Fuggedaboutit

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Fuggedaboutit

“ Zen is not philosophy, it is poetry. It does not propose,

it simply persuades. It does not argue, it simply sings.”

---Osho

The slave’s rut, worn smooth by countless feet,

was never really my soul’s domicile, though

I labored there with my chained brethren--

surrounded by those leaden-eyed, gray-skinned

worker bees, who at the end of each shift, gleefully

unsnapped their harnesses, and raced home

to their mind-numbing technology & toys--

whilst I , always the first to arrive & last to leave,

savored the puffy dandelions poking their sassy

heads out of the cracks in the concrete, marveled

at the mirth of the dust that danced in the perfect

bands of light, enjoying the horseplay between

sun & earth, shadows & radiation there on

the red linoleum of the employee restroom, smiling

at the fat hawk’s nest perched atop the phone pole

at the head of my alley, and always when I strode

gently across my back yard I longed to be

the magnificent Maple in my neighbor’s yard, just

supremely solid, tall, immovable, unblinking with

branches as thick as elephant legs, always

receptive but never judgmental, rooted

firmly in the Now;

bearing, wearing luxurious leaves without pride,

shedding them by the tubful when Autumn’s

death was upon them, within them; plugged

pugnaciously but not perniciously deep

into the spiritual girding of axis & reality,

the colonic cycle of Life, unafraid

of the woodsman’s axe, sweetly oblivious

to Homeland Security, the IRS, jihadists,

big screen plasma televisions, and war

games--both video & visceral;

and it has taught me without words,

now that my servitude has ended

and I busily tread the path from bondage

to freedom, I can immerse my self

in my Self, celebratory and joyous

that this time I eluded both faith & devotion

and have emerged from the chrysalis 

unscathed, still curious and creative;

barking like the vicious dog on the other side

of my Sears chain link fence, still seeking

some tiny particles of the greater Truth;

that which eternally defies definition, regardless

of how many lifetimes I have pursued it,

or of how many karmic pitfalls I have stumbled

into and pulled myself out of, or through.

At this juncture, imbedded in this moment,

I have fully accepted Leonard Cohen

as my personal prophet poet, Jikan, who

after several years of seclusion & meditation

on top of Mt. Baldy, came down and returned

to smoking,

to alcohol,

to women,

to song,

because he finally found the strength

to inactively enter the Zen dialogue:

“What is mind?

No matter.

What is Matter?

Never mind.”

Glenn Buttkus

May 2013

Posted over on sVerse Poets Poetics

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The Scrivener

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The Scrivener

“There is not a particle of life that

does not bear poetry within it.”

--Gustave Flaubert.

Wandering the width & breadth of landscapes

shared by the busy and the blind, I tend to

record tiny moments & events with my digital

lens & my poet’s quill; captured as my personal

tableaus of truth.

On some ancient barns and buildings,

where all trace of stairs & porches have crumbled

to dust, I am fascinated by those naked doors

to nowhere, extant but providing no access.

Wildflowers sometimes sprout out of bare brick,

clinging to life high above the street, creating

nourishment out of thin air and mist. 

On a tombstone I read that this man died

the year I was born, so we must have passed

each other in the dimensional ether, soon

forgetting the encounter. 

Rimless, but still geared, the rusted clutch

pressure plate seemed paralyzed at parade rest;

restrained by thistles it could only shift

the inert cogs of nothingness. 

Most clouds caught & mirrored in fresh puddles

love to dance a wicked shimmy. 

Piles of discarded signs in deep grass on empty lots

are where many politicians end up after the hurrahs. 

A toddler’s red tennis shoe atop a bright blue refuse

container makes me wonder why it was never retrieved. 

A twisted log, once a wave rider, now lies near the high tide

mark, unable to crawl any further, content to allow the sand

to weave it a warm blanket. 

Dead flowers left on the graves of dead loved ones,

still sustain a proud beauty when compared to

the dusty plastic ones alongside them.

When a wide city culvert becomes choked

with thriving weeds, it remains a reluctant

garden as growth trumps flow. 

I see far too many homeless picket fences,

no longer white, no longer functional, just

so many broken yellowed teeth in a sad wooden smile. 

Fire’s passionate embrace on flesh or other combustibles

invariably leaves deep dark scars forever, permanent

badges of courage or chance encounter. 

In Autumn I love to seek out the pumpkin dwarves

that cower in the cold shadows of their giant siblings.

Why is it that new windows recently installed in

empty houses do not spark inquiry?

Totem thunderbirds, eagles, & gulls possess

great spiritual power, but they reject all bread crumbs. 

Behind glass, the hot house ladies always dress up

in their most colorful attire for their club meetings. 

So many moments & significant things frozen

for future review and contemplation; they are

part of the cornucopia of discarded and hidden

treasures that are never-ending, and I will not

presume to effect change on them--for I am

but a humble scribe, and it is enough to notice

and acknowledge them. 

Glenn Buttkus

May 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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Dust Be My Destiny

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Dust Be My Destiny

“Tempt not a desperate man.”--William Shakespeare

When I consider 

my life-long love affair 

with movies, and 

my frenetic decade of pursuing a presence within them,

I tend to tromp upon objectivity

and too often am very tempted to regard

my mere eyelash of a career as an actor,

as pivotally more substantial than it was,

my talent as Herculean,

my bad luck as baleful,

my blink-and-you-missed it movie moments

as pure apex, as achievements, 

whiling away my retirement in vivid daydreams,

imagining that there never was more than

six degrees of separation between me

and artistic cinematic success--

playing the game, getting from

Matt Damon to Lauren Bacall

Damon in SAVING PRIVATE RYAN with Harve Presnell.

Presnell in PAINT YOUR WAGON with Lee Marvin.

Marvin in THE COMANCHEROS with John Wayne.

The Duke was in BLOOD ALLEY with Lauren Bacall.

Tim Blake Nelson to Glenn Buttkus

Nelson in THE ASTRONAUT FARMER with Billy Bob Thornton.

Thornton in PRIMARY COLORS with Rob Reiner.

Reiner in BULLETS OVER BROADWAY with Jack Warden.

Warden in NIGHT AND THE CITY with Eli Wallach.

Wallach in CINDERELLA LIBERTY with Glenn Buttkus.

Tony Shalboub to Humphrey Bogart

Shalboub in MEN IN BLACK with Tommy Lee Jones.

Jones in THE BETSY with Laurence Olivier.

Olivier in SPARTACUS with Peter Ustinov.

Ustinov in WE’RE NO ANGELS with Humphrey Bogart. 

Tina Fey to Glenn Buttkus

Fey in DATE NIGHT with Steve Carell.

Carell in HOPE SPRINGS with Tommy Lee Jones.

Jones IN THE ELECTRIC MIST with Ned Beatty.

Beatty in THE DEADLY TOWER with Kurt Russell.

Russell in THE LONGEST DRIVE with Glenn Buttkus.

Ted Dawson to Charles Laughton.

Dawson in DAD with Jack Lemmon.

Lemmon in GRUMPY OLD MEN with Burgess Meredith.

Meredith in ADVISE AND CONSENT with Charles Laughton.

Warren Oates to Glenn Buttkus

Oates in MAJOR DUNDEE with Charlton Heston.

Heston in THE BUCCANEER with Lorne Greene.

Greene in EARTHQUAKE with Lloyd Nolan.

Nolan in MY BOYS ARE GOOD BOYS with Glenn Buttkus.

Dolly Parton to Tuesday Weld

Parton in RHINESTONE with Sylvester Stallone.

Stallone in COP LAND with Harvey Keitel.

Keitel in THE TWO JAKES with Eli Wallach.

Wallach in THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN with Steve McQueen.

McQueen in THE CINCINATTI KID with Tuesday Weld. 

Chris Rock to Glenn Buttkus

Rock in DEATH AT A FUNERAL with Peter Dinklage.

Dinklage in THE STATION AGENT with Patricia Clarkson.

Clarkson in DOGVILLE with James Caan.

Caan in CINDERELLA LIBERTY with Glenn Buttkus.

Otto Kruger to Petulia Clark

Kruger in THE LAST COMMAND with Ernest Borgnine.

Borgnine in THE WILD BUNCH with William Holden.

Holden in SABRINA with Audrey Hepburn.

Hepburn in FUNNY FACE with Fred Astaire.

Astaire in FINIAN’S RAINBOW with Petulia Clark.

Bernie Mac to Glenn Buttkus

Mac in SOUL MEN with Samuel L. Jackson.

Jackson in SUNSET LIMITED with Tommy Lee Jones.

Jones in BLOWN AWAY with Jeff Bridges.

Bridges in WINTER KILLS with Ralph Meeker.

Meeker in MY BOYS ARE GOOD BOYS with Glenn Buttkus.

I tell you if a man is desperate enough

he can visualize himself as someone significant,

even though the truth reveals him to be

first a glittering speck of dust on some

pieces of celluloid, then reduced further

to a microscopic grove-blemish

on several digital discs;

no matter--

for posterity and the imp of ego

have in fact

provided him with standing room

at the back of a low dusty shelf

over at the Internet Movie Database,

where temptations tend to be reduced

to silent whimpers, dream-drool,

and blue font. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets OLN

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Hell On Seymour Avenue

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Hell on Seymour Avenue

“Everyone wanted answers that I was

not ready to give.”--Lucy Christopher “Stolen”

Ariel Castro behaved like a pitiful scared

teenager in court today, tortoise head down,

eyes down, mute, frightened--after he dared

imprison three young women, stripped & bound,

making Amanda, Gina, & Michelle live out his

sick fantasies, until at last they were found

and liberated from a tortured life that is

finally revealed; beaten, restrained with rope,

raped, impregnated, assaulted, miscarried--tis

a miracle that they survived, or could even cope

throughout a decade of stygian darkness--

and now they cling tenaciously to the hope

that they will ever forget the beastliness,

surmount bitterness & really find happiness. 

Glenn Buttkus

May 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets FFA

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Legacy

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Legacy

“Undeservedly, we will atone for the sins of our fathers.”

---Horace.

On a Grecian urn

in a dark museum, I remember

a painting of the wedding of 

Pirithous & Hippodamia of Lapith,

where the drunken Centaur guests decided

they would steal all of the women,

and the royal guards had to slay them,

winning the Battle of Centauromachy.

Later, I imagined, they all dined

on roasted Centaur steaks,

long strips of fried Stallion phallus

and hundreds of broiled eyeballs.

Before Christianity, before we found

our messianic prophet to worship,

men mated with the Gods

and whelped demi-god offspring.

Pirithous was rumored to be fathered by Zeus.

But after the nuptials, he soon became bored

with being a king & husband, and just decided

one day to seek out the warrior Theseus

and befriend him; which he did by stealing

some of the other’s cattle. When they met

in confrontation, they were so enamored 

of each other’s youth & prowess, they

immediately did a scene right out of

Brokeback Mountain, and began a Bromance

that would end badly. 

They immediately began searching for adventurous

mischief to engage in, deciding to steal the daughters

of Zeus. Theseus kidnapped Helen of Sparta,

who at 13 years of age was still too young to marry--

but Pirithous was much more ambitious, choosing

to steal Persephone, the wife of Hades.

Impressed by the boldness of the plan, they returned

Helen back to her mother, and soon were journeying

off to the Underworld. But the trip proved to be arduous,

even for these strong determined youth, 

so when they came to a great rock on a high hill,

they decided to stop there and rest.

Suddenly they were surrounded by Furies,

and as they attempted to rise and fight, 

they found themselves magically imprisoned

on the rock.

As in many of these legends, we must believe

that somehow Hercules had heard of their fate,

and he showed up, offering to assist them.

He did manage to free Theseus from the granite,

leaving most of his shapely buttocks still attached

to the stone. 

But when he tried to free Pirithous,

the earth began to shake and Hades appeared,

telling them that Pirithous’ crime was too grave,

wanting to steal the wife of a God, and that

he would only be released from the stone

upon his death. 

All of this was printed on a large placard

beneath the urn, and oddly, I had taken

the time to read it in its entirety. Just

silliness, goofy antics, just fodder

for future comic books and Hollywood epics,

I thought.

But sobering, troubling ideas bubbled

up from cortical magma--were these

myths & legends any more absurd

than pitting Christ against Mohammed,

Buddha against Joseph Smith,

the Torah against the Koran,

the Bible against the New York Times

editorial page?

Being incarnate creatures in lesson,

we have always sought the solace

of spiritual guidance. For those who seek,

we found that the Gnostic scrolls & the hushed

whispers of ascended masters among us,

of Atlantis, of Lemuria, seem to suggest

all of our religions descended from Mythos;

just another entertaining fascinating

set of stories, once recited orally around

great bonfires while feasting on mammoth ribs;

always provocative, manipulative, leading

many of us to strife, cruelty, & martyrdom,

a never ending path away from peace & brotherhood.

Will enough of us awaken from this nightmare

in order to cope with the second coming, or

extraterrestrial craft landing on the White House lawn?

Glenn Buttkus

May 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets--Poetics

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Pitfalls of Piety

Pitfalls of Piety 

“The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation

of words, for when you control the manipulation of words you control

the people.”--Philip K. Dick

When faced with overwhelming odds,

with a foe who packs the weight of wealth,

with weapons & technology that dwarf imagination,

coupled to the arrogance & resolve to continue

iron-fisted control over you & many of your peers,

then at some tipping point it is inherent in your nature 

to say No, rebel, defy, resist, protest, to take up arms,

to become a freedom fighter, a patriot to some,

proudly wearing the sash of liberty, slashing

at the grand behemoth guerilla-style,

hit-and-run, martyrdom, sacrifice, never

facing him on a specific battlefield;

and perhaps History, depending 

on which regime writes it,

will exonerate your cruel excesses

and extol your virtuous results,

or it might just paint you as demonic,

other-directed, overly zealous, misguided,

brain-washed, mentally ill, merely

the willing pawn of some more intelligent

puppet masters with their own dark agendas.

The scurrilous sticking point seems to be

our fears of mortality, our spiritual choices,

our nagging need to find succor in some

religious cartel, to find our inspiration

in dusty holy books & devout crusades--

for religion and gruesome greed sticks to politics

like a honeycomb shirt, like gunpowder residue,

and is not easily preventable, regulated, or 

scrubbed away. 

In a new world where corporations openly own

politicians, where profit & personal gain usurp

all the messages within the sacred texts

and revered constitutions, where amendments,

manipulation, partisanism, & sad accommodations

gum up the great gears of government,

where the hoary prizes of history,

like natural resources, precious metals,

& cheap labor still steer the course of events,

where extant have-not nations are controlled

by dangerous demagogues who are predictably

and easily bought & paid for, where enlightenment

is considered blasphemy, where love

is callously twisted into a commodity,

where compassion is considered a superfluous sentiment,

where we are habitually & continuously conned,

phished, bullied, herded, ruled, and

led by liars wearing the bright mantle of piety

and the valued accoutrements we have 

given up to them--

we need to pause and just wonder

where in hell is the wisdom & purity

of the catechisms we were all taught

to recite, of the treasured words

left for us by our founding fathers,

and where the path to greener pastures

is actually hidden. 

Glenn Buttkus

May 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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Conundrum Squared

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Conundrum Squared

“And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy

to his mighty heart, until the Devil whispered behind the leaves,

“It’s pretty, but is it Art?”.” ---Rudyard Kipling

1.

Again, again, Islamic extremism rears its ugly head,

as immigrant converts murder & maim innocent people;

Infidelism now is the jihadist slur America suffers.

2.

Christianity has been misused by zealots throughout history,

yet today too many view Islam as a religious cancer,

and mosques as breeding grounds for extremism & terror.

3.

Yet much of the world remains tranquil ensconced within

Buddhism, Bahai, Judaism, Hinduism, Sikhism, & Taoism.

Even the plethora of pagans prefer peace over chaos. 

4.

Does God, in his many guises, smile at our fervent posturing?

All inflexible worshippers seem to be lost in their stoicism,

and doves cannot fly in a vacuum of grief and misguided gall. 

Glenn Buttkus

April 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets FFA

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