Oh Amsterdam! 

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Anne Frank was here living in squalid conditions, only to be ratted out by patriots in 1944, Gestapo herding her and hers out like cattle transported far, far away from this place

Just like the world today, history repeating in Chechnya where gays are sent into concentrated camps, denying their existence as the world watches with a limp dick or wet fish and everyone has an arsehole about Syria

Passive narratives join in the furore, patting collective backs up against invisible walls dividing more than the usual apartheid regimes of monopoly – needing a change? Freedom comes in sanctioned collateral damage, onlookers merely pawns in the battle for world domination and white suited supremacy, lead by Uncle Sam of course!

My world is tainted, leftist humanity tipping the balance in favour of compassion and tolerance, set to split my heart in two where atrocities are rendered into political manipulations; illuminated lies and propaganda 

Religion sets the scene by revisiting inquisitions and crusaders choose selection over perception again, and again failing to unlearn the inevitable apathy and indignation that comes from slavery

Amsterdam was once a safe haven till in her final hour she succumbed to insanity, and I remember Anne resisting adolescent outbursts in her diary – not unlike our Facebook counterparts where truth is confused with censorship and fake news by design

I am here in Amsterdam with the weight of the world at war against my back, looking for salvation in the past, lessons to consolidate so that I can pilfer some sort of peace of mind from the rabble

Mushroom soup set to lift the lid off my self imposed restraint. If only I could find a way forward that doesn’t leave me looking over my shoulder, and cannabis prohibition just makes no sense at all!

Longing for that balance to tip where I am appreciated for my self while belonging to no one, safe in my tulip tea party knowing I have a place to call home to go back to, is no consolation for rejected refugees 

My heart has an ancestry here in Britain, Ireland, Scotland, Spain and France with an Australian convict deportment threatening the sin of a potato famine, back to New Zealand where it all began

If I’m not careful, I will be made to do penance against my Will and I don’t believe in god! No gods ever made sense to my rationale or their behaviour, and those postulating as priests are nothing but wolves! 

Religion is best served cold, where it belongs tossed into a neocon salad with all the trimmings of Kali on the side just to rub it in to both christian and muslim radicals

I prefer to chow down with the artists and define my existance as heresy and colour my world with its shadows and stalwart resistance, always resisting and history will be on my side eventually, when the smoke clears and everyone is looking for a scapegoat

Amsterdam is set to blow!

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

Portobello Road and the Earl of Lonsdale 

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Finding feeling

My way under

               Grounded

Red Double D’s

Facing forward – heading toward

Portobello Road

Where I think I’ll find a vintage coat?

Navigating steps, a labyrinth of 

Shops

          stalls

                  markets 

                                and food

Except for the rude

Middle eastern Joseph I turned my back on

Walking first left then right

Following the sunshine – the Bello

Hot and cold, on standby

Off with his head!

/

The woolley cardigan I borrowed

Along with my confusing glasses

The ill-fitting jeans

Crazy, uncomfortable 

Wishing I didn’t have big bloody blisters!

Very far from home; my bed covers pulled

The fan on full

Almost stumbling into the Earl of Lonsdale 

Pub for a cider

Hiding in a corner ‘snug’ 

Made in the seventeen hundreds and

It seems fitting I would have to bend

Dwarves and buxom barmaids

Tourists  and stranger’s alike

Peer out from under mead

Sly Lord’s eyed

I, need to gather my thoughts

Considering what it would mean to start

                                                  over

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

Sold

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Photographer Barbora Biňovcovà 

You sold me out, listening to thugs and bigots

I was the best thing since Findlay, only I ended up like Gaddafi with a knife in my back landing face down

What did I ever do to you?

I would have met, if it weren’t for the stench of deceit that smirks behind your false humour attempting to cast a shadow over my outlook

Gas lights your way ahead; a shimmer of truth in everything you say minus the facts, calculating my goodness to open up doors

You had it all Mr Black, and I gave it willingly till I saw past the facade – my asking questions was not the tell that gave you away

It was your penchant for believing I was like you, but I’m not

I am nothing like you!

I thought I saw a flicker of sadness on your face when I walked by, but I felt no penny’s fall

I blacked out your face in my periphery that protects an empty hole where you once lived, disconnected from everything about you

Just be thankful you couldn’t see the blue eyes that hide behind a white fluffy cloud, instead of staring

The future is up in the air

Let’s see if your hand/eye coordination is as good as you once thought, although my cards don’t rely on slight and my deck is not for sale

Are you happy now? You almost have what you want, but the yoke is still around your neck (mother)

I am where I’m meant to be, alone kicking up a storm in my grandmothers teacup, with my mouth wide open

Sold! To the highest bidder


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


Banshee sponge melody

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‘the atomic composition of the seeming solid’ by Shane Hollands


My favourite ‘Urbis street crossings’ 

made me laugh

you’re – you seem to be a free spirit Shane

I’m too scared of tragedy, but suck it up like a lemon anyway

hardship and solitude 

in-between sudden bursts of intent 

I can see you in your poems like I remember you at Poetry Live, but you won’t remember me

I had my head firmly shoved right up my arse, but I like strangers

they are non threatening and don’t stick around

a much nicer interlude

the first time I saw you in Freaky Meat in Titirangi, I really watched you

your sidelong glances around the room from under your mic

I’m always enthralled with mystery; what I don’t know or understand

like a banshee sponge living off a melody

you inspire me. I wonder if women can do it too? Wander aimlesslike without getting fucked over

leave a mark instead of a scar

I know a lot of people like you and I feel like an imposter

a fraud and sometimes a piece of meat

Freaky

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

Alphabet Poem

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Artist: Jodine Majewski & Tabitha Lee, ‘Cairns Esplanade’ 2014

A
B
C
Do
E
For
God
Has
I
Just
Know
Let
Me
Now
Open
Please
Quality
R
So
The
U
View
We
X
You
Z

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

Alphabet

Morph Feign

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Artist: Unknown

Morphing into something
Resembling reason

Feigning change; talk
Telling truth, lies heart

Punctured to the core
Bleeding out, spattering

Red, volcanic lava trails
Tearing through my skin.

The cracks, wrinkles
Widening like gulfs;

Rifts of etched nuances.
Cooled down cuts

I still want, telling
Morph Feign

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

Morphing

Silence is White Noise

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Photographer: Michael Färber

1.

still calm waters
wrap itself around

my skin raised up –
lifted the lows, sinking

stones left turned
bubbles barely breaking

the surface, ebb
rebounding shock

waves ripple bounce
back & forth, listening.

2.

reason resides in hidden depths,
brackish stagnant pools

light resists, blacking out
stretching farther than first

thought, hindsight;
water – cooled fires

like lava, surface warmth down
played where gravity catches

molten feelers, still
too cool to touch.

white noise, silence
hidden hissing in the depths.

3.

healing is impossible
under these conditions

where I fight
to subdue feelings

while she floats
detached from her

body watching with
no arms & legs

visualizing her flops
failing to protect

her self sub – merged.
the hard unyielding

cold reaching out,
waiting for you to come home.

4.

afraid, fearing words
attack another layer

scar – tissue requiring
exising, freed up

canker replacing foul
with pink flushes

rosey & open to
new life, breathing

where there was once decay.

5.

death, a living Hell
where Hades hath no fury

like a woman

hurt, drowning
in her own tears.

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

The Daily Post – Weightless

Malady Peg

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Artist: Unknown

You build a picture of me
outside the elongated square –
peg shaped box
I find myself circling

each single step
widens following
two side steps lengthening
nearly five decades deep

before I’m back in the shit
standing in front of the same scale
stained window or solid Oak door
or Samsung S4

my self imposed barricade
chain and key close
to my heart safe, keep
trusting no one

except a chain gang
of miscreants and misfits
mulling over life just right
subliminal messages

only those in the know can
decipher wisdom in code, words
biting off more than we can chew
at times, like these

you help build a picture of me
outside the elongated square –
peg shaped box
I find myself picking apart

with my fingernails, prying
into cracks like an un
suspecting little upstart
who has everything and nothing

we are social creatures
by nature, nurture featuring ways
to stray outside our four walls
where I space out

dependent distance, my avoidance
keeps my heart still beating
any attempt to heal, an affront
my demons wreck havoc

threaten to cut me off at the knee’s
if I don’t conform or dance
to the Pipers tune. my malady
freaks the Hell out of everyone

torture held captive

you are a picture of my self
outside my elongated square –
peg shape box, my reason
to die respectfully

circumnavigating
ways through and around,
bashing my head up
against invisible walls

that thwart my existence
here, questions unanswered
philosophical paradoxical paradigm s;
the meaning of life and death

I want to go home,
listen to the ebb and flow
of waves, seagulls and sand
crunching between my toes

and decide if I want to live.

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

Working through Cobwebs

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Melbourne Street Art – Artist Unknown
Photographer: Jennifer Cox
Photo used with permission

I’m trying to work through cobwebs, he said,

with eyes pouring like rain
into a leaky boat
squaring off the shoreline
heading out to sea
avoiding Redbacks
like the plague, negotiating
rogue waves
behind his back
facing his fear; ex
tended arms pull
away – escape
for the moment.

he scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected denial; a river in Egypt
too far away to row
a thunder clap into eternity,
Isis turning a blind eye
Triton dragging him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra
firma can translate.

taking the bull
by the horns, he finds
solid ground wrestling
Taurus, knee deep
in mud that sticks
like shit on the inside,
cobwebs cling to hard
wired neurons
lodged in the gaps
in – between grey,
a matter for
black and white.

separate, facts find
fiction fornicating
in a web of deceit
by design, too lurid
for children like
Persephone – abducted
innocence; a metaphor
for rape, choking the Hell
out of life, all the while
pseudo affection bribes
a handful of lollies
to sweeten the blow.

I want everything to be saved,
he said.

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

Billy off the Grid

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Jean François Millet
‘Shepherdess with her Flock’

I’d be content
I think, maybe
if I put one
of those solar
thingy’s on the roof,
and grow my own
medication
in between the
herbs and gourmet
spuds. I could
collect rain water,
filtered by cheese –
cloth, milk
a Capricorn goat
and call her Billy
Bold tethered
to a tree on a long
line. I would have
to buy a ham – mock
and mosquito net
but first I’d have
to settle it all up,
let it go
to the highest bid –
ders, then look
around off the beaten
track for somewhere
remote, outback
with at least a well –
spring for summer;
when it all dies
and I’m left
looking at the goat,
licking my mutton
chops wishing
for a pork, cracking
open a Veuve. I’d do it
and serve up a con –
coction of hysteria
only fit for the loony
bin – laden. I would
laugh at the irony
of having nothing
and no – one to
complain about, ex –
cept who I was
before I decided
to go off grid; fate
leading me astray
after yet another
furious outburst of
solipsism. cynicism
better left
with no one
to witness my de –
mise, except for
Billy Bold
in my bed
keeping me awake,
chewing the fat.

Billy Bold – Graham Brazier (Hello Sailor)

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

Sensitive Weed

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She takes her hand

in hers, stepping

over rocks, dodging

sensitive weed

to find that perfect

path – way, leading us

to wildflowers.

she picks, a hand –

full of petals,

their fragrant oils

soothing, essential

for healing cuts

and grazes. her

nasal senses over –

whelmed with purity,

nature; nurturing

an abundance

of calm. her soft

self centered,

journeys

into the wilderness,

out – back returning her

safely to her mothers’

roots. her legs,

gingerly circum –

navigate thorns

and misleading purple

fluffy flowers with

prickles. trust,

holding hands held

together,

finding safety

in the familiar

land – scapes,

sensitive to touch.

we are falling

in love.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

My Favourite Whore

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Artist Unknown

I want
the brutal facts,

negotiating
a purchase or two. slip –
ping up. two stairs
and the pain is
off the chartered
Rhicter scale.
sliding – skating
on your arse. in
dire need
of emergency. horrors
to come. no
good news is
bad news. stuffed up
plans. rendezvous’
post – poned before
you can even
walk the walk.
talking crutches
and neck
braces. on
your back shock
absorbing
shit. painfully
anticipating anecdotal
conundrums. the bite
of teeth
and Lilies. more
than you
can chew. I can
buggaring up
stowed away.
from warmth
and inner
thighs. doctors
and nurses
precisely un –
lucky. nearly losing
the plot as it
thickens. muscles flex
into verbal canes. an ex –
pected debacle of
ruined tension.
de – faulting
into chaos. she didn’t
want or need. your
birthday or
Christmas. travel
in one
breath. denied
children understand
sorry. the world
is still there
for you. home
with your first mate
and friends.
another mate
for life. love is
giving us what
we need
to heal. pretty
but it could be
much worse
for you
and her. your nut
shell cracked.
take all the time
you need.

your favorite whore
x

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

Mutation Sea – Lost Sea Souls

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Collaboration poems by Juan M. Santiago León and Jodine Derena Butler

(FOURTH/FINAL) SPANISH AND ENGLISH TRANSLATION COLLABORATION

Mutation Sea

1. I think
of remembrances
that I don’t want to avoid.

Desperate waves.

2. I fight
against my brother’s gentile heart
winning softness,
competitive happiness.

3. Caronte’s travel

It comes, Death towards us 
as a black and white film
in which once there was Love.

4. Listen

You told me beautiful stories
that filled our hearts with Joy
and eyes with feeling.

Relieved you read
that Amity kept alive,
then we could say goodbye.

5. Come in
you once said to me.

After that
I received your grace and blessing.

Everything would be given to you
although you were wrong.

6. Walk away

Be grateful for all they have given
pray with no shame,
it’ll be your healing.

I shall see you on the horizon,
a shadow running after –

7. I disappear.

By Juan M. Santiago León & Jodine Derena Butler (English Editor)

” I agree with you [Jodine, that] spanish is more romantic or passionate language, like all the latin languages are [but]… English, like other germanic languages, has a special power… [It] is a language able to call upon the forces of nature”. Juan

“I absolutely love the poems, in all their forms! You have an exceptional talent Juan, for interpreting and translating poetry from English to Spanish and vice versa. Beautiful! I have enjoyed working with you so much, that I am inspired to experiment with other languages (German, French, Polish, Russian). I think we can both feel proud about our beautiful poetic creations. Thank you”. Jodine

(THIRD/FINAL) SPANISH TRANSLATION

Perdida Alma Marina

1. Pienso
en recuerdos que no quiero evitar
Desesperado reflujo.

2. Lucho
contra el gentil corazón
de mi hermano,
suavidad ganadora
competitiva felicidad.

3. Viaja
y se acerca nuestra muerte
en blanco y negro
película
en la que una vez
existió el amor.

4. Escucha
me contabas bonitas historias
que nos daban alegría;
con ojos llenos de emoción
aliviado leías
que la amistad viva se mantenía
así fue posible decirnos adiós.

5. Ven
me dijiste una vez
después
recibí tu gracia y bendición.

Yo te lo daría todo
aunque tuvieras otra opinión.

6. Marcha
agradece lo que te dieron
reza sin ningún pudor
es tu curación.

En el horizonte me verás
de una sombra correr detrás

7. Desaparezco

By Juan M. Santiago León

” [It is] such a hard job [in] translating poems, because the point is not only the rhyme, the rhythm, but the sense…but it’s just another poem. And my translation of another poem is another another poem, so far from the former version in english, with another sense in spanish. Curious…” Juan

“Awesome Juan…I literally tried to capture the essence of your attempt to write [a poem] in English [for the first time]. I love seeing the Spanish version and I like the numbering…It is truly beautiful to see the poetry transform. You are quite right. Translations create poem after poem… the Spanish language is so much more romantic in my view than English”. Jodine

(SECOND) ORIGINAL ENGLISH INTERPRETATION by Jodine Derena Butler

Lost Sea Souls

Thoughts

Memories from moments
Avoided to forget
But I remember
Despair

Fight

My brothers gentle heart
I let softness win
Competititive
Happiness

Journey

We approach our death
Black & white re-runs
Love existed
Once

Listen

You told me beautiful stories
Memories made joyous
Emotional eyes
Reading
Relief
Our friendship
Made my feelings alive
It’s much kinder to say goodbye

Come

You said to me one time
I received your grace

Blessed

I would give anything freely
Although you think
Opposites

Leave

Be grateful for what was given
No shame in prayer
Healing

You’ll see me on the horizon
Running after a shadow
Dissappearing

By Jodine Derena Butler

“I will send back my version of your poem…” Jodine

(FIRST) ORIGINAL SPANISH TO ENGLISH POEM by Juan M. Santiago León

Head out of the sea, floating soul

Think ´bout this :

a memory is coming to you at this moment
and you cannot avoid it
you want to forget but…
…but you can´t do it, can´t want to
because that memory is the only thing you keep
and out of it
it remains none at all.

Beat it :

The soft fight against your bro´
a competition that you´ll never win
but you always let him
because it´s glad to see the happiness
in his face.

Walk along :

An end is approaching to us
movies from other era
where it still existed love.

Listening beautiful stories made us better ones
reading emotion inside your eyes
makes me feel alive.

To share my relief with you, my friend
is a kind way to throw away.

Come with me :

As you said once,
I receive your grace
like blessed people do.

For me, anything is easy
although you think the opposite.

Exit :

You must be grateful for all the given
if you are ashamed for praying,
let your feet be watered by waves.

In the horizon, you´ll see a figure running out
follow that shadow until dissapear.

By Juan M. Santiago León

“… this first try of writing a poem in english directly, it is not a translation. Maybe it’s an exercise, an attempt”. Juan

Too Big for my Shoebox

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Photographer: Nicolas Sènègas

this head fuck
of name calling
of twisted tattle tales
designed to enlighten
denial is woe –
fully inadequate
thought – less mistakes

Repeat

Repeating

sorry, like an episode
for days our lives
sitcom re – runs running
us around everyday
almost all day
serially on a brim –
full of bullshit
on a 45

Repeated

bullshit
as much as to myself
as to arrogence, arrogant
my head is – a
spinning vortex gaining
cyclonic ferocity; something
a – kin to time travel
on fast forward

Repetition

Repeats

Repeating

the same old same old
he said she said
you said I said
till one said too many flew
over the fucking cuckoo
to nest – rest
between my ears – stuffing
my fingers

Repeatedly

measuring – spoons
gauging the airs
and graces; my presence
testing the water –
temperature finding
temperament doused
in acidic
misogyny

just fucking stop it
fucking stop it
stop it
stop

stop

STOP!

you’re too big
for my shoebox

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

Walking Away

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Photographer: Victor Hamke

I rearranged all
the furniture. in
the house
especially. outside
on the huge deck

cleaning as I went

I did it. to change
the energy

cleaning as I went

moving. paintings
photo-swapping
the office. room
around

cleaning as I went

found time.
to drink coffee
under the fan. sweat
pouring out from
the humidity. I am
motivated

cleaning as I go

doing. washing
making the bed.
I packed up some
of his shit. ready
for collection. today
or the next

cleaning as I go

tomorrow. I am
in the garden
weeding.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

Polishing Pearls

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Photographer: C.J. Kale
Photo used with permission

healing time

this mindful interlude.

children soothing self-

fish seven second

memories

and I gulp.

hold my breath

and blood eyes bulge.

my mouth

a clam. shut

tight swallowing.

sinewy tentacles

constrict – squeeze

life. giving

up on the surface.

too far away to escape

drowning. my own

tears like Nemo’s

fin flounder. no

Gill to trust

courage to find

gems in the dark

depths. blind despite

a heart

the size of

an ocean. rogue

waves propel me against

the grain. grinding

in to sand. washed

sea dust; bleached

clean white coral. spheres

of soft step-ping silicas.

I spit out. waiting

for a hand

full of perfect polished

pearls to appear

out of no

where. wisdom

shell sheltering

a hermit.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

Pretty Even

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Photographer/model: Xena Avramidis
Photo used with permission

I don’t know what to say…

I am left speech-less…

sad…

wondering about you…

feeling something…

other than numb…

moved…

remembering catharsis…

sobbing out lines…

my channel out-pouring out…

unstoppable…

26…

I wrote a poem…

like you…

it just came and went…

but I was not alone…

it was beautiful…

pretty even

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

REBLOGGED: by Art of Drem, 2015

Ms Writer (Drem Inspired)

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           Me – Jodine Derena Butler 

I write because it helps me to express myself abstractly when I can’t figure out what’s going on around me in my head I write in layers most of it shit I’ve completed three undergraduate papers in creative writing I learned some techniques different ways to write but ultimately I didn’t go through with the Masters in Creative Writing I still get published I write as a distraction I write when I’m moved (usually depressed) I write about random stuff when I can’t sleep (like now) I’ve even opened random pages of a dictionary letting my fingers point to words with my eyes closed made a list then wrote something about what my unconscious picked out for me I write to avoid what’s going on outside my solitude I don’t like being distracted by outside influences when I am overwhelmed in emotional pain distressed angry whatever has flawed me in words I can write for hours days on end without stopping I’m learning to write flash fiction I read historical researched novels by Phillipa Gregory Ken Follett I love medieval times the clothing the way things were so absurd I’m naked in bed at 11.50pm wide awake Friday 4th December in Cairns Queensland Australia I might write something about bees tea leaves one day I’m going through some trauma right now so I am all over the show but this too shall pass I’m 47 48 in January I’m living a very full on life I play/ed various roles within it I haven’t yet found all those different voices to tell my story I’m closed up or free spirited it’s either one or the other my roller derby name was ‘Flash in the Panties’ in a past life that could be a funny story I’m really fucked right about now what color is your underwear?

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’.  All Rights Reserved.

REBLOGGED: By Art of Drem, 2015

REBLOGGED on Dream Big Dream Often

The Littlest Princess

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She brings joy in little effervescent bubbles of fizz.

Tickling our hearts. 

We fall about the place; laughter spontaneously combusts into a heap on the floor. 

Heaven’s above!

Our stomach crunches burn.  Her light beams ear to ear.  Spreading over a meadow of wild flowers.

Do you think she knows?

We know. Her happy heart runs and jumps.  Arms wide open. A glory to behold.

Pure love.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

RE BLOGGED by Bellever