Blackthorne--Scene 71

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-One

Hostage

“When you have a child, the world has a 

hostage.”--Ernest Hemingway.

1(sound cue) harmonica & accordion. 

2(two-shot) Salina, over Wallace’s shoulder:

I am my father’s daughter.

Wallace, smiling : It’s just that you can’t close

your eyes, click your heels, and Thor disappears.

His kind of mean hangs in like colic. I think you 

should give some thought as to how to straighten

things out.

3(close-up) Salina : OK, Pop. I figured I would cross

that little bridge when I get to it.

4(medium close-up) Wallace : Damn, girl, you should

be fixing to find a way to let him down easy. He is not

used to being told No.

5(voice over) Salina: Well, there’s a first time for 

everything--followed by a chuckle.

6(sound cue) piano & harmonica.

7(cut to medium wide shot/exterior) An old buckboard

reined up out front. Johnny Eagle was driving it. A 

young black mustang jerked against his harness and 

the tall gray mule alongside him. Rod Buck pulled up

and stepped down off his huge roan. Wallace walked 

out on the porch, squinting into the east as golden rays

began to edge up over the sign on the CHINA DOLL.

Wallace wiped his liver-spotted calloused hands on his

clean apron.

8(three-shot) Wallace: Nice to see you. Did you run out

of chuck?

Buck: Among other things.

Wallace: Hey, John--then turned on his heel as the

Eagle returned his greeting with a silent nod.

Buck stepped up onto the porch: Do you want to 

come in, old brother?

Johnny: Not today, boss. I think I will wander down to

the cantina and shoot the buzzard shit with Mateo.

Buck: I’ll join you there later.

The Eagle jumped down from the wagon; Buck 

watched him making his way along the dusty street, 

watched how straight he carried himself, how his 

shoulder and arm muscles rippled as he walked.

9(sound cue) guitar & coronet.

10(two-shot) Wallace was in the doorway : So

what do you need on this fine morning?

Buck: I’ll need some paint for one--stepping into

the store behind Wallace--What have you got?

10(medium wide shot) Salina was still at the fabric

table. She straightened up and stared at Buck, not

pretending to work.

11(voice over) Wallace: What quantity & color?

12(close up) Buck: Enough to paint a rainbow on

your crapper.

13(two-shot) Salina, over Buck’s shoulder: What a 

colorful way of speaking. Good morning, Mr. Buck.

Buck: Good morning, Miss Salina.

Salina: Does Johnny Eagle work for you now? 

Buck: That’s what he tells me.

Wallace (as voice over) Blue, black, red, white and

green--a fine selection.

Salina: Fixing up the old place?

Buck: We stay in the bunkhouse for now. The house

needs a ton of work. After I get things presentable,

you might could come out for a visit.

Salina, smiling warmly: Yes, I might could.

14(sound cue) violin & flute.

15(two-shot) She returned to her fabric bolts. He 

spent an awkward moment considering what to say 

next when Wallace inquired:  What colors?

16(sound cue) heavy boot steps just before the front 

door swung open, awakening the bee hive of bells.

The Eagle rushed in, a bit out of breath: Boss, I think

you need to come with me right now.

17(three-shot) Buck: Hey, fierce one. I haven’t 

ordered anything yet--nor have I had time to ask

Miss Salina for a date.

18(medium close-up) Another smile from the lady.

19(two-shot) Buck: Just tell Mateo to wait a few 

minutes.

Johnny: It’s Chatawa.

Buck turned and the two men tramped out of the 

store. Wallace shrugged his shoulders & followed

them to the doorsill. A large crowd had gathered

down at the auction corrals.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Barbatos

painting by James Ryman 

Barbatos

“If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.”

--Tennessee Williams.

By day, I am nearly invisible as I bus tables and

wash dishes at Denny’s. I live in my grandmother’s

basement--a nice little apartment with it’s own

entrance. Gramm is hard of hearing, and for me

that’s a blessing.

By night, I troll the bus station, back alleys and

the gay bars. I’m a big handsome Swede, with 

long blond hair & deep blue eyes--looking like

Thor and shit. Though for years my sexual

preferences were conflicted, I seem to attract

gay men, so it’s just easier to score with them.

