Monday, August 20, 2018

Stridulation




image from pinterest.com


Stridulation

“I never kill insects--karma is everything.”
--Holly Valance.

After a Kafka nightmare, one could awaken as
a cockroach. After a honied summer dream, one
could go all Zen, and awaken as a cricket--but 
stay out of Asia where deep fried crickets are 
snacks. Gosh, you could go on a picnic with your
grasshopper cousins. After the feed, you could
gather up a couple dozen friends, get some 
mini-bats and play English cricket. You could
apply for a job selling wireless phones. You
could become a Disney celebrity, hosting his
show along with Tinkerbell, learning the lyrics
to “When You Wish Upon A Star”. I first met
Jiminey in 1950, watching a 12” round TV
screen.

Karmically, it could be interesting to be a cricket,
rather than a rock, or a tree, or a slug. You would
live a jam-packed short life without emotion. You
could choose from 900 species. You could live
about anywhere, as long as it’s warm. Sex would
be your primary focus. If you were male, you could
be a wonderful singer in a nightly chorus that 
might make Mormons envious. If you were female,
you could enjoy your control over the drooling
rutting males--as per usual.

Flies lay larva on
the backs of singing crickets;
an insect duo.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Friday, August 17, 2018

String Theory




image from pinterest.com

String Theory

“The universe is a symphony of strings, and the
mind of God is cosmic music resonating in
11-dimensional hyperspace.”--Michio Kaku.

I have not thought about the Cosmos
for years because of the prevalent Chaos--
it’s completely distracting and all-consuming.
I feel like a person in a terrible car wreck,
forever flipping over & over, topsy-turvy,
like a perpetual motion crazed conundrum.

Do I have enough stamina to survive?

Like a perpetual motion crazed conundrum,
forever flipping over & over, topsy-turvy--
I feel like a person in a terrible car wreck.
It’s completely distracting and all-consuming
for years because of the prevalent Chaos--
I have not thought about the Cosmos.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

I am Spartacus




image from thetelevisionpilot.com


I am Spartacus

“We don’t stop going to school when we
graduate.”--Carol Burnett

My  school days
were like being
a worker bee--

I attended 10 elementary schools,,
                   3 junior high schools,
                   3 high schools and
                   3 colleges.

We moved around a lot--mostly because of
my stepfather’s gypsy spirit & his bad temper.
Six months was a long time for him to keep
a job. He was a millwright, and he would find
a new job quickly, but it was always across
town in a new neighborhood.

We were renters,
ruthless and rootless:
Let somebody else worry
about the damned plumbing.

For me, school became
a competitive arena, always
                                 the new kid
                                 in the front row
                                 with my hand up;
having to establish my self
                                  in short order.

Life was tough
around the edges,
and school became
both arena & sanctuary.

I emerged as a type-A personality,
an honor student,
a debater and poet;
bellicose and compassionate,
with one hand extended,
the other with a clenched fist;
both gladiator and seeker.


Fox sat outside the
chicken yard, until he learned
to open the gate.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, August 13, 2018

Box You !


*


painting by Jeni Lee


Box You !

“The irony of sensory deprivation tanks is that in
order to think outside the box, you have to get 
inside of one.”--Ryan Lily

Joe: Hey,
whatta’ you know,
whatta’ you say?

Judy: I know
next to nothing,
and I say that sucks.

Joe: Who put
a bug
up your ass?

Judy: If you were here,
I would box your ears !

Joe: Bummer!
Too bad,
so sad--
adios!



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, August 8, 2018

Blackthorne--Sc76




painting by Travis Knight


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Six

Bravo

“I didn’t want to come up with some generic 
Johnny Bravo type name. I’m not that cool.”
--Colin Hanks

1(overhead wide drone shot) the town crusts and
dusty range riders peeled off the corral rails, with
Johnny walking toward them.
2(medium close ups/jump cut) the crowd:
“Great Ride !”  “Fucking wonderful !”  “Knocked
my damn boots off !”  “That’s showing him !”
“You busted him good !”
3(two-shot) the Eagle walked up to Cash Bronson.
Cash held out his hand, as big as Johnny’s, and
the Indian shook it firmly.
4(over Johnny’s shoulder) Cash: Jesus, let me pay
you! That’s the best damned ride I’ve seen in years.
He must have shaken your guts out.”
5(over Bronson’s shoulder) Johnny smiled a little:
“No thank-you, Mr. Bronson. I don’t work for you
any more. I work out at Antlered Buck.”
6(sound cue) piano chord.
7(close-up) Bronson, his good cheer fading.
8(medium close-up) Johnny: “Tell you what, El Hefe,
if you really want to pay me, please keep your 
money, but make sure that your men treat this
horse with respect. Ryker can saddle break him
now, but have him use a gentle hand.”
9(two-shot) over Johnny’s shoulder--Bronson:
“Sounds fair to me.” 
10(medium wide shot) Bronson turning to Ryker, who
was picking up some gear, and trying not to
participate. Bronson: “Do you understand, Ryker?
We want this bronco jughead gentled enough that
Pauly can ride him”.
11(close-up) Ryker, his face turning red: “Yes, sir.”
12(medium close up) Buck: “Do you really need this
horse?”, asking quietly.
13(three-shot) Bronson: “Ah, Mister Buck,” with a
smug smile starting to work at the corners of his
mouth,”Here you are, the big bad stranger, returned
at last. You certainly got my attention.”
Buck: “Did I?”
Bronson: “This is kind of a small town, Not
much goes on here that I don’t hear about.”
Buck: “I’m sure that’s true.”
Bronson: “Like I heard this morning that you
had a little trouble over at my place the other
day. Raised quite a ruckus.”
14(two-shot) Buck, over Bronson’s shoulder:
I wouldn’t call that trouble.”
15(sound cue) banjo & harmonica.
16(close-up) Bronson: “Christ--you scared the 
hell out of half my girls, shot one of my casino
guards, and tossed my little brother out of a
second story window...and you don’t call that
trouble? Sure, there were plenty of
witnesses, but we had to cancel your visit with
the welcome wagon!”
17(close-up) Buck: “No one got killed.”
18(two-shot) Bronson: “Yes, that’s true--not in my
place anyways.”
Buck: “What are you saying?”
Bronson: “I’m saying that for a fellow whose only
been in town a short while, and who claims he 
wants to settle down and live here, you certainly
are a hellraiser.”
19(close up) Paul Bronson, his expression anxious,
angry, but plagued with a coward’s anxiety.
20(close up) Thor Bronson, his face stone hard, 
his eyes still blazing, his mouth a tight smear.
21(sound cue) branch flute.
21(close up) Johnny Eagle, exhausted but pleased
with himself.
22(two-shot) Buck, over Bronson’s shoulder: “I’d
say that most of that ruckus was just a misunder-
standing. I’m still trying to get my bearings. I’ve
been gone quite a spell--and I just wasn’t used
to the way you run things.”
23(close up) Bronson: “So, would you say that
now you are getting used to it?”
24(close-up) Buck, after a small pause: “ Yeah,
I’m starting to catch on.
25(two-shot) Bronson, with a hard smile: “Hell,
I almost like you. Just come to me if you have
any questions.”
26(close-up) Buck: “What about the horse?”



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Phantasm




painting by Tes Teach 


Phantasm

“Give air to the phantoms of art, and all those
dreams that would be so beautiful if they could
come true.”--Luigi Pirandello.

When introspection is employed,
we can see those things
unseen by others;
like faith,
which is a cornerstone,
a stanchion
that provides a sturdy base
for our panting pursuit
of spiritual/personal/cosmic
truth.

Truth is yet another unseen
vagabond that manifests itself
under many guises.

Past lives, after life. the future--
these are all nothing but
rambunctious wisps
of imaginative dream mists--
yet they can be viewed clearly
by your Higher Self.

Emotions are conniving catalysts, unseen 
powerful phantoms, whose influences, edicts, 
and machinations are acted out by every one 
of us; with                                      every breath,
coloring                                   every moment.

It is postulated that Earth is one of the only 
planes of existence where emotions are
allowed to be expressed.

Those among us who’ve encountered aliens
always report that the extraterrestrials seem
to have dead eyes, like a shark’s, devoid of
emotion.

Midst mountain meadows,
Sasquatch can be heard, but it
is rarely ever seen.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Monday, August 6, 2018

Final Solution




poster from pinterest.com


Final Solution

“The genius of Einstein led to Hiroshima.”
--Pablo Picasso.

During the last months of WWII, taking Okinawa 
was a costly endeavor. Warren Stolhand, my
father-in-law, fought there. He was a medic in
the Marines. When it was over, his outfit had
suffered 90% casualties. Over 21,000 Japanese
soldiers refused to surrender--many of them
committed suicide rather than facing defeat. He
was home in Texas on leave, when he got new
orders--shipping him off for invasion of the home
islands of Japan. He was on a troop ship when
they got word that an atomic bomb had been
dropped on Hiroshima.

On a steamy bright morning, August 6, 1945, 
Paul Tibbets, Jr. flew his Boeing Superfortress,
the Enola Gay, from an island in the Marinas,
and dropped the first nuclear weapon, Little Boy,
a uranium gun-type bomb, on the city of
Hiroshima. Three days later we dropped Fat Man.
a plutonium implosion bomb on Nagasaki.

It was estimated that if we would have carried out
Operation Downfall, the invasion of Japan, the 
Allies would have lost over a million men. The 
Japanese warlords had prepared the entire 
population of Japan to fight to the death. To this
day, there is still a debate over the rights and
wrongs of our actions.

Birds of prey have no
choice; they are nature’s killers--
warriors are the same.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub