Thursday, August 30, 2018

Black and Blues




painting by Dusty Jonakin.


Black and Blues

“I never had the blues--no, the blues
always had me.”--Brownie McGhee.

You know they say
that a black snake moans
when it hears a mess
of thumping, banging blues.

Purists, piously munching pieces
of pigeon pot pie, would argue
that a snake can only hiss--

but I would be remiss
not to strongly disagree,
for when that silver slide bar zings
along those six cat gut strings, 
I tell you 

that old black snake moans,
like a gambler shaking his bones,
like ice cream without its cones,
like a scream the bitch actually owns,
like punks without their phones,
like a blade a thug will hone--
it just coils there all alone,
bobs its head back 
and damned sure moans;

joined by a hound dog howling,
and a tomcat screeching,
and a church mouse praying,
and a harnessed horse haranguing!

Hell’s fire,
you know it’s true--
banging blues always
does that to you.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Opposites Repel




Painting by Samiran Sarker


Opposites Repel

“I like nonsense--it wakes up the
brain cells.”--Dr. Seuss.

Nobody get get through this life
without encountering a plethora
of adages. Mostly
they state the obvious. but
not today.

For God‘s sake, leap before you look.

If you are ever lost, hesitate a while and
check the damn landmarks.

Light hands produce way too much work.

Too many broths will confuse the cooks.

Way too many Indians with no sign of any chiefs.

Free lunches are such things of daydreams.

Beware the folly of returning gifts to a Greek.

Never judge a cover by its book.

Cut twice--measure once.

A falling man should hit the ground with pride.

Always check a gift horse’s mouth, or you might
get screwed.

If it is free in life, too often it’s not the best.

Remember it’s a man who makes the clothes.

It is never better than when you’re habitually late.

You will never find it as you seek it.

You certainly can be hurt by the mysterious unknown.

Early worms always evade silly birds.

You can teach old tricks to a new dog.

A bush in the hand is worth two birds 
in a tree.

Do not hatch your chickens before they
are counted.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, August 27, 2018

Tears of a Dove





image from pixel.com


Tears of a Dove

“In Spring, the earth is like a child
who knows poems by heart.”
--Rainer Maria Rilke

Patriotism,
       Loyalty,
               Fidelity,
all things we cling to
within our neighborhoods,
                 schools,
                 cities,
                 counties,
                 states,
                 sports teams,
                 favorite pubs,
                 and countries;
complicated by our gender,
                               sexuality,
                               religion,
                               and political bent--

but how about we are all One--
all loving,
all related,
one homogenous family? 



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

Blackthorne--Scene 77




image of Colt .38 from pinterest.com 


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Seven

Challenge

“No one can challenge me better than
myself.”-- Troy Polamalu.

1(sound cue) piano and harmonica
2(two-shot) over Buck’s shoulder--Bronson:
What about him?
Buck: I figure you made your point real clear
the other day--and I also figure you really do not
need this horse. I do, and I‘m willing to buy him
from you; straight up business.
3(medium wide shot) Bronson turned to his
younger brother: So what do you say? The horse
is yours. Do you want to sell him to Mr. Buck?
4(close-up) Paul, his face turning red, his jaw set:
Are you putting this on me?
5(two-shot) Bronson: Like I said, it’s your horse,
kid--so you decide.
6(close-up) Buck, silent, his face composed.
7(medium close-up) Paul, his eyes darting back
and forth, then blurting out: I wouldn’t give that
injun-loving ragtail cocksucker the sweat of my
nuts if he was dying of thirst.
8(sound cue) a burst of laughter from the crowd
over banjo riff--then an awkward silence.
9(two-shot) Bronson: He doesn’t want a gift,
Pauly--he wants to pay for it.
10(medium wide shot) Paul jumped down from
the fence; his boots made a loud thud. Everyone
was quiet, waiting for him to speak. He spit into
the dust, uncomfortable.
11(medium close-up) Paul: Fuck it! Do what you
want. I don’t give a shit one way or the other.
12(wide shot) Paul tramped off toward his
sanctuary--the CHINA DOLL. 
13(sound cue) six-string chord slide & snare drum.
14(overhead drone shot) Paul walking away from
the corral--the wranglers milling & jawing.
15(three-shot) Bronson: Apparently, the horse
is just not for sale.
Buck nodded. 
Johnny Eagle chuckled and asked: So,
is that the final say?
Bronson: For now.
16(wide shot) Buck strode off in long steps
toward MATEO’S CANTINA, across the street.
Johnny swung in behind him. They were in the 
middle of the street when Thor’s deep voice 
halted them.
17(sound cue) trumpet and kettle drum.
18(medium close up) Thor: Hey, assholes!
19(two-shot) They turned slowly.
20(wide-shot/reverse--high angle crane shot)
Buck and the Eagle with backs to the camera,,
Bronson leaning against the fence, his arms
folded in quiet authority. Thor stood off from
the others, his right hand gloveless over his
.38; claws out, ready to tear flesh, to spill blood.
21(medium close up) Thor: Did you really think
that’s all there is to it?
22(close up) Buck: To what?
23(medium close-up) Thor: You ride in here 
pretty as you please, and you think your shit
doesn’t stink. You shoot up our saloon, beat
up my little brother, then get the barber shot,
then trespass on our land! Who the hell do
you think you are?
24(close-up) Buck: Someone who lived here
before you did--someone who’s come home.
25(close-up) Bronson: Careful, brother--he
might kill you.
26(sound cue) harmonica.
27(medium close-up) Thor: Stay out of this,
Cash! (not looking at him) This big bastard is 
going to learn some respect today--that or I
may shoot his ears off. 
28(two-shot) Buck: So, hardcase, do you want
want to fight right here, right now? as he and
Johnny stepped away from each other.  
29(wide shot) The three gunnies behind Thor 
spread out to compensate and the crowd
moved off to both sides, out of the line of fire.
30(medium close up) Buck: Alright, tough guy--
fists, blades or bullets?
31(close-up) Thor: I fight with this little hunk of 
iron on my leg, big man.
32(sound cue) blues guitar slide & Indian seed rattle.



Glenn Buttkus

Image posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Straw Jesus





painting by Candido Portinari


Straw Jesus

We must all make due with the rags of love we
find on the scarecrow of humanity.”
--Angela Carter.

Christ-like, here I am,
nailed to a wooden cross
made from broken barn boards.
I’ve got vine maple stick legs
shoved into worn out boots;
laces untied and tongues flapping
in the fertilized fecund breeze.

My faded and holy bibbed overalls
are held up by one good denim strap
and a large rusty safety pin.
The strap sports a brass clip, stamped
“can’t bust ‘em”. My red plaid shirt
is torn at the shoulder, and is missing
a pocket. My empty head is a taped-up
soccer ball, and my face is painted
onto a flour sack pulled tight.
My hat, like my torso, is comprised 
of sad sinuous straw.

I’m supposed to be the fierce guardian
of a vast corn field, but around here all
the crows are smarter than I am. 
They flock to me, perching on my 
outstretched arms and battered hat.
If I only had a brain, I might be able
to figure out how to properly scare
my friendly murder of crows.

One bright day while was just hanging
around contemplating my predicament,
a young girl in a blue dress, accompanied
by a tin man woodsman, strolled by. She
told me her named was Dorothy, and that
she was on a quest--and she asked me if
I wanted to join her. Since I was such a
failure in the field, I jumped at the chance
for some adventure; little did I know
what I was in for.

Flying monkeys came
by night, sent by a witch for
nefarious deeds.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

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

Thursday, August 2, 2018

Murder Most Kind




image from indiamart.com


Murder Most Kind

“The bible teaches us murder, for belief in a cruel
God makes a cruel man.” --Thomas Paine.

Whether it be blackberry blossoms
festooned with nasty thorns,

or a movie star’s feckless children
cashing in the family moniker
like a golden casino chip,

or a politician’s pretentious prodigy
strutting short on the world stage,

or a rosey-cheeked nephew stopping
by on a break from college,

or just something honeysuckle in the air
that renews your desperate need to fly
in your fevered dreams,

or even those damn weeds snaking
from the fissures they created
in your driveway --

once the days have slid past the Ides
and landed on March 21st,
an inexorable metamorphosis overrides
the dun doldrums of winter’s blight;

from the sad roots of dead tendrils
new life stirs, as Spring stabs
its stamen into the heart
of ailing Winter,

injecting fecund messengers
that will awaken frozen memories.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB