Judas tosses my skin dough
kneading
Spread too thin
Wood fire burnt, ends
Encrusted mounds & blisters
Slough
fall
Tears another hole &
I become a meal;
A tv dinner deal.
At the last supper, Mary
Sings a hymn &
All the Angel’s
rejoice!
My veil lifted drifts
Chewed fingertips boxed in
Swallowed whole, followed by
An after-dinner mint & toothpick.
But what I really need is a good
stretch.
© Copyright 2022, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler. All rights reserved
I see right through everything you try to impress upon me.
My nose is already cut/off, my mask forever cast into the pantomime of the dead.
When I rise,
I won’t need you.
∆
There are no wallflowers here,
just silent observers casing the joint.
My grandfather’s spyglass has a cracked lens — one of those monocled, steampunky brass edged gems that’s uncoordinated at best but it serves more than a purpose.
Without you, I fade into the background.
∆
I am like a mage.
I draw you in, but you beckon me out from behind my crystal pillars dangling wads of money and a job offer that’s on hold.
I come baring more than just my breasts,
I am yours.
∆
Till the thrill is gone.
I am in danger of succumbing to my own spell, rebounding long before
I am discarded,
when you’ve already moved on to Nightingales and page three nostalgia, my unnatural incantations losing their spark along the way.
Still, you make me question where I belong.
∆
I stand in the orange sunset smoking a durry on my balcony, looking down from my lofty thoughts.
My high society, contemptible self-loathing boldly framing my red-hinged double revolving doors that would swing wider — if it weren’t for the sunstrike that has me
blind.
∆
A spectral shade
of surreal light,
trapped by my own
shadowban.
∆
I see right through everything you try to impress upon me.
My nose is already cut/off, my mask forever cast into the pantomime of the dead.
When I rise,
I won’t need you.
© Copyright 2020, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
1.
Am I a feminist?
I make the fantasy real for him, giving up parts of myself –
My look
My mind
My body
My heart.
Pieces of me, served up over silver platitudes,
three course meals
and French champagne.
2.
Malleable breasts and tight buttocks
reclaim their complimentary one half of the whole
reality
filling holes in Psyche every time she is alone.
Separate and connected,
happy and unremarkable
half truths, open to anyone who will listen.
3.
In her deepest recesses, she is compartmentalised – a waif, aloof.
Dissociation
learned to leave a long time ago, doing only what they wanted to make them happier
for the two of us.
A tragedy, waiting for a fairy tale ending that doesn’t involve
the death of Eros.
Instead she paints pictures that never quite get finished –
My pencils
My paints
My inks
My pastel chalks
covered in charcoal dust fingerprints,
scared of letting go.
4.
She still held on
to dreams
of Volkswagon beetles,
Austin land crabs,
Holden utes and XD Falcon
panel van’s reinforced with 6ml steel plates
pink stickered on the side of the road.
5.
I say goodbye to all the abusers –
My family
My friends
My lovers
My colleagues.
Self care now cloistered in her abandon while you watch,
published one day by some back shed press, captioned
‘Clichèd-Poet-Ends-It-All’
because forfeiture has no shame.
She was happier then
and then she died,
turning grey like her foibles and colourless lines.
6.
Am I a feminist?
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Clock app, I chime well.
The sheets are slithery crevices
Satin-lined, with serpent tongue poised to strike,
It is a meeting of the soul,
A shaft of light
Through cathedrals of stained glass.
Where you are safe,
Where there are no family heirlooms,
No dinner on the table, no lies.
Suave virile hips, the smirk of men
Glaze at her smoke
And I, in my honeyed plume,
Milk a gallon of amphibian seed.
To release
The roar of angst I swallow toads ~
Meat and three vege, a staple,
The ‘Elixir of Life’.
My mouth gags,
The mouth of Mary
When my accelerator touches the pan.
The giggle of my
Plastic features, my way of arching
Johns to rigors of trapeze
Lays on the charm, a gasp.
And it goes on and on, and on.
I shall remain a nymph. Old muscles
Strain like a bough and I
Blush like Betty Boop
Satisfied,
All the sighs of winter, fall
Offering up last seasons rosella
Tea to read.
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Appropriated from Sylvia Plath’s ‘Gigolo’, 29 January 1963, Collected Poems, 1981
Tinder dating.
Balancing on that tight rope between modern meat markets, vintage marriage proposals and a continuum of taffeta excuses for those with no idea about couture.
Coffee date number two,
torn between a Trelise Cooper bustle or Collette Dinnigan trousers, opting for mid length K-mart culottes and flat shoes – quite sensible really.
Then he makes a move, casually stroking her genius arm while he takes a business call leaning back on his wing.
It’s an affront to Cora’s touch-starved senses colliding like electrons; Georgette raised speed bumps bristle with expectations.
An awkward moment
decides weather to pirouette or sashay onto the dancefloor with some spurious home truths.
Ta da!
‘I used to be a sex worker’ she crowed, sipping on a nonchalant eyelash latte on the verge of treason ‘and if I decide to go back, you can’t stop me’.
Silence.
Ms Pearl takes another sip, the onslaught of ignorance threatening to tighten her whale bone corset breath, now held in contempt.
A standing ovation or white knuckled finale taking the bias edge out of contention, taking it all in.
See, she can’t see the point of another round of ruffles and rouge.
/
Spontaneous attraction hides in the shadows
of a cloak and dagger past life, frightened
by a mere unorthodox interlude.
© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
I’m a whore.
A hooker for all
Intents & purposes
I fuck
Men, women or both
If they show me
Respect & pay my fee
How they treat
Me is how I screen;
They peep through key
Holes in my web,
Mobile phone or face
Book
Leave me clues
I peruse at my leisure.
On my unpaid time,
Weeding
Always pulling
Out roots & bare
Back, barking mad
Messages
Cutting into my family!
My family time
Intrigues you & yours –
Watching how we
Balance on that edge,
While I swing my leg
Over, hold on
Tight & tiptoe
Around the giant
Dildo in the room
But we do
Those Bill’s
Just don’t stop coming!
*
I work hard for the money
I work hard for family
I work hard
Pulling my weight where it counts
To make ends meet;
Reconciling differences
Underneath
I bleed red & my shit still
Stinks but that doesn’t make me
Invisible, unless you’re
Anti
Anti this, anti that
Why should it matter
What I do to support my
Self or my family?
I should ram my fist right up
Your arse, to my elbow
(I’d like to – bend you over) &
Piss all over your pride & prejudice!
Your mind is already made up.
Stuck up, to the eyeballs
In condescending lies pandering
To (un) popular beliefs;
Nothing like countering ‘prostitution
Narratives’ in the belly
Of the beast
I am a very tall poppy.
I am not so uneloquently on display
I am not a victim
I am not coerced
I am not a survivor
I am not damaged
I am not suffering any
More than anyone else
I don’t buy into
Negative, stereotypically ignorant
Profit driven victimisation
Either!
I choose to be the
Architect of my own life
Doing my bit,
Arousing your awareness
So that those who are
Tarred with the same brush
Can find support
Not rescue
It’s called autonomy.
Something I have more of than
Some, but you are not one
Tomorrow I’m going to wake up
Turn on my phone
Answer messages
Boil the jug & light up a dart,
Considering all my options
Before heading back in to sex work
It makes me stark raving
Mad, to think you could
Possibly be offended!
*
For what it’s worth,
I feel sorry for you
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. ‘Poetry Out West’, All Rights Reserved
Written in protest of the ‘World’s Oldest Oppression’ Conference in Melbourne, Victoria 2016
Photographer: Judith Bender-Jura
1.
Mary, the one without
a Halo – a married whore,
found unconditional love
hiding in the soles of His feet.
After the fact – that
pseudo relationships
took precedence for a while,
she washed Him clean
for no other reason
than to show respect, reverence
for one that would give
His soul for her.
2.
My feet are bare, scarred
by broken beer bottles and red
blood paint – tips to toes,
manicured to perfection once
upon a time. his feet
are cold; numbness held in a vice –
like grip, as she works her way up
past calves & quads seeking
warmth in the apex, comfort
sucking a thumb – print. embedded
ecstasy applying pressure
where it hurts, to ease the pain.
3.
She thinks the sun shines outback, cradling his head, healing hands
mindful of circular breathing; muscles
& tendons ache for release.
Mary doesn’t mind manipulating
bones, fingering the spaces
in – between, redirecting blood flow
to all the right places, kneading
stretches & burns ping – back,
sending signals like sparks, endorphins
take up the slack, ushering in sweet
sensation & nipples peek. there’s
nothing special about Mary, knowing
a thing or two, making money serving
more than a hand – full of life’s little pleasures. making hay while the sun
shines requires little effort on her part,
preferring to let it slide, up past
the point of no return. those days,
over now before they really took hold.
4.
Mary looks at him spent, kinesthetic
energy on standby as he reconsiders
where he stands. the party’s over,
someone has to clean up, Mary
learning to love the hand
that feeds her, wishing sometimes
for independence and silence, in –
between phone calls. those days
are over, up for tender for the next
wave of youthful antagonists who seek
an existence un – beholden. love
knows no rules of engagement.
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved
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.
1.
Orion takes my breath away!
His belt & scabbard first
then shoulders
& I wrap myself around him
I am at peace
looking out over the ocean
& a sky full of stars
You are not unlike Orion
guiding distant ships on the horizon
I am like Klingon
(Klingon usually mate for life)
but not this tide
we are an interstellar medium:
the space between
Euryale & Poseidon
2.
We are of the Sea
reef, rocks & shoals
perilous waters
where foghorns & Siren songs sound familiar
where fishy tales flush pink
& my Veuve overflows
It doesn’t take me long to remember
expectation is one two threefold
we navigate in the dark sometimes
moonlit mirrors reflect only one part of the whole
our universe is bigger than most
3.
I draw a line in the sand
for both our sakes
there can be only one
I feel the waves crash on the shore
we are all arms & legs
slipping & sliding
in & out of the water
I look to the stars & my faith
for one brief moment there is no existential crisis
Orion’s heavy breathing & sigh of relief
bring us both back to reality
under the surface
Death is not an unknown entity:
one last roll of the di
& our fate could be sealed
4.
Thank you
Orion will always be near
Jupiter will always be the brightest planet
the full moon will always shine on me
I could never go past King Island
without thinking of you
candlelight, frogs & our best mate
Captain’s call still falling on deaf ears
but nevermind
I’m still as blind as a bat
& you’re as old as the hills
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
REBLOGGED on Ink & Quill
“Land Ahoy!”
his First Mate
not more than two feet away, still doesn’t see Hinemoana coming.
“Bring her about hard & fast
& shut your bloody mouth boy!”
after the full force
hits the stern with a swift kick
aimed right up the Jacksie!
she giggles
it’s an entertaining Port
full of surprises, guffaws
& sudden gusts of wind;
her Devil’s Tongue
quick as lightning
her Siren Song
slipping in & under
he lays it on thick
he would feed me grapes
if it weren’t for the Oyster’s
Swordfish, Tuna, Salmon & Lumpfish, a good bottle of Veuve serving up a concoction of frivolity with a sharp spank on the arse for good measure.
No sea legs required here.
Our naked flamboyance
barely creates a ripple,
our island paradise
looking out over the sea
from a safe distance –
your bridge.
I can see the stars up there
& planets
my world seems bigger
brighter
I stare transfixed into space
but I am not lost
I feel strangely nestled
Green Tree Frogs
& the hope of a Vine snake or two
keep my curiosity peaked
Michael rows
his boat ashore
I am not unlike an island
© Copyright 2013, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
REBLOGGED on Dream Big Dream Often
I am on the fringe
my destiny intertwined
money & lust
existence
paving a way for my future
I am loved
unconditionally.
he doesn’t presume
to try to control me
directly
indirectly I don’t know –
sometimes I feel bereft;
a single cell amoeba
searching
for another sign
of life
solitude
my friend & my enemy
co-exist;
uncertainty
at every new juncture
jeers in contempt
I am frozen in fear
for falling
& failing
humiliation burning
into my face
to spite me
ungracious
in pursuit of happiness
I take no prisoners
perhaps my journey
is my destination?
isolation & separation
inextricably linked,
pseudo relationships
taking precedence
lonely street’s
with or without corners
smoothing my transition
in the distance,
no picket fence to define me
or winter garden
or fire escape
I digress, sadly.
inner sanctum’s
flawed by design
serve only to mimic my life
contentment
knows no bounds
© Copyright 2012, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Your wish is my command:
I will grip
my two-tailed tawse
within an inch of my gloved appendage
& your exposed up-turned posterior
& I will
control
/
suspend
\
switch
/
strap
\
bitch
/
slap
\
you into submission
& you will obey
my iron clad mind
will thrash you within
your wildest dreams whetting
only my appetite for your pleasure
& pain
those looks will not go unpunished
you want me to break down your defences?
I will break down your defences
you will not look me in the eyes
you will not touch any part of me
you will not soil in my presence
you will obey my every command
& you will cry like a baby
& beg for my forgiveness when you fail
© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
I can’t wait
to get you
where I want
you to be:
on your back
with your hands
tied & your
legs spread
eagle,
blindfolded
so I can look
at you with
reckless
abandon
& you can’t
do a damn thing
about it
I will take
what is mine
& have my way
& fuck you
till I am
spent
& you are
left wondering
what day
of the week it is
& whether or not
the wet patch
is on your side
of the bed
or mine
© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Concrete emotions honed
un-toned body making sounds
of pleasure, lost at sea
drowning yet serene
Work, a means to an end
not my un-doing, I choose
this life, chosen now and not before
forceful reminder’s
solidified
*
I know this place, familiar
un-tamed yet calm, numb
yet seductive
© Copyright 2007 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
A green duvet and me
blue
Eeyore pyjamas missing a button
a gaping hole my solar plexus
books scattered
carpeted
the bed and the floor
three phones waiting
a clock ticking
a red candelabra
standing tall
white scented candles
mirrors and paintings
reflected image incomplete
a red slip
pillows
a thick winter coat, disembodied
folded towels
soft toys and clothes, strewn
careless
tissues not too far away
the bedside table ready
slatted curtains not really curtains at all
shafts of light
penetrating
my wheat-bag purple and warm
comforting
Klimts Women is wide open
to ‘The Kiss’
at the foot of my bed
© Copyright 2007 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Your wish is my command
I will push back and pull forward
confronting your senses while tearing apart my own
I perform admirably
I hold my head up in the face
there’s only one thing on my mind,
no monthly specials here
no flat ‘on my back’ rate either!
I’m a bargain in the first place, comparatively
they should be so lucky
no chance of getting bored,
I re-invent events
creatively juicy and spicy hot with a side of lies
the blood never drains nor loses its metallic colour
and the well will never dry with KY,
spread from arsehole to breakfast like _______
Class?
I got class, my website deems it so
“It would be my absolute pleasure to welcome you into my
wonderful world, filled with all things naughty and nice.”
oh make me over, please!
I lie
on my back, my side, my stomach… and my face is covered
69 divine and women line up!
I’m not exclusive… smile ; )
sad and lonely is universally applied, like my eyeliner
smudged and blurred
obscured from most
I provide a service, the hostess with the most(est)
and fine wine will have you spellbound!
they line up
I spread em’
in a downtown apartment with a sea view
on Fur-Lined avenue – not!
my un-inhibited wide-on, exhibited
and the 26th floor, awaits you but
I am not for free
never for free
I am a Lady of the Night
who shines in the face of adversity
with trust issues and insecurities like the rest of us
I am not blinded by earthly needs by fools
I wake up,
I put on my make-up
I dance to my own tune
and pay the bills
© 2007 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Exerpt reprinted on Quilt, Melbourne Festival of Sex Workers, 2012
Red lights blazing
flashing backstreet bars
in an alleyway
First Published in Side Stream ‘Poetry From The Fringe’, Issue 19, 2009
Lovers of pain and comfort, unconditional
with puppy dog eyes wide shut
Head on my stomach fur coat attired
foetal and like old things, worn
Moments and memories dispensed
a hairs breath between prickles
and whiskers tease
rubbing the shredded skin of dissociation
Thoughts escape, awakened
stirred and panting
Playful ball sports and eyebrows raise
sniffing familiarity
Belly rubs and legs splayed
assuming the mould from in behind, the scene
anticipation hungry for food
Dependence in exchange for love
money in exchange for lust
No flea’s here, no blood,
no life-sucking thoughts here
Gods comfort wrap fur-lined with licky tongue
slobbering kisses of conversation
Done and dusted.
© 2007 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
First Published in Side Stream, Issue 7, August 2007, ‘Poetry From The Fringe’
Poetry Out West 