Thursday, August 14, 2014

The Biggest Lie



image borrowed from bing


The Biggest Lie

“Roswell was real, & one day soon governmental & public skepticism
about UFOs will shift dramatically.” --Astronaut Gordon Cooper.

June 14, 1947
when I was three years
old, ranch foreman

William Brazel, working
on the Foster homestead reported
finding “some kind

of flying disc”
that had crashed on the
ranch, 30 miles

north of Roswell, NM; his son had found it first. On the fourth of July, they
returned to gather up debris from a 500 foot long gouging trench at the crash
site. He took a burlap bag of the space junk into Roswell, & turned it over
to the excited Sheriff Wilcox.

Roswell Daily Record
July 8, 1947

RAAF Captures Flying Saucer On
Ranch in Roswell Region

The sheriff called the Roswell Army Air Field, where Col. Tibbets had flown
the Enola Gay out of--on its fateful way to Hiroshima. The Air Force sent the
debris to another base at Ft. Worth, TX, & that’s when the fabricated story was
released about the crash simply being a weather balloon. The story was soon
buried, forgotten, until the 1980’s when it was reported that dozens of witnesses
were surfacing, no longer frightened of government threats if they talked, 
saying,“The debris was not made on this earth; it had super strength, yet was 
thin as tin foil. A suppressed report of another UFO crash in Socorro, NM, 
surfaced, that happened a few days after the one in Roswell. Former mortician, 
Glenn Dennis reported that he witnessed “three alien bodies, one of them still 
alive” at the base in Roswell.

In July 2007, I stood in the old Roswell UFO museum, in a converted movie 
theater downtown, pouring over a huge wall map that showed a red dotted line 
triangle drawn from Area 51, Edwards AFB, & the China Lake Naval Weapons 
Center; an area I was very acquainted with, having had my own UFO sighting 
there in 1982. An elderly man approached me, introducing himself as Glenn 
Dennis; we chuckled at having the same first name. He was part of the 
museum staff. We talked about my sighting, and he requested that I come into 
an anteroom, & recount my incident for the record, to be added to their 
archives; the room was huge & there were thousands of incident report 
folders & tapes on shelves I made my report, signed an affidavit, & I felt 
vindicated, elated, honored.

Everything fades in
the blistering SW sun, but
in the dog

days of summer,
people still see strange crafts
buzzing the night

skies over the
desert; such a common occurrence
these days, it

becomes a non-event;
but some of us know better,
some of us know
the truth. 



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

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Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Home From the Hill



painting by barbara humphreys


Home From the Hill

“Home is the sailor, home from the sea--& the hunter
home from the hill.”--Robert Louis Stevenson.

                          H  O  M  E:
A residency,
         a place where one lives,
                                    a dwelling,
                                             a hogan, teepee, or tent,
                                                            a crib, a shit hole, an abandoned
building, under a bridge, the mean streets, the planet, a warm place where          
                            a family unit can keep out of the storm,
                            an undiscovered country,
                            a dot on the landscape,
                            a red roof with two chimneys as seen
from some Google satellite;

                            A brick house next to, & rented from 
A Baptist church in Ballard.
                            
                           Another house in Greenwood, with
a grapeless arbor leading to dead grass in the backyard,
            with a low roof over the back porch,
            that I could walk out on from my bedroom window,
            & pick the ripest pears from the top of a majestic tree;
                            
A Victorian farm house in Coventry,
                                              when it was still country,
                            next to a large barn where I learned to play
                                               handball, with a wide creek crossing
                            the south end of the property, where we were
                            serenaded by a bullfrog chorus nightly,
& up on the hill, into a green belt, that tree house my little brother
& I built from saplings,
                     short fir & alder branches, pounded
                     together with huge nails we found in a rotting bag
in the barn, strung between four Douglas fir,
                     used thrice, then forgotten. 
       
                     Another farm house, this one rudimentary, near
Panther Lake, built up on stilts, with plenty of room beneath it
to pile our extra junk, 
                    where we actually had to use an outhouse,
                    summer & winter, & I had to chop the wood
for the two wood stoves, slicing into my foot once with a hatchet,
                    where my loving grandfather, who
                                     felt sorry for our pioneer plight,
                        came out for over a month, dug us a cesspool,
                        put in a septic tank,
and installed a real toilet on the back porch,
                        where we had to hang Army surplus wool blankets
                        that smelled like gun oil & stinky feet for privacy.

                        A large wood frame house right on a main street,
across from a park, one block from an elementary school,
rented from Delridge Auto Sales next door,
                       that had a three car garage, where
                       my Dad, trying to please my sister,
                       bought an old swayback mare, kept it in there,
                       so that we kids & our friends could ride it
up & down the alley until the neighbors complained &
one afternoon the cops came & spirited the nag away;
                       where at 12 years old I was given
                                  my first car; a 1939 Buick, and instructed
to take it all apart, then put it back together again, so that I could
learn about such things.”--which I did, spending two months
                       creating big piles of doors, fenders, & engine parts;
                       but what I actually learned was that
I had no viable mechanical aptitude, & could not put it back together
                       again--disgusted, my Dad tossed all the parts onto
the naked rusted frame, & had it hauled away.

Ten elementary schools,
three Junior Highs,
two high schools--and although we never ran around in colorful
Romani wagons
              or lived in a storefront,
                                  gypsies we were;
so when I think about Home, it was not ever
                                  merely a structure, it was more a place
                                  where my heart resided--
for it became my own responsibility
to calm my restless spirit,
to put down roots,
to work for one employer more than twenty years,
to find the right person to share my life with,
to raise up three daughters,
to create a semblance of permanency,
               a place where grandchildren can visit,
               where old bones could find solace,
               where a heart could memorize lullabies. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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Thursday, August 7, 2014

Five Lunes Deep



all images by glenn buttkus


Five Lunes Deep

“3,5,3--my form is not syllable based. It is a
self-contained tercet.”--Jack Collom.



Some golden
dragons disguise themselves
as Hudsons.

**************************************



A broken
cross actually masks
aching hearts.

*****************************************



Thomas lies
smiling at his
leaf embrace.

********************************************



Ever notice
that some bridges
are abstract?

********************************************



Zukeman bore
the cross for
two hours.

**********************************************


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB/FFA

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Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Phantasmagoria



image borrowed from bing


Phantasmagoria

“Life is the grimmest & the merriest motley of  phantasmagoria
that will appeal to the gravest or maddest brush ever brought
to palette.”--Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

For Harold Hare, the cities
                                  where made up
                                             of burrows;
and he never subscribed
                                  to the notion that some creatures,
                                  like sea horses, beavers, slugs & lady bugs,
                                  endorsed; a silly theory
that cities were made up of burroughs; absolute clap trap. 

In his harried world, fantasy
was not an illusion. Superman did wonderful
                  commercials for laser & spandex corporations.
                                Spiderman opened up a chain of
                                Exterminator Companies;

G.I. Joe & Sgt. Rock were WWA superstars. 
                  Miss Buffy was a bed bug,
                                & she was skilled as a dust mite slayer.
Commericial icon Flo was banned
from ever mentioning any kind of insurance again,
& she became allergic to bright red lipstick.

                   All cars could talk, could
                   hold intelligent conversations with road graders;
none of this Your door is ajar crap.
                   John Deere ran for political office
& now is the senior Senator from Iowa. Alligators in Florida
& Louisiana went on strike, & the Everglades
                                      were closed down & sold to Bill Gates
                     who turned it into a popular nudist colony. 

Red dragons were discovered,
                      living in exile in condo caves
                      within Mt. Olympus in WA state,
& CA petitioned that they be returned to the Redwood Ghettos,
a place, according to a dragon spokesssserpent,
                      “We would rather burn down to red stumps than
be forced to live in again.”

Batman is selling gentleman’s dress capes
                   in a new department store in Cleveland,
while Robin, now grown up & bitter, 
                   has shaved his head & turned 
                   to the dark side, becoming a leader in a Neo-Nazi
compound at Hayden Lake, ID. 

Captain America suddenly aged tremendously,
                   becoming 93 years old--something about
                                    his Comic-Con expiration date;
so Ted Turner, ever the humanitarian,
                                    hired Cap to be a
                                    military consultant for CNN. 

Air Bus is now manufacturing personal jet packs for commuters,
and has been testing them          in the busy skies of Liverpool,
                                    but there are nasty rumors
                       that drunken fliers have been buzzing innocent
                       pedestrians, & pouring state beer
                                    on baby buggies. 

Chickens, it has been reported, have resorted
                       to becoming prostitutes in Detroit,
& several Chicken Ranch Bordellos have become wildly
successful. Colonel Sanders has become a Pimp Daddy,
                       opening several Chicken Lingerie Shops, which
are now rivaling the infamous Sheep Lingerie Shops
                       in Montana.                  Glenn Beck has thrown his
considerable influence & support to the chickens, stating:
                               “There is nothing better than a threesome
                               with a pair of sexy Hen Whores.”

Yet another revival of the musical CATS
has been picketed by urban cats of all stripes, 
carrying small signs that read:
              Musical theater is demeaning to all felines.”
Fritz, the lead yowler of the punk group HAIRBALL HAREM,
is doing free concerts to raise funds for this effort. 
               Broadway producers have hired
               Lassie & Rin Tin Tin as lawyers,
& we all know this high-powered duo of litigators always
get their teeth into the posteriors of the opposition. 

Breaking News--Harold Hare is considering
putting together a luxurious line
of Lewis Carroll fashion jewelry, & he would welcome any
& all investors to step up ASAP.


Glenn Buttkus 

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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Thursday, July 31, 2014

Primordial Paradelle



image borrowed from bing


Primordial Paradelle

“The primordial sea indefatigably repeats the same words,
& casts up the same astonished beings on the same seashore.”
--Albert Camus.


Have you ever spent the night in the forest alone?
          Have you ever spent the night in the forest alone?
The noises from the darkness can be frightful.
          The noises from the darkness can be frightful.
The night noises from the forest, alone in the darkness
          can have you be the frightful.

Staring into the flames of your campfire,
          Staring into the flames of your campfire,
You thump the blade of your skinning knife.
           You thump the blade of your skinning knife.
You thump, staring into the blade of your campfire,
            skinning the flames of your knife.

Finally, unable to sleep; restless and angry,
            Finally, unable to sleep; restless & angry,
You & your knife leap into the shadows.
            You & your knife leap into the shadows.
Angry & restless, unable to leap into sleep--
            finally you, the knife, & your shadows.

The darkness can be angry, & finally frightful.
You have spent the night alone, staring 
into the forest. The shadows, the noises 
leap into your campfire flames; restless, unable 
to sleep, you thump your knife blade--
ever the skinning knife.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

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Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Timothy Leary Is Dead



image borrowed from bing


Timothy Leary is Dead

“Think for yourselves, & always question authority.”
--Timothy Leary. 

It was 1968,
           San Diego, CA.       I was in the Navy, struggling
                                      to keep myself from being shipped
to Viet Nam.

Timothy Francis Leary was
coming to town;            a one night “Lecture Performance”
at a local theater. I felt that I had go to see him,
                                     this man that a few months later
President Nixon would call, The most dangerous man in America.

Leary,
a Harvard Psychologist & Professor,
                 used hallucinogenic drugs
                 like Lycergic Acid Diethylamide,
                       peyote/mescaline &
                       psilocylin mushrooms,
                 claiming that they all had therapeutic potentials
for incredible breakthroughs in Psychiatry.

“Turn on, tune in, & drop out.”
were the tagline on the posters downtown.
Leary, I thought could walk the walk,
having spent time behind bars in 29 different jails
as testament to his principles.

I had done my research on non-drug induced
                        states of consciousness;    meditation,
                                                                   trance,
                                                                   yoga,
                                                                   religious ecstasy,
                                                                   dreams &
                                                                   out-of-body experiences;
that to have a psychedelic experience, one needed
to understand that it was not the drug
                       that produced the transcendent event--
                       it merely was the key
that unlocked & opened the mind; freeing
                       the central nervous system
                                                       of its ordinary patterns.

Sure, when I arrived at the Theater,
                   I was offered those LSD sugar cubes,
                                         the dried magic mushrooms
                                         & the green chunks of peyote--
but I passed on all of them.

The place was packed, & the overwhelming
stench of unwashed hippy bodies
& marijuana smoke nearly choked me, spiced up
                    by two Buddhist monks in yellow robes
                    swinging their incense burners, while
three sitar players set the mood.

Leary entered to cheers,
walked regally to center stage
all dressed in Nehru-white,
and plopped down into the Lotus position,
                     which he maintained for two hours.
                     Ram Dass sat on his right, while
                     Allen Ginsberg sat on his left.

Between musical interludes, he spoke wonderfully
about metaphysical postulates, 
          scientific principles,
          Fascist politics & Life.             When at last he stood up,
                                      I leaped to my feet,
                                      fascinated, intrigued, entranced,
                                      ready to go AWOL,
                                      ready to drop out,
                                      ready to become a disciple.

But he turned & strolled off stage with his entourage 
not noticing me or my enthusiasm,
                                      my voice lost
                     in the middle of that great stoned throbbing throng.

He walked off stage into
the welcoming arms
of the the San Diego PD--
                & I had to reconstruct & reconfigure
                my soaring synapsis’ before
returning to NAS Miramar. 

               

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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Saturday, July 26, 2014

Blackthorne--a 55



image borrowed from bing


Blackthorne--a 55

“From birth to age 18, a girl needs good parents;
from 18 to 35 she needs good looks;
from 35 to 55 she needs a good personality;
& after 55 she needs a lot of cash.”--Sophie Tucker.

Sheriff Hop
seems to be
a badass;

Deputy Marcus
appears to be
a prick;

Barber Barnes
is gut-shot--we
hope he’ll survive;

Rod Buck
is staring into the barrels
of his own weapons,
hands on his hips,
eyes defiant;

Storekeeper Wallace
is speaking up for Buck--

& we have yet
to meet his daughter.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted on over at dVerse Poets OLN