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Fey by Jodine Derena Butler

July 7, 2010 8 comments

An emotional midget lives inside my fettered mind.
The sprite kind, green as the Irish
young, like Danu’s children dancing,
invisible to most save Fey.  She is gullible,
easy prey for those with nothing better to do –
they say opposites attract: I am like rat bait.

She is not quite right in the head my sprite
but don’t get me wrong,
she might have a little hunch in her brain stem,
and walk around muttering under her breath,
but she is conjuring up Narcissus
in an attempt to fill up the holes in her white tunic.

How she came to be this way is a long story,
suffice to say that public humiliation is akin to Oedipus Complex
with a tiny bit of Penis Envy on the side;
there is nothing quite like having an orgasm at someone else’s expense.
If you are a man, well I guess you just grew a little taller,
women, maybe just a little bit smarter.

My sprite has been known to feign a smile.
Rather than cower in the corner, she has worn patches.
I heard this one woman say she would never
have plastic surgery on her face, in male company of course,
then make an appointment to have her breasts enlarged
and the bags under her eyes lifted.

I wear my heart on my sleeve most days melancholy.
She plays while listening to The Pied Piper
watching hoards of people leave single file.
Emotionally speaking, she is not known to accurately sift thoughts;
binge eating her way into the Guinness Book of World Records,
one defiant leap of blind faith at a time.

My wee lass likes to be alone, but craves
the company of others so she doesn’t have to hide.
Once upon a time there was no such thing as social isolation,
the preferred title was Witch rather than loony toon.
She thinks too much, trying in vain failing miserably in the eyes;
second sight may as well be as viable as the second coming.

In my mind, my confused emotional midget state of a mind,
I am wondering where she has been and where I am going.
Most days I re-live the past with distorted accuracy
and stare into the wide blue yonder sitting on my desktop.
She looks out on to a Google landscape, straining
I can’t see the wood for the spam.

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Demeter & Persephone by Jodine Derena Butler

June 26, 2010 2 comments

Demeters world is falling apart
she enters the tomb
leaving behind every last bit of skin
and bone, naked and torn

 

her heart in jagged little pieces;
tears like condensed salted earth, ashen.
spirit as dark as Hades
her womb, a barren undergrowth of loss

 her voice, a howling banshee sevenfold

Persephone revisited in dreams
her escape futile, Hades whispers in her ear
she runs, never holding on nor looking back
dismembered dissociation awaits those who fail

and while cadaverous limbs are discarded
fertile appendages flail
her pieces crumble into dust
Demeter withdraws her love

only to find a serpent tongue
suckling at her breast
Demeter descends, and Persephone awaits
her chamber the great unclean

unashamedly devouring our lost souls
Demeter falls to her knees in despair
death is just a figment,
and life here is just a memory

she breathes in the rancid air,
the smell of a distant pyre
she kisses the hand that feeds her

*

there are only fools here in paradise.


© 2009 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved

Mothers by Jodine Derena Butler

June 26, 2010 7 comments


Who says there is a God?
wishful thinking created by man
to control the masses; no
Mothers in sight – save Mary
but look
look what happened to her our Lady?
Mary Magdalene
will rise again, known by all her names
we will see them come, and recognise
fire, earth, sea and sky; Ishtar

we shelter in the rivers and forests
we gather all the sticks and stones
Mary emerald as the forest green
will ride with Rhiannons guiding moon
her shoes of moss and lichen
her cloak of rainbow silk: transformed
her eye’s like Innana shedding tears
as sisters mourn and do
all that’s dark and been before, will shadow us no more
she has awakened in terrible wrath and has unleashed a whore

Kali destroys and  makes anew
Pele knows which heart is true
Abundantia  makes it very clear
there are no more second chances here
Gaia,  Papatuanuku and Ostara, forging ahead new life
Innana, Dana and Isis surrounding them with light
Athena and Mother Mary have much to undo and teach
Aphrodite, Ostara, Nemetona and Ixchel
Mothers of divine healing heart
all these Mothers will guide us through without the slightest flinch

She is all Mother and we recognise her full
we run with open arms, no fear
she restores our wayward souls with care
she cradles our broken hearts to weep
and peace will be reborn again
where war has gone before with man
our raging rivers will forge and cut
ravage and avenge; our rivers
will shed tears of pain
new paths lest we forget

calling all our wonderous women
our voices banshee wail
we will hear them in our hearts full throb
and never fear again
here comes Persephone from the dark
the first to see the light,
Demeter fills an earthen jug that overflows with tears
she gently wipes her daughters feet to cleanse away her fears
and without Mothers no seed will grow
and so they must obey

but men are men, God or not
and evil still prevails
our Mothers cast all seeing eyes
and none shall let them pass
Zeus may watch with Ranginui
for both have known this day
Hades left enraged behind
his plans for her subdued
for she is with the Mothers now
a war he cannot  rule

Persephone is free at last
Who says there is a God?
for Goddess rule this world or ours
Papatuanuku birthing fruit
my Maiden showing me the truth wary as she treads
my Mother prays the safest journey our Mothers forged ahead
my oldest Crone will rest her bones on her dying day
and sisters will be reborn again and again
woven waxed and waned

© Copyright 2010.  Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

I Found My Heart by Jodine Derena Butler

June 16, 2010 6 comments

I found my heart
on the borderline
of too late

just in time;
a fine lined
delicate box
inlaid with
criss-crossed
tongue and groove
timber framed
and paper thin –
(such was the state it was in)
I found my heart
shaped box
tucked away
under the debris;
no recognition
of her guild
thick-skin scarred
tiny cracks
intricate and interlaced
weather worn
like washed up
driftwood
I found my heart
a mantle piece
and set it
alongside a glass
vase filled
with floral Oriental’s
her lip sealed
tightly shut
innocence and sin
full trust
representative of love
anaesthetised by pain
I found my heart
magnified by you
and you’re telescope
my vision opaque
like liquid amber
in silver teardrop earrings;
in remembrance of
friendships once
lost to train wrecks
a heart shaped
box filled with
precious memories
is where I found my heart
in all her glory –
thinking of you

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

I Remember (for my Grandparent’s)

June 14, 2010 5 comments

I remember my Aunt Bertha sitting in the front passenger seat with Nana driving down Whangaparaoa Road in her white Hibiscus Coast Taxi.  I was jumping up and down swinging my bottle from side to side in between clenched teeth and a wide grin. “Sit down!” said Nana, but I ignored her deliberately, seeing how long I could get away with it.

I remember the toy helicopter that was my uncle’s pride and joy.  I would sit on the top bunk when the lights were turned off and we would all giggle and laugh at the flashing lights and whirring sound of the blades.  There was a drum-kit stored underneath the bunks.  I used to dream about playing them one day and sneak a peek every now and then.  There was a piano too I never heard played once.  I often wondered what it sounded like.  I was allowed to play the harpsichord and the melodian and I’m sure there was an accordion too.  My family used to be in a band called the Hibisca Cats you see.

I remember the old house that Grampop built on Wade River Road with his bare hands after the war.  It was made of solid rough-sawn Kauri and painted a rusty-red colour with an iron roof to match.  I will never forget the patch of stucco plaster that wouldn’t stick to the ceiling in the front room for years.  It ended up turning yellow from all the nicotine.  Nana later named the house ‘Banana Court’ after a holiday in the Norfolk Island, and eventually managed to grow some banana palm’s which we all had to try.  They were hideously dry and pithy but we still ate them anyway.  They were nothing like Nana’s cups of tea that was more like soup!  Everyone would give each other sly looks when the teapot arrived with a plate full of pickled onion and cheese sandwich’s.  Nana also smuggled a coconut in from Fiji.  She would show everyone who turned up…but it always looked dead till one day it had a shoot and so began another excited trip to the garden.

I remember the red telephone, one of those art deco types that you had to dial with your finger or a pencil.  It was always too far away and it pained me to watch them move at a snail’s pace trying to reach it in time, complaining all the while.  The telephone number evolved over time too.  It started off 7289, 47289, 4247289 and ended up 09 4247289 over a period of 30 years or so.

I remember the bright orange berries beside the house before the steps.  I was always warned they were poisonous but I still used to pick them and wonder what they tasted like but never dared.  It was like they were guarding the drop off into the abyss which was a great big black hole off the side of the landing when the new deck was built.

I remember 99 green bottles sitting on a plank balanced precariously above two large brown swing doors that were recycled.  They always looked like they were about to fall.  Eventually they done away with the doors but the bottles stayed put.

I remember firewood stacked neatly beside the fire beside the stereogram.  Grampop would chop kindling on the newspaper in front of it with the axe.  It was an open fire until they upgraded to a Kent but it was still open.  Nana and I would listen to Johnny Cash singing “I fell in to a burning ring of fire…” .  I loved listening to the Folsom Prison album.

I remember dressing up in Nana’s Mink coat fascinated by its head.  I would put curlers in my wet hair the night before and wear Nana’s clothes with oversized sunglasses pretending I was older than I was.  I used to play with her fake jewellery and would later wear the pearl necklace at my wedding.  It got stolen during one of many random home invasions.

I remember the two chamber pots down beside the bed and I can still hear Nana waking me up saying,“No no”, but it was always a little too late; till I had that dream that finally woke me up in time.  I had to use the pink plastic pot then but sometimes I would pee in the porcelain one because it looked special and I wasn’t supposed to…but it was colder.

I remember Grampop’s taxi parked on the brick driveway out front.  A 1964, white Chevrolet Belair.  It was his pride and joy.  You could tell by the photo on the bar of when it was used for a wedding.  It was coveted by everyone I knew.  I even found a set of white wall tyres for it years later.  The taxis formed Hibiscus Coast Taxis which they founded, and is still in operation today.  They had a boat too that Grampop named after me called ‘Jodine’.  I felt a mixture of pride and shame and wondered what people thought.  I don’t think it was well received.

I remember my first bike that Grampop surprised me with for my birthday.  He taught me to ride it by sending me off down the hill till I figured out where the brakes were!  He later brought me my first car, a bright red Mini he paid $500 to get paneled and painted.  He said he thought about having my name written on it…but I’m glad he didn’t.

I remember Hillary in her blue dungaree’s who lived up at the shops.  She lived alone like a man and I suspect she was a lesbian by the way they used to talk secretly about her.  I found her fascinating and we used to exchange respectful pleasantries whenever we met.

I remember the Loquat tree right down the back past the old Army Hut.  They were always big yellow and juicy and the juice would run down my chin into a sticky mess.  I would blow-spit the brown slimy pits as far as I could then I would traipse off and investigate the hut.  I had to use an old wooden handled screwdriver to open the door.  I would often imagine the war.  Grampop had to go to Wellington to receive an award one time.

I remember Nana teaching me how to knit holey scarves and Grampop showing me how to stick shells onto bottles.  They were quite crafty.  I would dig up clay from across the road and we would make sculptures.  I learned how to make string patterns on plywood with nails.  Grampop also had an old Robert Burns poetry book beside his armchair that I would read occasionally.  I didn’t really understand it though.  The walls were covered in paintings and prints too.

I remember when we went up to Bayley’s Beach to look for a bach.  They finally decided on the one at Omamari Beach just South of the Kai Iwi Lakes just North of Dargaville.  I helped Grampop dig out underneath to make room for a basement flat.  We would laugh and talk and shift sand like it was normal.  God knows it probably wasn’t safe!  Like the time he made the septic tank and I nearly fell in.  He later went on to build a solid concrete water tank out the back on which he painted a Mexican wearing a huge sombrero.  So creative!

I remember the yellow beach buggy that I learned to drive when I was about 8 or 9 and fishing for Kahawai off the rocks.  Trying to get the Contiki to go past the waves was alway’s a mission.  There were many Toheroa’s and Tua Tua’s dug up and minced into fritters.  Nana made the best fritters!  The Toheroa’s used to be a foot long and blue at one end with huge tongues, I would dare to bite.  My cousin found a fish stranded in a rock pool once and we were nearly stranded at the bottom of huge sandstone cliffs as the tide came in.

I remember the drives up North like it was yesterday.  The Ruawai straights and spying the pointy Toka Toka hill which was hardly a mountain but it was as big as a mountain to me.  It would always be a distance marker on our journey. “Look Jodie” said Nana, waking me up. “Are we there yet?”. “Not far to go now”, Grampop would say.

I remember Great Nana and Grampop my Grampop’s parents.  They lived on Whangaparaoa Road not far from us.  They had the most beautiful little cottage with a garden and fruit tree’s.  They would give me .50c when I visited with Nana.  They were such beautiful old people and I adored them.  They came over on a boat from England in 1918 when Grampop was about 1.  They have passed away now and I wasn’t there.  I don’t know why I wasn’t there to say goodbye.  We are supposed to be direct descendants of King Edward the 3rd on the maternal Smith side of the family.  I saw it once on a family tree.  I wrote all over it in pencil filling in my gaps.

It is memories like these that remind me of where I come from.  I feel all of them inside me and beside me.  They left me a legacy.  I am a poet, a singer, an artist and a lover of adventure and if it hadn’t been for them I wouldn’t be here today.  I knew I was loved.  I knew they had all the time in the world for me and I loved them back fierce.  I will alway’s love them.

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Lady of the Night (Redlight Series)

June 14, 2010 6 comments

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