My father used to get drunk and beat the hell out 

of me, before he was stabbed & killed in a bar fight.

My mother was a crack addict, and she died when

I was 14, just after an older homosexual had given

me a ride from school, and raped me in his garden

shed. I could have stopped him, but hell, I enjoyed

the attention.

Five years ago I discovered that I preferred to have

sex with young boys who agreed to be mute and

non-responsive. I had a part-time job in a mortuary,

and I developed a real taste for necrophilia; but

most of the lover boys still made noise & moved

about.

So I made the decision to start killing them, so 

that my sexual & emotional needs could be more

adequately satiated, I’m very strong, so strangling

them was the easiest & quietest solution. Soon I

became expert at cutting up their bodies in the 

bath tub, and dissolving them in barrels of strong

chemicals. Gramm noticed I burned a lot of incense.

I told her I was converting to Hinduism.

One bright day, I got to staring at the neatly sliced

up portions of meat, and out of nowhere, I fired up

my oven and made a delicious roast out of buttocks.

To date I have slain 37 young men, and eaten a 

dozen of them. The last seven of them as a lark, I

saved their heads in my refrigerator. As I sink deeper

into the darkness of depravity, murder, and sweet

cannibalism--I have no regrets. At some point I will

be caught, and that’s as it should be. I will probably

get 20 consecutive life sentences, and after a few 

months I will be cornered in the shower room by

several men & stabbed in the eyes.

I have become a

demon--every night is like

Halloween for me.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Halloween

Compassionate Conflict

image from pinterest.com

Compassionate Conflict

“Kindness is a language the deaf can hear and

the blind can see.”--Mark Twain

Unfortunately, our kindness, like our compassion

and empathy, is that part of the human condition

that allows the unscrupulous among us to work

their cons, scams & lies--allows politicians to 

thrive, and lawyers to successfully defend the guilty.

I always feel the tingle of alacrity when a stranger

stops me in a parking lot, sharing some sob story,

asking for ten bucks for gas so that his pregnant

wife can get to the doctor; or those smiling sons

of bitches who come to my door offering bogus

services, or collecting data for a greedy corporation.

Yet if you approach me, then look me in the eyes,

tell me your situation. & I hear no alarms--I will 

give you food, a ride, or money, or all three. So,

yes, even though deceptions surround us, making

me paranoid, suspicious, or sarcastic--my heart

is still touchable.

Mighty maple first

puts on a show. then it

kindly shares its leaves.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Haibun

Nacori Cantina

image from flipsidesf.wordpress.com

Nacori Cantina

“BLOOD MERIDIAN seems to me to be the major

esthetic achievement of any living American writer.”

--Harold Bloom

Looking left,

the Judge’s pistol fired.

rolling clear--

got to his feet,

paying their respects,

the dead man fell;

Smith had drawn his Bowie,

the knife protruding,

dark arterial blood spray--

jabbing with their knives,

holding the wounds shut,

sound of gunfire--

stepping over several corpses,

huge pistols roared,

20 Mexicans shot to pieces;

bullet splinters blossoming out of the wood,

mud walls pocked with fresh holes,

blood splatter drenched stucco.

The Judge was like a cat,

sidestepping

he picked the man up;

screaming,

blood flowing from his ears,

the man did not get up.

Door frame filled

with smoke, jammed with

the dead and dying.

Suddenly,

a great ringing silence,

his back to the wall;

Figures stood frozen,

gunsmoke drifting through

like fog.

Glenn Buttkus

Blackout Poetics--Page 179

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Sichuan

image from penbaypilot.com

Sichuan

“I believe in my mask. The man I made up

is me.”--Sam Shepard.

On that first date,

the mask you wear

is mannequin--

not a wrinkle,

not a care.

Behind the Ray-Bans,

under the Borsalino,

you seem to have no eyes, 

                             no window

                             to peek within.

For the office,

facing the boss,

the smile is greasepaint;

sincerity is your loss.

Looking at your spouse

after decades of marriage,

you become the king of masks--

swishing through the mix

flawlessly, like an old Disney

flip-animation tablet, although

                       your actual face,

                       your real thoughts,

                       your genuine emotions

are making more appearances

monthly. 

But in the mirror, under

          the blade,

          the comb,

          the deodorant,

          the powder, paint & spray,

you watch daily

as the wild man

           with unruly hair,

several day’s growth of beard,

and bacon between his teeth,

            that guy you slept as,

            who hides nothing,

becomes

the scrubbed, button-down automaton, with

that day’s supply of masks geared up and 

ready to camouflage-one for every encounter,

who now is prepared to rush out and join the

counterfeit conflagration of all those other

frozen Com media faces on route to their ruts.

When do the masks we

choose finally fray--become

just unwearable?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Interruptus

image from inspirationseek.com

Interruptus

“The creak of bed springs suffering under the

weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound 

as I know”--Patrick deWitt.

Things that go creak

in the night,

like

loose gates,

cranky screen doors,

hardwood floors,

broken shingles,

and misaligned aging bones--

all can wake you,

or color your dreams,

forcing you to swim

up from the maelstrom 

of slumber to guppy-gulp

at consciousness.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

The Dead Sea

image from sites.psu.edu

The Dead Sea

“Destruction is man’s will; nevertheless remember

prevention can also be man’s will.”

--Babu Rajan.

Global warming is not our only problem with our

besieged oceans, nor are oil spills. After using our

seas as a toilet for thousands of years, it is man’s

garbage that is the primary culprit. We let 1.4

billion pounds of trash per year enter the ocean.

In addition there is run-off pollution, called non-

point sources.

I love seeing images of fish & marine life snarled in 

plastic refuse. There is a proliferation of micro-

plastics, pieces a few millimeters in size, just below 

the surface, from coastal garbage patches clear to 

the Arctic sea ice. Many pollutants create algae 

bloom, which in turn creates a dead zone. Habitats 

& reefs, normally teeming with life, are becoming inert 

biological deserts.

The sea is dying;

we are to blame--but it is

not too late to act.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun

J. Hump Records

image from breitbart.com

J. HUMP RECORDS

“I hear that Melania has a reoccurring nightmare--

she’s in bed pinned down under a 300 pound sack

of orange shit.” --Bill Maher.

Damn,

it was Little Bill who broke the news--

our President has let Rap become 

his new Muse.

Debonair Donny has found a way to expand his

base and rejuvenate his Presidency. BITCHES 5,

a new Rap group, performed at the White House

during Black History month. Midway during the

show, Trump leaped to his feet, turned his red

ball cap backwards & began to rap alongside the

performers. He and the lead singer began to bump

hips, then doing a facsimile tango while rapping 

in counterpoint duet. Everyone clapped, and our

President became smitten.

At three a.m., he began a Tweet storm:

OMG-I’m in lust with #Shakutth & she adores #Me.

My secret love with Rap has been revealed. She is

now my constant companion. Moving her now

into the WH. #She makes me feel 40 again! Am

appointing her the #SecretaryOfTheArts. That hag

Melania is out in the cold, while sexy foxy..

#Shakutth has captured my heart. Skank #Melania

will live in NJ; will not divorce her, cuz that could

stain my political image; she agreesOK

Shakutth is a gorgeous 25 year old NY-bred sassy

sometimes lesbian, who is half black & half Jewish.

She told CNN that her Lovey-Name for the

President is “J-Hump”. He created a record company

for her. Her first album, J. Hump Rules, has shot to

the top of the Pop charts, & is very popular in

Israel.

She is at his side 24/7, replacing Ivanka as his 

political advisor. “She is my chocolate Yoko Ono.”

She began to dress just like him, starting a new

fashion trend & resurrecting his Clothing Line.

His popularity numbers rose from 35% to 75%.

She stated to FOX & FRIENDS: I flat out told 

Jay--if you want to keep tapping this fine ass,

then it’s no more fucking Nazis. 

She recruited 50 of her LBGTQ friends to be her

Brown Shirt Posse, dressing them like Mussolini

thugs. They’re all strapped with pink Glocks. The

Secret Service works with them, all eager to do

photo-ops with the new entourage.

Jared & Ivanka throw huge parties now where the

BITCHES 5 perform, celebrating all the Jewish

high holy days. Our President goes to a Jewish

Temple on Saturdays, and a Baptist Church on 

Sundays. He has learned a lot of Yiddish epithets

which now spice up his Tweets. A rabbi has a new

office alongside the WH chapel. Trump has been

endorsed by Jews for Jesus & Woody Allen.

I’m now having a ball,

don’t need no fucking wall.

I told Little Rocket Man

that from now on he can keep his

regime cuz he’s part of my team.

I told all those losers in Europe

that they could suck my syrup,

while I’m banning all travel to Middle East

(cept for Israel) cuz my diplomacy is dope,

a fucking fantastic moveable feast. Yup,

and we fixed Obama Care--did it on a dare.

I tell you I could not be a happier man,

cuz Mexi-cants have turned into Mexi-cans.

and I’ve gone from being a sad sack zero

to a fucking red-white & blue super hero ! 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Pachyderms on Parade

painting by Samuel Adler Heydenn

Pachyderms on Parade

“I just shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he

got in my pajamas I’ll never know.”

--Groucho Marx.

Climate change is the elephant squatting

in the yard, tearing up important grass,

making mud, sucking up ponds, then spraying

trunk rain, eating hedges, showing its ass--

impervious; as all those who are crass

say global warming is just a bad joke,

but they are giving hornet’s nests a poke.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Dream Dancing

painting by Pedro Alvarez.

Dream Dancing

“Those who were seen dancing were thought to be

insane by those who could not hear the music,”

--Friedrich Nietzche.

Pepper breeze,

          melting lull,

               rose leaves,

                     dawn ghost,

                          curling bubble breath,

                      Spring balloons,

               fear giggle,

        green breeze,

cloud journey,

         storm scars,

                whisper jar

                        drizzle echo

                                    shimmering slip,

                        twisting leaves,

                  sound cue,

           spilling sparks,

   giggle shadow,

flickering,

dream dancing--

opening into that

actual

blissful hope.

Glenn Buttkus

Most all of the Quadrille words.

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Hold On, Pain Ends

wall art by Banksy

Hold On, Pain Ends

“Hope is patience with the lamp lit.”

--Tertullian

Does hope die

confronting adversity,

                   poor health,

                   overwhelming odds,

                   madness, chaos,

                   or evil?

                   No.

                  

                   Of course not.

               It is renewed

           with each sunrise,

                  every breath,

                  every heartbeat,

                  every smile,

                  every hug.

Hope conquers despair,

just as Spring dispatches Winter;

you can count on it.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Blackthorne--Scene 70

image from horowhenua.kete.net.nz

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy

Parenting

“The child supplies the power, but the parents

have to do the steering.”--Benjamin Spock.

1(sound cue) piano & harmonica

2(overhead crane shot) Blackthorne awakening,

kids & dogs running about. a few citizens on a

stroll, one wagon rolling down the street.

3(dolly shot) moving in to the General Store front.

4(medium wide shot) interior of the store; Henry

Wallace counting out his money for the morning

register.

5(close-up) twenty dollars in silver, ten in paper,

five in change; the same every morning.

6(medium wide shot) early rays of sunshine that

filtered in through the stained glass on his front

door, some emerald sprites of light dancing with

the dust along the plank floor, The words

GENERAL STORE covered the two front

windows, The red paint on the large letters was

peeling. Onions, pickles and bacon, tobacco &

leather, peppermint candy canes, linseed oil

and gunpowder smells chased each other 

around the cramped spaces.

7(sound cue) banjo & violin.

8(tighten the shot) Wallace hummed a song, 

matching the score, as he strolled over by the

front window with STORE painted on it. He tied

his clean linen apron around his thin waist.

9(medium close-up) Wallace staring out the 

widow at the few people outside. He had a

breakfast egg stain on one corner of his frost

mustache. He removed his reading glasses.

10(sound cue) Good morning, Pop--came a

cheerful voice behind him.

11(two-shot) He turned and nodded to his

daughter, Salina--his look thorny.

12(medium close-up) Salina--Is your back

bothering you again?

13(two-shot) over Salina’s shoulder--Wallace:

The only way I’m gonna cure my aches & pains

is to die. You may not realize this, but I’m not

getting younger.

Salina: Could have fooled me.

Wallace: Seriously (she laughed) when are you

going to give me a grandchild to go fishing with

--and when in the hell will you start minding the

store yourself?

14(close-up) Salina: Well, let’s see, if I get 

started today, you could have one in less than a

year. You know that I’m not ready to get married

yet, but for Christ’s sake, if you’re dead set on

having a grandchild to spoil, I’m sure that I can

find a dozen dull dicks around here to assist me 

in making one.

15(medium close-up) Wallace: Why do you always 

have to make a monkey’s ass out of me so early

of a morning?

16(sound cue) clarinet & accordion. 

17(wide two-shot) Salina chuckled, but did not

reply. She walked over to the fabrics table and

started folding & stacking the patterned bolts

of cotton and the colorful bolts of silk. Wallace

opened the front door, chiming the tiny welcome 

bells, and kicked a hand-carved doorstop under it.

Wallace: Thor Bronson was looking for you.

Salina: Damn, alert the society page.

Wallace: This is a small town. Sooner or later, you

are going to have to see him again.

Salina: He’d like that--but the skinny bastard leaves 

me cold--and like his brother, he spends too much

time with the whores.

Wallace: Seems like you didn’t always feel that way.

Salina: He behaved himself at first. I danced with him

a few times, had a picnic, drank moonshine with him

on the Fourth of July. Around here, that’s like being

engaged. I’m sick of it. Do you approve of him?

Wallace: Hell, no. He’s an arrogant asshole--but

hey, he is a Bronson.

Salina: And therein lies the problem.

Wallace: He’d put you up in a fine house, & treat

you like a prairie queen.

Salina: I’d rather marry a ranch hand & live in a tent.

Wallace: Talking to you is like talking to myself--I 

can’t make no headway.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Grammer's Wig

image by Tony Luciani

Grammer’s Wig

“The most wasted of all days is one

without laughter.”--e.e. cummings

my shoes fit not

many times post-yogurt

(no spit from sandals)

old man toenails because

in a mason jar gather gleam.

knows no one like troubled

church mice, their claws broken

pining for flight to nestle

in christ’s beard suspended

from penitent arches, wanting

to lick the painted tears.

loam-deep fingerless gloves as

concrete dwellers wine in their whine,

damn too busy app-pursuing to count

(ladybug’s dots) on table clothes

in the outhouse blue purity.

why do sheep weep as llamas cry,

(wolf masks dominate) october’s

last gasp as socks from crippled

dogs are launched at the moon,

barely a midnight slit.

after death sex lingers

with dignity, necklaced in poetry,

pursuing pedophile priests living

in cloud cracks, praying between

the lines, scourging themselves

with feather dusters as cherubs clap,

holding still wings of plastic blood-red.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Invasion

image from iambrose.deviantart.com 

Invasion

“You can almost hear the frost faeries moving in

--but first you hear the crackle of their wings.”

--Vera Nazarian,

My home is twenty short miles from the Cascades,

and in our valley, lulled by the last weak rays of

extended summer, we watch the snow level

easing down on the brawny shoulders of the

foothills. Mt. Rainier has already put on its winter

garb, thickened its glaciers, and covered all its

bareness.

My wife frantically picks her tomatoes. as the

blossoms wither and the stems droop. Tomorrow

morning it will be 38 degrees. The massive maple

next door is ablaze with autumn’s blush. We get

busy gathering boots, winter coats, covering outside

faucets, readying snow tires, and dusting off rusty

tire chains.

The nefarious frost faeries are gathering like clouds 

of icy mosquitos. We hear them buzzing at night,

like ravenous humming birds, approaching in dark

murderous murmurations from the east, coming 

ever closer, their chilled wings aflutter, their icy

fangs agape, their frozen gaze locked on us.

Great Maple stands so

ready to disrobe, needing

to shed its leaf skirt.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun