Blackthorne--Episode 95

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Ninety-Five

Alignment

“Building trust can be difficult. Turf wars, politics

and lack of solid alignment are the primary

obstacles to peace and prosperity.”

--Wyatt Earp.

1(sound cue) Piano and coronet.

2(overhead drone wide shot) The black carriage

traveling through low hills, ducking under some tall

trees, moving at a leisurely pace.

3(from above, the drone drops down toward the

carriage, then cut to a tracking travel shot)

4(cut to a two-shot) Buck and Salina.

Salina: The ranch is starting to look lived in.

Buck: Thanks, but it’ll be Fall before the place looks

worth a damn. I’m figuring on hiring another hand,

and Johnny and me need to catch some more wild

horses. I’ll need to find another good stud, then I’ll

be living in tall cotton. We may have to ride up to

Silver City to find the right stallion.

Salina: Both you and Johnny have stallions.

Buck: Red and Bob? Sure, they’re good animals,

but I want a stud with hellfire in its loins. You know,

a horse like that fine Appaloosa that Paul Bronson

rides from the Triple B to the China Doll every day.

5(two shot) over Buck’s shoulder.

Salina: Would you mind if I came out here once in

a while and pitched in?

6(close-up) Buck: Pitch in?

7(sound cue) Banjo and accordion.

8(medium close-up) Salina: Yes, I’ll wear britches, 

and get to hammering or painting or fence mending,

and be a general nuisance, if you let me.

9(two-shot) Buck: Girl, you know you don’t have to

ask. They looked at each other, then both laughed.

Salina: Thor limped around for a week after the fight.

How are you feeling?

Buck: I’m a bit stiff too; turns out old Thor was a lot

handier with his dukes than I had counted on.

Salina: Dad wants you to know that he, Mr. Hart, the

blacksmith, Doc Sweeney, and a couple others plan

on being there tomorrow when you have your

appointment with Bronson.

Buck: I’m much obliged.

10(cut to a prairie dog standing in his hole)

11(sound cue) the rumble of Salina’s carriage

approaching. The prairie dog drops out of sight

in his hole just as the ebony carriage, pulled by

palominos, comes around a corner, and passes

in front of the camera.

12(two-shot) Salina: I respect what you’re trying 

to do. A man’s life can be worth less than a horse

in this town.I’m curious though--I don’t  think that

you’re running scared, so why are you being so

easy-going with a son of a bitch like Bronson?

13(sound cue) snare drum and guitar chord over

Buck’s loud chuckle. He was still getting used to

her plain-spokenness.

Buck: Maybe I’ve lived long enough that I’ve

started to grow up. Maybe I’m more sure of

myself than some men. I could go all bullets

and knuckles on Bronson, but hey, let’s try

some diplomatic forays first.
13(two-shot) Salina: How do you figure

Bronson sees all this?

Buck: I aim to find out tomorrow.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub-OLN

Takhoma

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Takhoma

“In November 1885, a mob, led by the mayor of 

Tacoma, evicted several hundred Chinese from 

their homes, forced them to take a train to 

Portland, then burned their homes.

--Tacoma Tribune.

When I was a kid,

growing up a Seattle brat, 

30 miles south of us

was the sister city of Tacoma,

named after the Native American

term for Mt. Rainier--

Takhoma or Tahoma.

It had several pulp mills,

that fouled the air,

creating the Tacoma Aroma;

a stink like a cross between

rotted sauerkraut and rotten eggs.

After a decade

of living in California, 

I returned to the Pacific Northwest, 

finding that Seattle had become

high dollar real estate;

so I settled into the South Sound

and adopted Tacoma as home.

The pulp mills had been cleaned up,

which was a plus.

It’s a port city, built along

Commencement Bay.

It’s called the “City of Destiny”,

because in the late 1880’s,

it became the railhead

for the Northern Pacific,

before Seattle was connected;

starting a rivalry between them.

It is also called “America’s Most Walkable City.”

On a warm summer day,

one can have quite a walkabout,

walking along the Foss Waterway,.

passing by several yacht clubs

and fancy seafood restaurants,

dry docked fireboats, beaches, & parks.

There is an Old Town that runs parallel

to the waterfront, dotted with Pioneer

buildings mixed with new condos.

At the end of the walkway

there’s a city park, complete with

a huge Japanese Temple 

that is surrounded with Asian art and sculpture.

Then you come upon a ferry terminal;

connecting you to the many islands

in Puget Sound. It is inexpensive to walk on,

pick an island, and extend your walking tour.

Above the terminal there’s a winding road

that leads to a very large County Park

at Point Defiance. You start by checking

out a restored and relocated Hudson Bay

fur trading facility--Ft. Nisqually.

Walking further, you come to a fabulous

Zoo & Aquarium. Then you discover

an Arboretum, adjacent to a large garden.

Lastly you come to a viewpoint where one

can see the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.

Walking south out of the park, you enter the 

suburb of Ruston, a lovely mix of Victorian

homes and antique shops. A strong walker

can manage this seven mile jaunt

in one long day.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Poetics

Desecration

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Desecration

“”The triumphs of a scholar defies the desecration

of time, and the judgement of history.”

--Santiago Ramon Cajal.

17 miles south of Mt. Rushmore, in the Black Hills,

Custer County, South Dakota, Mt. Thunderhead

rises above the Sioux reservation. There is an

ongoing sculpting project memorializing the

Oglala Dakota warrior Chief Crazy Horse. His

exploits made him the Native American Lincoln;

including his prowess at the Battle of the Little

Big Horn.

In 1935, there was a movement to add his head

to the four Presidents on Rushmore. The federal

government would not support or fund such a

proposal. So the proud Sioux started their own

privately funded project to honor Crazy Horse.

They hired a Polish sculptor and started work in 1948.

In 2001, right after 9/11, they finished carving the 

face. It is 87’ tall. On Rushmore, those faces are 60’

high. After the original sculptor died in the 80’s, his

family took over the project. But after 60 years, the

monument is still an ongoing project, an unfinished

dream. If it’s ever completed, it will be a colossal

ninth wonder of the world. I visited it a decade ago,

and very little has been done on it. It remains a

testament to private achievement, but without the

Feds big bucks, it may never be completed.

Many traditional tribal elders do not like the

monument. They feel that carving on that wild

mountain is a pollution of the landscape. It would

be like carving a 100’ face of Jesus on a 

mountain in the Holy Land; more desecration than

memorial.

The Lakota Sioux stopped

Custer, but cannot stop those

sculpting Crazy Horse.

Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

No Means No

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No Means No

“Those who give up their essential liberty to obtain

relative safety, deserve neither liberty or safety.”

--Benjamin Franklin.

Today Trump is our President.

Most say he has stolen our liberty.

Perhaps anyone can become President.

Beware if they put their hands on our liberty.

The Donald is completely bent.

He’s quite willing to hijack our liberty.

He’s unable to stop himself.

He covets the treasure of our liberty.

The Oval Office has a filthy dent.

He greedily would hijack our liberty.

To most of us it is evident.

We should stop him with our liberty.

He just doesn’t get the hint.

He’s too busy reaching for our liberty.

Poor immigrants and the indigent.

He devours their promised liberty.

President for Life, he feels omnipotent.

Smile as you deliver up your liberty.

Alas, truly, I see him as impotent.

No means no, asshole.

Glenn Buttkus

Ghazal

Posted over at dVerse Poets,Pub MTB

The Night Queen

artwork by Mary Frances

The Night Queen

“There are no heroes.. . in life, the monsters win.”

--George R.R. Martin.

I live out of a back pack.

I am one of the last of the rail riders.

I hop the boxcars

on slow corners and steep grades.

They call me Boxcar Ben.

I swear, there are more shanty towns

and tent villages today than there ever

was in the Depression.

On warm nights, I love to climb atop

the cars, spread my red Navaho blanket

and lie on my back watching

the star show, one of the last free

moving pictures.

In my travels, I am humbled and saddened

by the huge numbers of homeless folks

I encounter. Some can be dangerous,

but most of them are just down on their luck.

