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
Photo used with permission
I watch my littlest princess
dancing away with the faeries
expressing pain so magnificently
her voice, exploding anger
her mind, opposing self
her heart, barely beating
my mind-splitting headache pounds
containing my own maelstrom
that subterranean refuge
where I once found comfort
where there was none
where my soul learned to fly
holding on, innocence
letting go & spirituality guiding
me back home
I hold her now, meet her gaze
no words cling to each other
we plant flowers in the earth
tending our garden, nurturing our selves
her pain temporarily reconciled
my own thunderous affront subdued
I don’t let her see my pain,
I protect her, I love her like I love
my self, mirrored back in her eyes
I watch her from afar
she knows I’m there on the outskirts
her nice stepmother, soothsayer
I can watch & bear, witness
one step removed my fire
unseared, tempered in her presence
I am not a fool, knowing transference
like God, is everywhere & no
where at once, I remain steadfast
she heals me, my littlest princess
igniting my candelabra
rays of warmth piercing the dark
she will be ok with love, gentle
strokes; my cradle rocking a rhythm
peace descending around her to nest
I can watch although I didn’t then
but I can see clearly now, the rain
I trust my self to know the difference
dissociation & dissociative
here in the now my mindfulness
my present is my gift to her
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
I’m going slightly insane
Oh, to be deaf, dumb, blind & mute!
turning that blind eye, having nothing
more to do with it – all
No shoes on her feet
her hair a mess
the first thing she says is,
“Are you a mean stepmother or a nice stepmother?”
cuddling me, she tells me I’m nice before I can answer, awed
saddened & proud
all at once
I’m so afraid for our little girl
afraid to bear witness; joy, pain, confusion, innocence
I do my best, continuing to be consistent,
loving, nurturing & hiding
my own pain to shelter her
I need time out
not from our littlest princess, never
from that bright spark that lights up my world, my own fear worse for wear
knowing truth; being called a liar
cruelty appears nonchalant & we all know
ignorance breeds ignorance
I rise
above this time & detach
from that confined space lodging
deep in my brain & heart, threatening
to expose my GI Jane
She thrashes inside her prison cell,
the bars of my prison bend
but do not break, I give thanks
to God & Godesses & the Furies,
my Crone; for temperance
my aenima inanimate for the moment
,●
I hear her laugh,
that contagious giggle
putting a smile on my face
all I need is patience; I can wait
Karma has not yet spoken, giving
cold comfort will come at a cost – all
I can do is love
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
I have a beautiful husband. Loving beyond anything I could ever ask for. His children are gems, the littlest one is an Angel I swear! I miss my man even when he yells at me and says the worst things imaginable in his pain. The man I once knew has eroded away before my eyes. He doesn’t remember how he loved, except his children and rightly so – they are himself and they were stolen. I understand that, I do. I only wish the love I feel for mine is returned in my lifetime. Mine are gone. It seems everyone I love disappears. I take the blame. It must be my fault, some days I don’t want to be here. Some days I want to fade to black, let that white noise sing me a lullaby and take me home. I lived in many houses once, and my worst nightmare continued. Maybe I relive that moment when I was stolen, against my will. It took me years to find solace in that place till the time came for me to leave. I was homeless, loveless and inconsolable. I did my best with what I knew, made decisions I thought were the best for me and mine. I still feel their eyes upon me, watching me fail and imagine them raising a toast to my demise. Such is life. Whatever I try to do, whomever I try to love, it seems like none of it returns. Sometimes I feel like a desolate child, still. I’m nearly 50 and I have nothing left least of all to give myself. I exist from day-to-day listening to a monologue of misgivings and self doubts that continue to remind me I’ve never truly belonged anywhere. When I’m gone, I’m still nothing more, nothing less. Of course there are those that profess to love me but that’s only so they can make penance for their own sins – you know, make themselves feel better. That sounded so jaded – I don’t really mean it. I made the most selfish half-hearted attempt at finality. I was chastised for buying my beautiful step-daughter therapeutic books to help her heal. She’s only four. I was reminded how I failed to buy books for my beautiful happy grandson. He turned one recently. I wasn’t thinking straight, obviously. “Your new family can have you!”, she doesn’t want to be a part of that mess. By God I cried. I cried like a little baby. It doesn’t matter what I do its never going to be good enough for her. I may as well resign myself to a life of condemnation, contempt and misery. My man loved me once a long time ago. His daughter is here to keep me company, while we wait for our littlest princess to return. My home may as well be a halfway house. Where is the love? I’m too hurt to see anything beyond what’s yelling at me, leveling me, sucking everything left from inside of me. I sit. I wait. What will happen next? Your guess is as good as mine. My machine parts are too rusted; too many salted tears have cut through all the bullshit. It’s just me and always will be.
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler, ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved
I feel shattered
fragmented
my self dispersed
willy nilly
this way & that; sparks
on a funeral pyre
*
Isolated in a new country I proudly call my home, desperate for unconditional love and understanding. I am estranged from family who need no explanation least of all from me. We are grieving the loss of our precious little girl. The softest most gentlest child who has ever graced my presence. That’s the worst thing to comprehend. How could it all go so wrong?
Self pity and blame/shame become a toxic breeding ground for self-doubt. Feeling victimized beyond where my psyche can find peace, I am being eroded from within. Still, those wicked thoughts work their way into my cracks, ever-widening, poisoning me from the inside out. I have a parasitic demon spreading its hideous tentacles into every mistake I have ever made reminding me of my foolish flaws. My lifesong is no more heard than those women in history; burned at the stake.
I thank God I was not born in that cruel Medieval era, although I recognise similarities in unjust sentences and we all know no one has a leg to stand on in times of prejudice. I see common sense, at the last-minute at least. Those women were tenacious, brave beyond measure and while the odds are gathering sticks stacking my pyre, my heart is with her and them, my love knows no bounds.
I make the calls, I speak my truth. It is all I can do to retain my dignity. My integrity is not in question, it has never been. I know right from wrong. There is something insidious here at work, attempting to thwart justice by all devious means imaginable. It cannot last forever. She threatens me and us but though the system of things is corrupt, I am not.
Every day people are being dis – membered, crucified in the coldest places on earth. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy but she has brought us here to witness our incarceration and suffering, inflicting us with that cold, soulless stare. Her lust barely disguising her thirst for that elusive elixir of life.
I am human. I suffer like everyone else. My reserves are low and my inner flame is almost extinguished – doused by lies and deceit of the most heinous kind. I pray everyday for divine intervention. More than ever to Mary, to God, Goddesses, to the Crones, to whoever will listen. Those who weave their ancient threads on the great wheel of life, deciding our destinies.
By descending into hell, this time I know with certainty that wheel will rise again and I will find myself ascending, transcending all that was before. My faith wrapping my warm, safe, loving arms around her and us. I believe we are in the right place at the right time but the reasons for it are as yet unknown. I face this wrath. I take full responsibility for whatever I have failed to see and I will mourn.
My needs are the least important right now. Longer lives are at stake here. I am reminded of the Inquisition where women and poor innocent children were burned for nothing more than uttering truth in a world full of unscrupulous doings. My littlest princess is growing up way too fast. Her world separate from her self.
My focus is on one innocent child who is but a pawn in this farce. It is she who I admire, her resilience and the knowing that one day soon she will be reunited with love and have the best that love can offer her to heal. It won’t be too late, for love can work miracles for the most cruel of experiences. I have witnessed first hand how God will intervene having carried me in his stead before. Children are born resilient. They have inbuilt protection and I trust that she will be OK.
God is love and he does not desert his flock.
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
‘Come back here you little Pelican’
she mocks, her grin beaming
the littlest Princess tears off
at a hundred miles an hour
in the opposite direction,
her grin making a perfect pair
but where is Belinda?
‘Belinda the Brush is hiding somewhere and I want to brush your hair’
we sing, looking in all the usual spots
the bookshelf, the dressing table
in the bathroom before
she’s finally located on the chair
in front of us
the littlest Princess settles herself down
and we begin the next verse
‘Belinda the Brush is brushing my hair,
Belinda the Brush is brushing my hair’
What will it be today my love,
a ponytail or a plait like the witch?
A plait.
Julia Donaldson has made an impression
so I break into a witches cackle
We have some minor complaints;
those pesky knots require a change of tact,
under my magnificent spell
the job is done, satisfaction
filling my heart, hers brewing the buds of patience, temperance and pride
‘Belinda the Brush is brushing my hair and there’ll be no bullshit there’
I love my littlest Princess.
Our destiny entwined like my fingers through her hair
she doesn’t know it yet
but Our Lady watches over her
with great grandma, and granny working her magic almost daily
I can see all the kids,
you and me (and grandma),
green grass blue smoke,
my Harley
still under wraps – our home,
where the heart is
resonating in your drums
One day I will learn how to cook and teach my littlest Princess how to knit like Nana
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Poetry Out West 