Thursday, January 31, 2019

Rubaiyat of Omar Jones




image from russiangeography.com

Rubaiyat of Omar Jones

“The moving finger writes, and having writ,
moves on.”--Edward Fitzgerald.

Omar was a big man, quite wide of
shoulder, narrow at the hips, doves
in his heart; but fury in his fists.
At church he experienced God’s love.

By day working hard in a steel mill,
at night working easy at his still;
brewing strong, clear, sweet moonshine,
and most mountain folks drank their fill.

Then old Uncle Sam used his damn draft.
When he got his greetings he just laughed.
Fuck ‘em he roared, grabbing his rifle--
rejecting a war he thought was daft.

But they ran him raw, right to ground.
He broke arms, and faces he did pound.
As they put him in prison, he hated the sound
of steel doors slamming; caged like a hound.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, January 29, 2019

Hell Hounds and Heralds




image from comixology.com


Hell Hounds and Heralds

“Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,
comes dancing from the east.”--John Milton.

Harbingers come
in all sizes and
disguises.

They can alert us
to the shifting solstice,
a time to furrow,
or to lie fallow.

They are tricksters,
can be anything
or any one;
an action
or an adjective.

Walt Whitman used its ancient
calling--to harbinge,
          --to lodge.

Back before the before,
when knighthood and the Crusades
were in vogue, they were often
squires, heralds and town criers.
During the Dark Ages, they came
fanged, as rats and reapers,
and death was their gift and embrace.

Sometimes they came as messengers,
and they were slain for their words.
At other times they might have been prophets,
and their sermon was both
celebrated and reviled.

A silver dollar flipping
in the air serves as one,
or a tangled barbed thistle
reclaiming things abandoned.

Even a deep-throated growl
can announce impending disaster,
or the devouring of an innocent.

Even God had to harbinge
Joseph and Mary in a stable of dung
when all accommodations
were filled with other pilgrims.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, January 28, 2019

Dragon's Breath




image from willametteweek.com 


Dragon’s Breath

“A wise man will not pour wildfire on a brazier.”
--George R. R. Martin.

No hillside
is too steep
for the undulating
wave of flames
from a voracious 
wildfire;

fueled by
one discarded cigarette,
aided by steeping temps
and howling winds--
stew of death.

Top of the larch is
bare--lightning struck, becoming spire
or charred sad steeple.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Blackthorne--Episode 86




image from telegraph.co.uk


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Six

Conflict

“Difficulties are meant to rouse, not discourage.
The human spirit grows stronger by conflict.”
--William Ellery Channing.

1(overhead wide crane shot) Farmer’s daughters,
whores, old maids and young maidens whirled about
with the the dancing; their petticoats flashing clean,
white and frilly--hoots and hollers like Rebel yells,
and stamping feet sounding like a brigade marching.
The great hay-strewn place steamed from the hot
excited mass of people who jumped about and
sweated in it.
2(cut to medium steadicam wide shot) To the left of
the band platform, stood a less active knot of folks.
Bronson had sent over some of his painted ladies;
all cleavage, bright hair combs, and lace. Buck
recognized the fat whore he had been with his first
day in town. Paulie stood alongside his ginger-haired
girlfriend, holding a punch glass full of whiskey;
already tipsy. Thor stood tall in their midst, and when 
Buck’s eyes got to him, once again he had been 
watching Buck, waiting to be noticed. Cash was not
there. Thor was not wearing a gun.
3(cut to a two-shot) Salina: Didn’t you come here to
dance? Buck turned to her: Yes, Ma’dam, I did!
4(steadicam traveling shots) He got lost in her bright
eyes. Seeing no one else after that, they stepped into
the middle of the milling bodies. He swung, twirled.
jumped and hopped with her for a frantic forty minutes.
They came to a halt after a particularly fast dance,
stepping to the side, both smiling, both short of
breath. Salina hugged him. He put an arm around her
tiny waist, and gave her a sweaty peck on her rosy
cheek. He steered her to the punch bowl. Her father
was still manning his post.
5(cut to a three-shot) Wallace: I see you are still on 
your feet; congratulations.
Buck: I haven’t danced that much since the time the
pigs ate my cousin!
Salina: Dad, are you going to stay glued to this punch
bowl all evening? There are plenty of good-looking
women here that are dying to dance with you.
Wallace: The hell you say, daughter? None of these
fore-mentioned ladies have asked me to dance yet.
Salina: They tell me that it’s the gentleman who is
supposed to ask the lady for a dance.
Wallace: Don’t give me that bull...you asked Buck,
didn’t you?
Salina: Is it possible that you have sampled more
than your share of the punch?
Wallace: I’m every bit as handsome as Rod..so I
will just stand here a wait for my charm and good
looks to overwhelm one of these ladies.
6(two-shot) Buck: Would you like some punch?
--asking Salina. Love some, she replied, radiant
and happy.
7(sound cue--voice over) How about filling mine?
8(four-shot) They turned to find Thor, his back to
the camera: Made me powerful thirsty just
watching you two kicking up your heels.
9(medium close-up) Buck, forcing a grin: Sure.
10(four-shot) Buck’s back to the camera, Thor
with a cruel smile. Buck reached out and took
Thor’s empty punch glass. 
11(close-up) Wallace: Hey, Thor--how’s the
rawhiding business? 
12(medium close-up) Thor chuckled, and cracked
a wide smile; he had big white teeth, like a mule
in his thin face. Thor: Damn, Henry, are you trying
to bait me?
13(two-shot) Wallace: Why in Christ’s world would
I want to do that?
Thor: Oh, I don’t know, maybe to show off in front
of your daughter and her date, perhaps to just put
a burr in my blanket, because you know that I would
never lay a hand on you.
Wallace: Is that right?
Salina: Dad...
Wallace: You owe me nothing, Mr. Hardcase. 
Everybody knows that my daughter wants nothing
to do with you anymore, and I would like to add to
that I never liked you.
Here, Buck interrupted, handing a full glass of punch
to Thor, who took it, sipped from it, and said: You
know, buffman, you’re one royal pain in the ass.
So are you, sheriff Joe Hop said from behind
Thor. The Eagle stood alongside him.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub O

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Dog Dancing




image from pinterest.com


Dog Dancing

“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance.”
--Confucius.

The dapper dalmatians decided to come
to town on Thursday night, because they
knew that’s when the sweet but dumb
girlie dachshunds were completely okay
with burning hunks of canine spotted love.
They twirled and teased in their pleated skirts
while dog stars twinkled happily far above--
dancing hot like very sexy frankfurts.
Then the pampered poodles showed up,
and those perfumed posers tried to steal
the long ladies from those speckled pups;
but the girls spurned them--honoring their deal

with the tall freckled boys who brought them;
since the ladies were all dusky gems.



Glenn Buttkus

Sonnet

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Darkness, Darkness




painting from saatchiart.com


Darkness, Darkness

“Confession is always weakness. A grave soul
keeps its own secrets, and takes its own
punishment in silence.”--Dorothy Dix

Why in hell
do we sometimes fall
into the wrong crowd?
Wanting/needing to belong,
                            to be included,
                            to feel secure,
                            to feel superior?

Any of us could stumble
into this tiger trap, when others
appeal to the demons of our worst nature.

My career as a civil servant started out, of course,
with me being the newbie, searching for my place
at the table. In my department there were three
individuals that seemed to run things, had the place
wired, were privileged, outspoken, and had been
there for years.

I worked hard at being accepted by these chaps,
finally succeeding, becoming a member of the gang.
The downside was that the lynchpin was a devious,
divisive, deeply depressed man, who loved to bully
and belittle others. I allowed myself to become very
arrogant, aggressive, apathetic, mean-spirited and
even dishonest--fitting right in.

Years passed, and the Teflon Don
became the Chief of the Clinic, the Boss.
After succumbing to the darkest imps
and marching lock-step to the boss’s
cruelest urges--I awoke
from my pathetic pretense
and refused to be his lieutenant any longer.
I stood up to him, and called him out
for being the manic ape in the corner office,
ersatz dictator, drunkard, druggie, womanizer,
con man, liar and thief that he was.

He became unhinged, launching
a campaign to get me fired,
turning my supposed friends
against me. In the end, somehow
I withstood the shit storm, and kept
my job. The sycophants treated me
as pariah. I persevered for the long haul,
making it to 25 years of service.
As I retired, I emerged true to my self,
but deeply ashamed
of my sojourn into darkness.



Glenn Buttkus

Confessional Poetry

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, January 14, 2019

Winter's Grail




painting by Tony D'Amico 


Winter’s Grail

“The first snow is like the first love.”
--Lara Biyuts

The northern climes suffer winter’s disdain,
buried in tons of icy snow,
which is fine if you’re a Dane.

In southern climes, at least
winter clears out the smog;
hot diggity damn.


Silver tip sleeps like
something comatose, waiting
for the change to Spring.



Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille 44

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Blackthorne--Episode 85




image from arizonabarndance.com


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Five

Dosado

“That’s the way God made her--sunshine mixed
with a little hurricane.”--Country song lyrics.

1(medium wide-shot) They stopped at the foot of
the Grange steps. Chatawa was tied next to Thor’s
black. The Appaloosa whinied, and his eyes calmed 
when he recognized Buck. Salina climbed up the
few stairs, her petticoats rustling, and sat on the top
step. She folded her gloved hands on her lap and
waited. Buck stroked the stallion’s neck.
2(sound cue) musical tumult emitting from inside.
3(close-up) Salina, around a small smile: Is that
the horse people say Bronson stole from you?,
admiring both the horse and the man before her.
4(two shot) Buck: More or less. We call him 
Chatawa.
Salina: I think that’s Paulie’s saddle. I’m surprised
he would ride a horse like that.
Buck: Yeah, me too.
He walked up to her, forcing a grin. She stood up.
He held out his elbow, and motioned to the door
with his other hand. Salina placed her arm in his,
twirled around, and they entered the open doors.
5(cut to a reverse shot) as they entered the Grange.
Next to the entrance was a long table loaded with
pistols, rifles and knives.
6(most of the shots for this interior will be done
with a steadicam).
An older woman with rosy cheeks and a flowered
dress was checking the weapons.
7(sound cue) music and crowd noise heightened.
8(three-shot) Salina: Good evening, Mrs. Hart.
Mrs. Hart: Hello, Salina. Don’t you look lovely?
Would your gentleman friend please check his
weapons?
Buck unbuckled his gun belt and plunked the 
Thunderer and the sawed off shotgun down with
the rest of the deadly iron.
9(jump cut close-up) of the big stack of guns.
Buck check his hat with the lady too.
10(overhead crane wide-shot) Inside the large
barn-like hall, a huge knot of people churned
all over the floor, and lined the sides.
11(close up) Buck’s eyes.
12(medium wide shot) He saw Joe Hop first.
The sheriff sat on the edge of a hastily erected
bandstand.
13(medium close-up) Hop’s blue eyes sparkled.
He was hatless, like most of the men in the room;
his sleeves were rolled up on his denim shirt, and
his big arms were folded across his chest. He was 
still wearing his handgun, and the holster was tied
down. His sheriff’s badge glinted in the light.
14(cut to a wide shot) His deputy stood across the
room, leaning against a post; tall and shy, his wide
shoulders and thin arms comfortable. He, too, wore
his pistol. 
15(tighten the shot) The bandstand platform stood
at the far end of the room. Bales of pungent dusty
hay sat to each side of it for decoration. Barrels,
boxes, benches and chairs were occupied by folks
down both sides of the room to the front door. 
Kerosene lanterns hung hot by the dozens.
16(dolly toward the bandstand) A lean red-headed
farmer in a brown plaid shirt, wearing a bright red
neckerchief, called the dances. He was middle-
aged, and his damp hair hung on his forehead. He
had a large Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down
as he growled out the steps: Heel, toe and dosey-doe.
 17(tighten the shot) There were four musicians on
the platform behind him. Three older men and a boy.
A tossle-haired blond kid in bibbed overalls, and no
shoes, playing an accordion. A bearded older man
played the fiddle. A short fat man played the banjo,
and a very tall reed thin man played the harmonica.
18(cut to medium two-shot) Buck and Salina were
clapping their hands, while others who could not, or
would not dance, stamped their boots to the tempo.
19(jump cut roving the room) dancers whirling, hands
clapping, feet tapping.
20(sound cue) loud music, whooping, stomping, 
whistling and wahooing.
21(cut to a medium wide shot) To the right of the 
bandstand was a waist-high table covered with a
linen tablecloth, and in the middle of it sat a fancy
bowl of moss green punch. Behind it stood Henry
Wallace and Johnny Eagle, as servers. Wallace
was talking excitedly, using his hands, holding
Johnny’s attention. Henry wore an old black suit,
and it still fit him well.
22(cut to close-up) Buck’s face, looking to his left.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OL

Monday, January 7, 2019

The Launching




image from businessinsider.com


The Launching

“I have faith that God often uses our deepest
pain as the launching pad for our greatest
calling.”--Yolanda Hadid

January is two-faced, called Janus by the ancients,
which sounds like Janis, who was my girlfriend for
two months in second grade--coming and going,
arrival and departure; like Gemini, ying and yang,
sun and moon, duality and duplicity, point and rear
guard.

Launching a new year, rife with football and humus,
while still glancing back at the past year; the first
wake of an ocean voyage, watching the harbor
shrink, then disappear, as the flat gray horizon,
the massive dun maw of nothingness is yawning
across your bow.

February is your destination, with paper hearts,
sweet meats and question marks awaiting you.
You have taken this voyage many times before,
wherein you resolve to change up your routine
and make better choices. Good luck with that,
for the fleet of the world sails all around you, and
their terrible tillers are all turned to cross over
your charted course.

Winter’s upon us;
naked trees, leaden skies greet
silence without birds.



Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Friday, January 4, 2019

Gorilla in the Garage




image from deviantart.com


Gorilla in the Garage

“To be clear, climate change is a true 800 pound 
gorilla in the room.”
--Debbie Wasserman Schultz.

The vastness of our oceans is polluted.
Our precious forests are dry as tinder.
Too many people seem to be deluded.

Nature was forever a generous lender,
but we have always been voracious takers--
like heroin addicts on a deadly bender.

Scientists today are called over-reactive fakers;
truth becomes pariah, facts said to betray--
yet there still might be time to become makers

of a brighter future, denizens of much better days,
removing our ever present ignorant blinders,
growing proud trees every sunny May,

letting go mindless devastation, becoming finders
and caretakers, kicking out the never-minders .



Glenn Buttkus

Sonnet

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

Nazis in Atlantis




image from collectiveevolution.clom


Nazis in Atlantis

“It was a memorial to Atlantis, those stone buoys 
that mark a drowned world.”--Christopher Hitchens.

What if,
after the Great Flood,
the angry seas
did not recede, and
our ancestor dolphins
developed arms and legs
as their superior intellect
allowed them to create vast civilizations
under the water, the same basic
continental regions that became
independent undersea kingdoms?

Technology would have developed,.
and we would have flying submarines,
huge kelp farms and tuna ranches.
As a species, we would live to be 200
because our diet would be ocean-based.
Of course, the seas would become polluted
and we would look to the stars
for refuge and succor.

What if the Confederacy
had won the Civil War,
and the Nazis had won WWII?
What if we had used the atomic bomb
on North Korea in order
to be victorious in 1953?
What if we had used nuclear weapons
to turn the tide in Viet Nam in 1968,
likewise in the Middle East in 2005?
We would be the bringers
of scorched earth and nuclear winter.

What if every President
had been dictators,
and we only had ten of them
since 1868, where our dystopian
world view would have created
a darkness, where Donald Trump
would not have been an anomaly
and he would have been
assassinated by his generals
during his first State of the Union address?

Given a vote,
I would choose the amphibian version
of history, where I would enjoy
clam and oyster ale,
living in a water-logged democracy
and Flipper Ferguson
could have been President.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets P