Thursday, February 28, 2019

Quagmire Now




Iraqi Quagmire by latuffdeviantart. com


Quagmire Now

“My words in her mind; cold polished stones
sinking through a quagmire.”--James Joyce.

The world today is a worrisome place.
Almost war between India and Pakistan.
A very satisfied smirk on Kim Jong Um’s face.
Cohen paints Trump as racist, cheat, & con man.

Almost war between India and Pakistan.
Some hostilities are many centuries old.
Cohen paints Trump as racist, cheat, & con man.
In politics, the truth is hardly ever told.

Some hostilities are many centuries old.
Strife in Israel echos grievances from the past.
In politics, the truth is hardly ever told.
Changing minds cannot be accomplished fast.

Strife in Israel echos grievances from the past.
A very satisfied smirk on Kim Jong Um’s face.
Changing minds cannot be accomplished fast.
The world today is a worrisome place.



Glenn Buttkus

Pantoum

Post over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Never Forget




image from pinterest.com


Never Forget

We must develop the capacity to forgive--for
there is some good in the worst of us, and some
evil in the best of us.”--Martin Luther King.

Forgiveness is a bigger word
than love; more profound,
more letters, more complications.
It is the shining corner stone
for most religions.

I mean, we hope to hell
that there really is a God,
so that on Judgement Day,
He/It/She will forgive us our sins.

Even though I don’t think
the word asshole
is in the Bible, the Koran,
or the Tibetan Book of the Dead,
basically we count on some higher power
forgiving us for having been an asshole.

I am more comfortable
with the Zen notion that
our very own Higher Self--
you know, the spiritual entity
that continues to exist after
our divers meat sacks are discarded,
will be the only judge of our behavior
in this lifetime; the karmic debt
transfer issue is still confusing to me.

As my self, I find it difficult
to truly forgive anyone
for a pregnant plethora of possible
grievous and negative infractions.
I am able to accept, adjust,
and accommodate, but not actually
forgive--and certainly not forget.

It’s like I have a special chamber within,
where I file the injustices, inequities,
insults and injuries that I have suffered.
I don’t think of it as holding grudges;
rather I believe it is just logical
to keep track of the red flags,
cons, betrayals, and wounds.

I have been snake-bit.
I did not forgive the snake; 
I killed and ate it.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, February 25, 2019

Food Chain




image from dailymail.co.uk


Food Chain

“Mosquitoes remind us that we are not as high up
on the food chain as we think.”--Tom Wilson.

Sharks eat sea lions.
An orca eats sharks.
Sea lions eat yellow tail.
Tuna eat sardines and tropical fish.
Tropical fish eat insects;

and ironically damn mosquitos
chow down on me.

Hummingbirds sip their
nectar, as crows push them off
the bright red feeders.



Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Blackthorne--Episode 88




image from pinterest.com


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Eight

Brawlers

“Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate,
O anything of nothing first create.”
--William Shakespeare.

1(sound cue) guitar chord
2(medium close-up) Thor, his face reddening,
pulling off his shirt: Don’t give me any more of your 
pacifist bullshit! You know damn well what this about--
so just jerk your shirt off and get your fists up...or I 
will lay into you right where you stand.
3(two-shot) Salina came up to Buck and kissed him.
4(close-up) Thor: Only a slut would do that in public.
5(sound cue) Thor’s men laughing over blues guitar
slide.
6(medium close-up) Salina: Hey, these days, sluts
are something you’d know a lot about.
7(extreme close-up) Buck’s eyes simmering with fury
8(medium wide shot) Buck unbuttoning his shirt, his
back to the camera. Salina facing him, forcing a 
small grin, her chin quivering. Thor in the background,
slightly out of focus.
9(sound cue) harmonica huffing, accelerating slowly,
like a train picking up speed.
10(cut to overhead crane shot) People became 
hushed as they pushed back, letting the circle widen. 
Buck stepped further into it.
11( two steadicam operators) the fight will be handled
in wide shots, close-ups, and alternating POV’s. The
action will simply be described:
Thor came in slowly, circling the bigger man, dancing,
his fists windmilling. Buck stood flat-footed, turning to
face Thor at every point.
Thor: Come on, big man, now’s the time--show me 
how tough you are.
Buck didn’t even have his fists up.
Someone in the crowd yelled: Damn, are you two
fellers going to dance or fight?
Buck turned his head to answer, and Thor rushed
in, tackling him low, bringing the hunter to the boards.
The gunfighter hammered at Buck’s stomach, hitting
him with stiff punches. Buck swung a wide fist up 
from the floor, and it collided with the side of Thor’s
head, spinning him off. Buck partially sat up,
gulping for air. Thor leaped on top of him, twisting
a half-nelson over his head. Buck muscled up to
his knees, with Thor cursing and squeezing on him.
He squirmed around in the other’s grip, partially
facing him. The hunter wrapped his long thick arms
around the gunfighter, beginning to apply pressure 
of his own, squeezing the marrow out of Thor’s
ribs; both men immobile, frozen, straining and
squeezing, their eyes rolled back in the sockets,
their faces turning purple. One could have heard
a horseshoe nail drop.
           Thor exploded--kicking, squirming and
screaming. Buck held fast. The hardcase kicked
him in the leg, but Buck’s grip remained iron. Thor,
in a frenzy, kicked again and again, slamming the
hard heel of his shiny boot into Buck’s knee cap.
Buck howled and lurched sideways, rolling across
the floor, still clutching the smaller man. In the
middle of the third roll, with Buck on top, Thor
managed to rock backwards, and punched the
hunter in the throat. Buck let go and flopped over
on his back, as Thor scurried free.
              Buck stayed down as the hardcase
bounced to his feet. Buck got up to his hands and
knees. Thor leaped in and kicked him in the butt, the
thud filling the room, Thor’s gang cheered him on.
The hunter rocked up onto his shaky knees. Thor
kicked him in the small of the back. Buck caught his
balance with one arm--the black boot lashed out 
toward his stomach. Buck caught it with his other
hand. Thor jerked back, but Buck had hold of his
whole leg.
           As if in slow motion, the fighters pulled their
fist behind their ears and swung simultaneously.
Their clenched white-knuckled fists whizzed past
each other in the dead air. Thor’s blow landed
squarely on Buck’s jaw, and the hunter delivered
a smashing blow to the gunfighter’s groin. Buck’s
head snapped back, and the room began to spin.

...to be continued.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Arbeit Macht Frei




image from pinterest.com


Arbeit Macht Frei

“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it,
and eventually they will believe it.”
--Adolf Hitler

Our Emporer has no decency,
                             no conscience,
                             no compassion,
                             no discernible intellect,
                             no fidelity to the promises he made,
                             no loyalty to those who enabled, 
                             who elected and adored him,
                             no need to comprehend his own
                             job description, with
                             no need to tell the truth, or respect
                             it, or heed it.
  
We, the people, are privileged to be Americans,
free to witness our Republic being raped,
and forced to wear the rags of an Oligarchy,
at liberty to march in the streets, to inhale
tear gas, and to be hosts for rubber bullets,
               to preach on street corners,
               to write defiant poetry of dissent,
and most importantly of all--
               to vote in national elections,
even though voter suppression, gerrymandering,
fraud, extortion, and collusion
can reduce the full effect of our vote
to the stature of a popcorn fart.

It is hard for me to fathom
that in most other countries
things can be much worse;
where an offhand comment,
or a political cartoon, or an editorial
can constitute a death sentence.
Here, driving or walking while black,
brown, red, or yellow can garner
the same result.

Growing up in the upper/lower class,
being a blue collar firebrand, I have
always felt that the Privileged Class
were the super rich, the top 1%
that control 90% of the world’s wealth. 
In 74 years I have not encountered
anything to change my perspective.       

As a progressive clenched fist,
I must admit to flop-sweat nightmares
about jackbooted, bullet-proofed, SWAT
masked faces bursting into my home
at 3am, putting me in handcuffs
before sending me off to join my brethren
in Gulags, or death camps, or maybe 
just a Black Ops Detention Center  
where I will be reprogrammed 
and re-educated, to serve out 
my political penance before
I achieve Automaton status.                                                       



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Thursday, February 14, 2019

State Fair




image from bestofclassics.com


State Fair

“The Iowa State Fair sells fried sticks of butter--
nice to see how pro-life they are.”--Anonymous.

Marvelous fun awaits, in mid-summer at the
Washington State Fair, after paying the fee.
Cooking smells permeate like nectar for a bee.
Rollercoasters plunge making us yell Wheeee!

Barbecue, burgers, fish, and elephant ears--
winning Teddy bears bring us to joyful tears.
Driving bumper cars create loud rebel yells.
On the giant ferris wheel we face our fears. 

Cotton candy, jam scones, fudge and sugar corn.
Falling in the Space Drop makes one forlorn.
There’s pygmy pig races and pungent flower huts.
There’s shooting tin ducks, and red plastic horns--

chuck wagon parades and a real Cowboy Rodeo--
crossbows, swords, Bowie knives and a gun show--
sno-cones, yogurt and ice cream of every flavor,
and chess matches with formidable foes.

In the huge barns we’re greeted by lovely smells
of critter scat and fresh hay, plus sound of a cow bell.
We spent a lot of money, but what the hell,
we skip home humming “Farmer in the Dell”.



Glenn Buttkus

Rubaiyat

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

He's Not a Duck




image from disneycharactors.com


He’s Not a Duck

“Small men often feel a need to prove their
courage--but I doubt he could kill a duck.”
--George R. R. Martin.

But he certainly is a cartoon.
Over 8,000 lies in 742 days--
quite the torchlight of untruths,
even for a bilious gasbag
like T45. 

The last two years have been unreal,
even surreal. El Presidente truly
is the Emperor of Dark Souls, destined
to trod the path of exile.

I quake with terrible anger daily
as Diablo Jose Frump pretends
to be the God of War, he with
the frat boy’s draft dodging bone spurs
beneath a coward’s stripes.
My only portal to solace
is to launch salvos of humor
his direction

Surely, his deserved karmic destiny
will be that he’s remembered as the
                   Benito of Bumpkins, the
                       Prince of Morons, the
                      Statue of Stupidity, the                               
                    Aardvark of Asshats.

I do fear that if he just refuses
to be impeached, if he creates
a cadre of stormtrumpers to
protect himself, and then he
disbands Congress, he may appoint
himself as President for Life,
or he may just explode like a
gluttonous Monty Python character.

Meanwhile,
the lies are thick as gnats in August,
democracy bleeds from a thousand cuts,
overwatch is a sad ineffective joke,
and very soon there will be
another bevy of Fox News celebrities
that will be appointed
as the Secretaries of Everything.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, February 11, 2019

Love For Sale




image from simple.wikipedia.com


Love For Sale

“Hollywood is a place where they will pay you
a thousand dollars for a kiss, and fifty cents
 for your soul.”--Marilyn Monroe.

Audrey Hepburn liked to kiss.
Marilyn Monroe did not.
Tony Curtis once said:
Kissing Marilyn is like kissing Hitler.
She was a sex symbol
only on the outside;
that’s so sad.

Snowshoe rabbit has
only a camouflage; hawk’s talons
give the kiss of death.



Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Blackthorne--Episode 87




image from pulpartists.com


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Seven

Turnover

“Turnover is how high you bounce when you
hit bottom.”--Gen. George S. Patton.

1(sound cue) French horn and snare drum over
the crowd and the band.
2(crane shot--wide pan of the crowd) Tension swam
through the smokey air. The dancers never stopped.
The music kept squawking from the end of the room.
3(cut to medium close-up) Thor turned slowly:
Hop, you’re getting pretty damn big for your boots.
The Sheriff: They still fit alright.
4(four-shot) Johnny Eagle: Hey, Peno, are you 
brusco? Do you actually want to start a fight?
5(medium close-up) Thor, with his lips curled back:
A greasy halfbreed, a fucking runt sheriff, a guy that 
smells like buffalo shit, and a father that mixes sand 
with his sugar--I’m so happy for you, Salina!
6(sound cue) saxophone squeal and drum bap.
7(two-shot) over Thor’s shoulder, Salina slapped him
very hard. He slapped her right back, and she 
slumped into Buck’s arms.
8(steadicam wide shot with panning--jump cuts) 
Paulie used a blackjack behind Hop’s ear, knocking 
him down. Wallace went for Thor--Thor blocked the 
punch easily. Two burly ranch hands jumped on Johnny, 
pinning his arms behind him. Buck still held Salina, but 
maneuvered her to a nearby chair. The music and the 
dancing stopped. People were open-mouthed and silent. 
The deputy stood with his arms folded on his chest.
9(tighten the shot) Paulie now had the sheriff’s pistol,
pointing it at Buck: Should I blast his liver out, Thor?
10(sound cue) Guitar and harmonica.
11(medium close up) Thor: Easy, little brother. I do
agree that this big fellow needs a lesson, but don’t
shoot him just yet. We can do that some other time
12(medium wide.shot) Wallace tossed a glass of
punch in Thor’s face, and lunged at his waist. Thor
collided with Paulie, and his brother dropped the gun.
Buck rushed forward and slugged one of the men
who were holding Johnny. The Eagle used his free 
elbow to give the other man a kidney punch. A
pistol shot blasted a hole in the ceiling. The deputy
pushed his way to the combatants.
13(close-up) Deputy: Things are getting a bit
rough here!
14(two shot) Wallace: Damn you, Billy--you did not 
try to stop this until we got the upper hand!
Deputy: Appears to me that these two are the ones
having a dispute, and the rest of you are buttin’ in
where you don’t belong.
Wallace: What the deuce are you jabbering about?
Deputy: A fair fight between Thor and Buck.
Thor nodded and Buck smiled.
15(sound cue) guitar and accordion 
16(overhead crane wide shot) The crowd came alive.
They helped the Sheriff up, and pushed the tables, 
chairs, benches and bales against the walls. Thor
strolled across the open space to the far side.
Several of his men stood all about him.
17(medium close-up) Sheriff Hop stepped into the
middle, his gun regained, and most of his
consciousness: Calm down, folks, rubbing the back
of his neck and giving the stink eye to the Bronsons.
18(two-shot) Paulie was letting Thor take a big pull
from his silver decanter.
19(medium wide-shot) Sheriff: What a treat--looks like
we going to have a main event here tonight. These two
citizens have been at each other’s throat, for one 
reason or another, for weeks now.. This is the primary
reason everybody’s weapons are piled on that table
over there. So, what the hell, we’ll let them fight. It’ll
be bare knuckles, everything goes. It won’t be over
until someone gives up, or has to be carried out.
Buck stepped into the circle, flanked by Wallace
and the Eagle.
20(medium close-up) Buck: I keep telling the 
Bronsons that we don’t have anything to fight about.
21(voice over) Thor: Go to hell! 
22(close-up) Thor: You wanted a fist fight the other
day--skin not iron, remember? You are a big man,
but I will knock you on your goddamn ass!
23(sound cue) guitar blues slide.
24(close-up) Buck: What will it prove?



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

The New Kid




image from goodreads.com


The New Kid

“When I was the new kid, pussy was just a cat,
sex was just a gender, 69 was just a number, and
bang was just a sound.”--Anonymous.

I was far from invisible,
ten schools in ten years; incredible.
I became the sometimes pariah,
stranger and me indivisible.

I was the perpetual new kid,
popular as an arachnid;
growing up fast and hard, all fists
and intellect, making sure I did

not anger leaders, nor bully
their followers, making teachers fully
impressed, carving my place at the table,
living much of the time mid--gully

between friends and belligerent foes,
I stayed strong eating my Cheerios,
surfing more highs than undercurrent lows--
emerging with all my fingers and toes.

So I’ve never managed to be
invisible, though it could key
less stress and strife, happier me;
instead of always fighting and never flee.



Glenn Buttkus

Rubaiyat

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, February 4, 2019

Sentinels




image from flickr.com


Sentlnels 

“Loneliness is the poverty of the self; solitude is the
richness of self.”--Mary Sarton.

As a kid, I remember my mother saying,”Butch, I am
amazed at how much time you spend alone without,
apparently, being lonely. I would go to my room and
read, play games, sketch, study and daydream.
Ironically, it was never really a punishment for me to
be told to go to my room.

When I am alone--strolling, hiking, meditating, writing,
or using my camera, I’m in the zone, laser-focused;
feeling joyful, blissful and creative. When I’m single,
without a life partner, far from family and friends--
then in the midst of crowds, loneliness stabs my
chest like a heart attack, like a ghoulish demon
with depression as its companion, and it spreads
through my body like a virulent infection from a
wound.

The converse, of course, is that when I share
nature, travel or art with a loved one, I feel very
fulfilled, bursting with happiness, completed. I
no longer can enjoy a play, a film, or a sunset
without someone else in attendance. I believe
that solitude is essential for creative growth,
but it is fellowship that provides substantiation  
and validation.

Eagles mate for life,
but as sentinel hunters,
they value solitude.



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub