsion mimicking
lust & Mr Black
rose like a Phoenix
under my skin

Every day, an eternity
to wait for you
my muse feigning temperance
the door handle turns
& I pick myself up off the floor
giggle & take the piss
Mr Black doesn’t
waste any time

Concord flights of fancy
meticulous mind-numbing marathons
whatever the abandoned mood once was,
I’m yours
you had me way back then,
smashed, crash landing on my bed
the sun about to rise
on the last place we left from

My balcony:
a table & two chairs
the Great Dividing Range
filtered by my Veuve Clichot
you with your Winnie Red
threshold surpassed
a box of beers,
tartan shorts & flannelette

*

I make you coffee.
night owls wouldn’t normally complain
under ordinary circumstances
but we are far from that place
the buzz & bleep of mobile phones
alter-egos known or not
pierce our cocoon
we drag our arse into work

Dreaming, we see all the children
& Grandma
Mr Black runs amok
kids fight over whose turn it is
blue smoke & green grass
Yamahahahahahahaha!
my Harley under wraps
coveted like our memories

© Copyright 2014, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Sea of Possibility

Image via Wikipedia

Wrap me in a padded cell
so I may kick
& flail
eke out my existence
purge my maelstrom,
those configured fires
left to smoulder
in relative calm

bound by containment
I strain every sinew
to breaking point
every muscle to burn
my cognisance; fragmented
Freudian slips
of recognition
rubbed raw

I will break free.
stretch the threads
of my fabric,
my very being
so that I may ignite
the Phoenix
to take on life
& soar

my thoughts are like charred embers;
reminiscent remains
of a Godless era,
mountains of mole hills
set in the West
cast shadows
my gauntlet
rearing its ugly head

what will become of her?
my desolation, left
to wander this Papa
where great lakes
threaten to burst
their asides
remind us
we are at Her mercy

but to fail is not an option.
deliverance stands
turning on my heel
to where the sunrise
promises more
than just to warm
my bones
hope, skipping pebbles

perhaps to sail?
riding the salt & pepper coast
my salvation avoiding
complex low pressure systems
preferring to watch the Seagulls
negotiate on my behalf
squalls rolling
in my wake

Mollymawks
crash land burly trails
full of anticipation
my Mull
living on a prayer
an easy meal
but not without compromise
black, white & grey

pre-determined destinations
finding solace
at the end of the Earth
Aurora Borealis
leading me
not into temptation
Crow always on the lookout
searching the Sea

*

sandal-less feet
pale skin tinged Olive
Doves on a distant spire
cooing a lull
my cradle rocks
a fishing line
tied to my big toe
where everything is as it should be

© Copyright 2012, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved