Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Blackthorne--Scene 47


image borrowed from photoshopytutorials.com


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Forty-Seven

Quest

“If those committed to the quest fail, they will be forgiven
--the endeavor alone is honorable, whether successful or
not.”--E.O. Wilson.

1(medium close-up) At first he ran alone out across the prairie
vastness, until the blood & warpaint sweated off him.
2(sound cue) piano & french horns.
3(cut to pulling back to overhead drone shot, in slow motion)
the gray-black specter loping, his hooves flashing silently, with
a rooster tail of white puffs, like an equine dust devil, rising up
behind him; this grandiose dappled fury.
4(cut to medium close-up) the stallion was standing at rest, his
spotted sides heaving slightly, bobbing his head, his long silver
mane standing out from his muscular neck in the breeze. A 
seething vermilion sun was rising up, its molten head breaking free
into cerulean shadows beyond the low rolling hills in the distance.
5(sound cue) coronet--soft  blasts.
6(medium close-up) The stud staring off toward the right of the frame.
7(sound cue) six-string strumming over the rolling thunder of horse hooves.
--with the morning dew & the wind whispering along the badlands, he
could finally smell them--the strong scent of los mestenos, the wild ones.
8(cut to medium wide shot) a ragged herd of dun & black mustangs enter
the frame from the right.
9(close-up) the stallion’s eye.
10(sound cue) the stud’s strong whinny.
11(medium static shot) as the majestic horse bolted & galloped off toward
the herd, his unshod hooves kicking up clods as he lunged. 

1(sound cue) saxophone low notes, harmonica & snare drums.
2(medium two-shot) Buck & the Eagle sitting atop their steeds, 
the Red & Jesus.
3(cut to medium close-up)
--Johnny: Do you see him? Sonofabitch--do you see that giant spotted
stallion?”--pointing down to the herd of horses on the flats below them.
4(two-shot) angle on Buck: An Appaloosa for sure. I had heard that some
stud renegades had run off from the Nez Pierce, but I’ve never seen one
this far east before. Damn, he’s a real vision!
5(angle on Johnny) over Buck’s shoulder:
--He is a medicine horse--a real buffalo hunter like you, a spotted monster
over those ponies! He’s just your size too. He’ll bring good luck. I can already
see many spotted colts among the new herd at your rancho.
Let’s go catch him!
6(sound cue) Indian seed rattle, trumpet & drum roll.
7(cut to medium wide shot) the two men unraveled their lariats
& nudged their steeds with their anxious knees. The two stallions
caught the scent of the mares below, & their flanks quivered.
8(cut to overhead drone shot) watching the two riders galloping
down the hill toward the herd of broncos-with Johnny in the lead.
The herd immediately came to life & began running out of the frame.
9(sound cue) piano, guitar & hooves.
10( cut to traveling vehicle tracking shot) the barrel-chested Appaloosa
ran at point, the vertex of the mustang living spearhead, quickly out-
distancing the others with huge leaps.
11(cut to wide overhead drone shot) for a time they all ran along
together, pounding along the prairie’s spine, flat out of the grass
into the sand, then into the cracked hard mud on the salt flats.
12(cut back to the traveling vehicle tracking shot) at first in slow
motion. Now there is just the three of them, the terrible trio of red,
silver & spotted studs, all their tails high, their dozen hooves tearing
at the salt.
13(cut to reverse traveling shot) close behind them, but from a slightly
higher perspective so that we can see the Appaloosa beginning to pull
away from them. Soon the pursuing strawberry & silver stallions begin
to feel the strain of their riders.
14(sound cue) blues guitar slide over tack creaking, horses breathing
hard & staccato hooves pummeling the ground.
15(medium close up) Buck & the Eagle leaning forward almost on the
necks of their horses.
16(tighter close up) in slow motion; the horse’s eyes bulging, the men’s
chins clamped, red & white withers lathering up.
17(overhead drone medium wide shot) the spotted stallion begins to
lengthen his lead.
18(cut back to vehicle tracking shot) this time in front of them, with the
Appaloosa moving closer to the lens, inching toward the center of the
frame. A marbled apparition berserk-galloping, his stride never slacking,
his strong legs never tiring--like he had heat lightning in his hooves &
invisible wings, his wide hooves barely touching the ground.
19(sound cue) drum solo over guitar licks.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Pub OLN


Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Sister Wife


image from themuslimtimes.org


Sister Wife

“Polygamy is a blessing, not an adversity.”
--Warren Jeffs.

My name is Kathryn. I turn 13 in November. My family, my  heritage
is Mormon. I won’t start higher education until next year. I am so 
pleased that I began to menstruate last year, & that I have large breasts 
for my age. I am an attractive redhead with sparkling green eyes. I do
well with my studies, & have been tested, revealing a high IQ.

My parents have decided, blessings be unto them, that I will soon marry
Craig Knowles, the spiritual Father of our sect. He is 53 years old, &
only has six other wives. The youngest was 12 when she joined the
bonding of his family. It is no secret that He has had his eye on me
since I was 11. 

I live on a beautiful 400 acre farm outside of Gunlock, Utah, near the
stunning red canyons in the south. St. George is the largest city close
to us. Craig, & his followers, who consider themselves Mormon
Fundamentalists, banded together & bought this land, which is now 
our holy sanctuary.

Craig was excommunicated by the LDS hierarchy more than 20 years
ago. He was righteous & zealous about his faith, & extolled the virtues
of polygamy within his temple, citing that Joseph Smith had 15 wives,
& Brigham Young had over 50 wives. Craig rejected the church’s
official discontinuation of polygamy in 1890, saying it was a hypocritical
smoke screen that allowed Utah to become a state.

I am home schooled, & I have studied our canonized LDS scripture.
My mother made sure that I paid special attention to Doctrine and
Covenant, Section 132, which helped me immensely to understand
& accept my sainted role in the life of our Elect community.

I am not ignorant or coerced. I know that most outsiders frown on
polygamy, are judgmental & ill-informed regarding its positive values.
I feel doubly blessed to have been hand-picked by Craig, our Spiritual
Father. My six future sister wives are already preparing me for the
wedding night & my future obligations. I will become pregnant as soon
as possible, & my love child will join Craig’s fourteen children, helping
to sustain our community & our beliefs. I am happy to be a part of the
more than 30,000 other fundamentalists who openly practice polygamy.

To be a sister
wife, is freedom blossoming
from mutual bliss.


Glenn Buttkus




Friday, September 25, 2015

The Secret


image from glogster,com


The Secret

Minimalistic beings of who
indigenous people do plain understand:
--Minnie Shabalala.


The huge ceramic & colored rock 
abstract wall structure surrounding
the playground, pocked with portholes,

inlaid with bright tiles, is very aware
that from every portal, some child
or other can gleefully discover


the verdant secret garden.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on With Real Toads
For Kerry & her HS students;
Inspired by Minnie Shabalala

The Truth


image from tumblr.com


The Truth

Time has seeped into
the cracks & crevices of
the once mighty Rome.
--Waseen Asmal.


Concrete flowers seem to gather
living lichen & mantles of moss
as their personal guests;

As do angels, sheep, bibles, & Celtic
crosses in ancient cemeteries;
where names fade under flora


and years lose their significance.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at With Real Toads
For Kerry & her HS students;
Inspired by Waseen Asmal--ROME

Feathers of Stone


image from rootfun.net


Feathers of Stone

I don’t want to be a cliche.”
--Cheron L’Estrange

Wrought iron, bronze, copper & aluminum,
as well as polished ceramic, pewter
& soft fragile soapstone birds

can never fly; but perhaps just
outside of the dimensional lines
their wings become rainbows


& they soar like joyful gulls.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at With Real Toads

For Kerry & her HS students;
Inspired by Cheron L'Strange--CLICHE

Ascension


image from modiglianigallery.org


Ascension

It was not a beautiful death.
It is not by machinery but by faith:
--Niska Ramkhelawan.

The Savior’s Cross coveted the role
of being the holy graphite
in Jehovah's Great Pencil.

Just humble wood, yet became a holy
symbol; for the crucifix will forever 
 be the launching pad for

the Son of Man’s blast-off.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at With Real Toads
for Kerry & her HS students, 
inspired by Niska Ramkhelawan--FAREWELL

Alice


image from slingsandarrowsofoutrageousfortune.com


Alice

Time will heal everything,
or at least that’s what they say;
--Niska Ramkhelawan

After the White Rabbit just
disappeared, Alice paused for
a moment staring into the darkness

of the lovely lepus lair, contemplating
Time, & challenging its authenticity
within this place & moment,

out of her body in mid-dream.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on With Real Toads
for Kerry & her HS students, inspired by Niska Ramkhelawan--YOU 





The Kindred of Nebula


image from the guardian.com


The Kindred of Nebula

Adrift in the sky,
An everlasting beauty
Hindered by the breaking dawn
--Nsiki Gwala.

So much to 
struggle with as we stare
into a night sky,

on the desert,
     or in the mountains     
          where stars bloom so thick
                     that the darkness recedes
                          to make room for their brilliance,
          as the mechanism of our soul engine
     begins to thrump like a Viking horn,
thrilled & fueled by the universal
light show.
                       You say that the shining jewels of the heavens
                       are held up by tender titans, God’s squad of
       worker bees--who are sun-blind in daylight,
       can only see after Sol has tangoed below
                       the horizon, bringing day to that
                       other hemisphere.

                       You say that you do not believe in ghosts, & yet here
                       they are;                  planets & suns & satellites
                       long dead;               imploded, exploded, burned out
in spectacular fireworks a billion universes away,
because light itself, one of the fleetest things we
are aware of, is in fact so slow, so lethargic within
the godhead schematic, we find ourselves 
worshipping ghosts, celebrating the deceased.

We are but dust mites
on grains of salt
endeavoring
to fathom quantum physics,
just sentient carbon units
aspiring to soar way beyond
our minuscule galaxy
to reach out, to contact
other forms of life;
God’s other children--our cosmic cousins.

Yet, isn’t it ironic that it takes a humble Jesuit pope
to remind us of both our inherent humanity & our
manifest stupidity, scolding us for molesting the earth
& each other.
                          Astronomy is
                          Not new, but our perceptions
                          of the stars could be.

     

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on Real Toads
influenced by Kerry's high school student's poems, specifically Nsiki Gwala over at somewhere i have never traveled

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Jisei as Jibe


image from buddhistchannel.tv


Jisei as Jibe

“Life & death are one, even as the river & the sea
are one.”--Khalil Gibran.

Kanshi

No one prepares for train wrecks,
when calamity runs amok;

As karma moves at breakneck
speeds when the Bullet jumps rails.

Can we learn to be a speck,
or recognize a portal,

Give up French as we leave Quebec?
Time to enter the Station.


Waka (Tanka)

Our loved ones have gone
on before us, & now they
gather in Bardo,
with smiles, open arms, bright faces--
as warm welcoming spirits.


Haiku

How lovely to know
my transition comes on
summer’s last sweet day.





image from teenink.com


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB
where Gayle asks us to write Japanese Death Poems.


Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Dancing Boys


image borrowed from thingsyoumissed.com


Dancing Boys

“Priests don’t like to say raped--they prefer misdeed, 
inappropriate touching, or a mistake. That is insulting.
I am not a mistake.”--Charles L. Bailey, Jr.
from THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.

What does Michael Jackson
& Wal-Mart have in common? Little
boys underwear half off.

I saw a haunting piece on CNN this morning, all about how the
American military has to turn a blind eye to the Afghan generals,
politicians, & religious leaders who all have sex slave young boy
companions. One prominent general said, “It is the way of things.
 I could not compete with the others if I did not have a boy”. I must
submit that sometimes for Westerners, the heart makes the 
simplest things so damn complicated--how the reality of things
allows Afghan leaders to go all Kite Runner & shit & we are expected
to respond like a muzzled declawed grizzly or a lioness with 
belladonna in her eyes; so that bold child rape can be excused as
some kind of acceptable Muslim socialization, that we must not tamper
with the sick, perverted Afghan customs for fear that we might disrupt
our fragile relationships with the men in power? For Christ’s sake, two
American sergeants were booted out of the Army for assaulting an
Afghan officer who was bragging about having sex with his boy. Have we
all gone insane?

Personally, the sordid fact that there are Catholic cardinals & bishops
who keep harems of alter boys dampens my enthusiasm for the
lauded arrival of Pope Francis at the White House today. Can you
image Obama in the Lincoln Room saying, “Welcome to America,
Frankie. Tell me though, what are your views on pedophile priests--
did you ever bugger young boys on your way up?”  It throws a
sickening shade like shadow dancers, that nauseating image of
young Afghan boys shaking their pre-adolescent butts for those
old men, who in my book are hardly a cut above those who practice
bestiality with farm animals, chickens, & dogs.

When I look at my beautiful grandchildren & think about all those
child pornographers & twisted demented predators who want to have
sex with them, who tweet & text to our children, I cum every time I
look at those craved images of you”, I get a little crazy, wanting to
shoot eggs with guns, or personally perform the rites of castration
that will swell the ranks of eunuchs. I don’t care that this moral stigma 
has been with mankind throughout recorded history, damn it, we need
stand our ground on this issue--even though our intervention
will do about as much good as it does to complain of the
Muslim treatment of women.

The rape of young boys
is unacceptable, within the church
or any other society.

Glenn Buttkus





Friday, September 18, 2015

Blackbird on Barbed Wire


image from seattletimes.com


Blackbird on Barbed Wire

Everybody knows the dice are loaded,
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed,
Everybody knows the war is over,
Everybody knows the good guys lost.
--Leonard Cohen

My Japanese friends still remember when the Puyallup Fairgrounds
were taken over by the U.S.Army in 1941, & converted to a
Japanese-American relocation camp, with barbed wire & searchlights
replacing the carnival rides, food booths, barns, & garden halls. There
were no rodeos held there for five years. At its peak, the camp’s 30
acres housed over 7,000 detainees. I still think about it whenever I
attend the Fair. 

Back in 1900 it was just a County Valley Fair,
then for decades we just called it the Puyallup Fair;
now it has the title of Washington State Fair,
runs 17 days, & hosts over a million visitors--
becoming a glitzy throbbing star of fairs,
capping its midnight closures with 10 minutes of fireworks.

I really dislike huge crowds, so even though I make an annual trek
to the fair, even people watching becomes tedious when the crowds
are so thick you can’t see your feet. One year I went by myself, entering
as soon as the gates opened at 8:30 am. knowing full well that I would
be able to prowl about with my camera, wandering like a wraith, snapping
great images of sunlit carnival colors, empty booths of chance with their
huge stuffed animals hung like swinging meat, & at rest shining ferris wheels. 

My three daughters loved the place, as most children do; now they take
our grandchildren there to SillyVille to stand in lines for 30 minutes to
enjoy a 5 minute ride on the Whirling Teacups,
                                   The Great Wave,
                            Fancy decked-out ponies,
                      the Tiny Tot Railroad,
                 the Lil’ Coaster, &
             the bumper cars.

“If you don’t become the ocean, you’ll be seasick every day.”
--Leonard Cohen.

The adult thrill rides are legendary,       the tall classic wooden
                                                     Giant Coaster,
                                                 the Inverter,
                                       Kamikaze,
                                   Super Loops,
                                 the Wild Cat, like a sleek
                    bullet train, or if you can
stomach the spinning rides, just hop aboard
     the Matterhorn,
                   Star Ship,
                           Zero Gravity,
                                  Wave Swayer,
                                       the Enterprise,
                                              the Monster, or
                                                        the Spider. 

My personal favorite is the Extreme Scream,
a 200 foot vertical tower with
chain-driven rows of seats
that chug slowly to the top
before dropping 180 feet in
three seconds.

                   After the rides one has to troll the savory
                   smoky food booths, because the overpowering
                   smell of fresh hot scones, elephant ears, fry bread,
                   cotton candy, tacos, spicy BBQ & Earthquake Burgers
                   draws you as if you were a starving refugee. 

When night falls, after retrieving a jacket from the car, you skip along,
dance & jig to rodeo horns, calliope pipes, several canned Carnie
chanties, thrilling to the blending of screams of delight & barker’s
bellowing, & the colorful blinking of circus lights embedded on
everything like massive costume jewelry. 

Ring the bells that can still ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There’s a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in--Leonard Cohen.


                                         
Glenn Buttkus