My heart aches for the shivering children

with the upside down grins & hungry eyes.

I’ve been a proud boxcar bandit for 30 years.

I’ve had to fight to defend myself.

I’ve done jail time, gained weight on prison slop.

I was pretty sure that I knew everything

about hobo-hopping--but in 2010, in late July,

I was rolling steel through Louisiana.

I stopped at a homeless camp for a hot meal.

Several people warned me about the next

stretch of track. They claimed the area was

haunted by a monster they called the

Night Queen of the Railway Wastelands.

Cajuns prattle on a lot about their home-grown

monsters, so I didn’t pay much attention.

The next night I was riding the Southwest

Union Flyer, and was slicing through endless

swamp. I could smell the wet moss, bat shit, 

skunk cabbage and gators. It was around

midnight when the train slowed and stopped;

what the hell; turns out a ghostly herd

of Angus cattle were camped out on the tracks.

I sat in the open doorway with my legs dangling,

riven with alacrity, watching for railroad bulls

with clubs and hand cuffs. It was a humid,

dripping night, and there was a full moon.

Suddenly I heard branches popping

and breaking, and the brush shook. The air was

laced with the stench of rotted meat. I was

pole-axed with fear. A seven foot something

stepped out of the shadows, and stood staring

at me.

It wore an alligator head for a hat, and its fierce

face was werewolf-white, with red coals for eyes,

with long yellow canine teeth. It held a staff in

each hand that had human skulls atop them. The

tall lean body was covered with dark fur--on its

chest were two large breasts--definitely a female.

It opened its ferocious mouth and roared like

a cave bear.

I bolted to the back of the car, and scrambled up

the inside ladder. I crawled out on top the car and

peered over the edge. The Night Queen was gone,

but the slaughterhouse perfume still hung heavy

in the hot air. I sure as hell never set foot in cursed

Louisiana again. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Lords and Leeches

image from indiatoday.com

Lords and Leeches

“We have a very real responsibility to protest the

rich and powerful in the name of universal freedom.”

--Nelson Mandela.

I think about

India and North Korea,

the caste system,

and poverty--

and for a brief

moment,

I can stomach

the insufferable 1%,

and their clown prince;

then

my teeth clinch.

The sunrise was rich,

with hue and hope, promising

yet another new day.

Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted lover at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Blackthorne--Episode 94

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Ninety-Four

Three’s a Crowd

“Life, too, is like that. You live it forward, but

understand it backward.”--Anonymous.

1(sound cue) piano and harmonica.

2(cut to overhead drone shot) the three of them, 

with the team shuffling and bobbing their heads, 

their golden necks arched, their white manes and 

tails catching the breeze.

3(three shot) Buck: Uh-huh, we could do that. Hell,

we can go into the big house and take the sheets

off the dining room table.

Johnny: Christ, boss, that would be dustier than

out here. We’re not set up yet for company.

4(medium close up) Buck, all smiles, removing his hat,

and wiping his brow, and the inside of the hat band

with a red bandana: Well, compadre, this lovely lass

has swallowed a lot of dust coming all the way out 

here. So let’s not be rude. Let’s take some time off,

find some shade, and get after those vittles.

5(sound cue) violins.

6( cut to a three-shot) Salina began to look around for

a nearby pool of shade. Buck was staring at Johnny,

waiting for him to respond. The Eagle raised his chin,

and wiped the sweat from his neck. Silence reigned

for a elongated moment as they inhabited the

awkwardness.

7(sound cue) horses snorting, tack creaking, the 

springs complaining under the carriage seat as Salina

shifted her weight, free range chickens clucking, over

the sweet strings.

8(close up) Johnny: The truth is that I’ve got a lot of

chores to do around here, and my boss can be a real

asshole about slacking off. So why don’t you kids

leave me a couple pieces of chicken, and you two

skeedaddle off to the lake, and have yourselves a

proper picnic?

9( medium wide shot) Salina spurted out: I won’t

hear of it. I purposely packed this lunch for the three

of us, and I can’t see why all three of us don’t dash off 

to the lake for an hour. Will the ranch fall down if you

take a noon break?

Buck, looking slyly at the Eagle: Johnny, don’t

be silly. You don’t need to stay here. 

Johnny: No, I’ve made up my mind. You two

need to pound leather before you lose the beauty

of the day. Now, go--get out of here.

Salina laughed as Buck reached into the basket

after some fried chicken. Are you sure that you

want it this way?

Johnny nodded, smiling widely. Buck handed him

two hefty golden crusted pieces of chicken. Johnny

bit into one immediately, and said around the stringy
white meat: Can both of you swim?

Buck and Salina looked at each other.

Johnny: I’m going to be kind of busy around here, 

and I won’t have time to gallop up to the lake in

the event one of you falls in.

Buck winked at him, and climbed up on the seat

alongside Salina Wallace.

Johnny: Here, take the Winchester. You might could

run into some varmints along the way.

10(sound cue) guitar and banjo--joyfully.

Salina gave Buck the black dyed rawhide fancy reins,

and he swung the pair of palominos to the left, heading

east, past the barn, along a cowpath that hadn’t been

used for years. Cheewa chased after them. The Eagle

watched until they passed from sight behind a low mesa;

a midnight black carriage pulled by golden horses 

followed by an ebony dog--three shadow figures

shimmering in a world of mirage heat, distorted by the

distance, blending together as they dropped out of sight.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Twice Born

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Twice Born

“Geminis waltz around in life as they are 

perpetually transforming.”--Amita Ray.

There I am,

in the middle of June,

inhabiting the crux of Gemini.

As an actor, 

I paid a lot of attention to astrology;

as a teacher, 

I paid more attention to my students.

I’ve always had an abundance of ego,

but as a husband,

I pay more attention to my wife.

I am, as written and defined,

a dual personality,

an earthy intellectual.

My two faces

of Cantor and Pollux,

are back to back, so

they never meet each other.

Of course, 

no one fits perfectly

within the textbook references

as to who they really are.

Geminis are multi-faceted--check,

intelligent--damn rights,

outgoing--a Ham, type A, sure,

impulsive--blush, flinch,

unreliable--absolute baloney,

nosy--prefer inquisitive.

Gemini’s lucky color is yellow--

I prefer red;

they are ruled by Mercury--

but I prefer Mars;

lucky stone is emerald--

but I prefer rubies.

I share my sun sign with

Bob Dylan, Morgan Freeman,

Laurence Olivier, John Wayne,

Angelina Jolie, Johnny Depp,  & JFK.

If you are charmed by me, enjoy.

If I piss you off--keep your distance.

If I love you, be enveloped.

If I hate you, gird your loins.

I am what and who I am;

twice over.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Blackthorne--Episode 93

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Ninety-Three

Picnic

“Life is a picnic on a precipice.”--W.H. Auden.

1(sound cue) sweet piano and violins

2(cut to medium close up) Buck standing at the

bottom of the stairs, his arms folded.

3(sound cue) clank of metal.

4(reverse shot) Buck turning around, his stare

back up the stairs.

5(cut to the door of parent’s bedroom) a strong

breeze from an open upstairs window had

rattled the padlocks on the door; three rusty locks,

hung straight, one above the other.

6(roving crane shots) wandering about the house,

showing peeling paint, framed photographs and

Western prairie paintings, thick red velvet curtains,

fancy kerosene lamps, as we hear...

7(sound cue/Voice Over) Buck: Tomorrow I will

break those locks off, and take a look at my 

parent’s room. My father had taken all of his things

out of the room before he padlocked it. I want to 

see some of my mother’s things. It’s going to be

like opening a crypt, but I might find a bauble or

old photograph that will link yesterday to today.

It’s past time for me to make this house a home

again--not just lumber, nails, glass and tar. I need 

to stop looking at the lights in other people’s 

windows.

8(cut to exterior) We see Buck stepping out on the 

wide porch. Johnny Eagle was straddling the first

corral’s gate, his Winchester across his lap, staring

off to the North.

9(tracking shot) as Buck walks quickly over to the

corral.

10(sound cue) snare drum and guitar.

11(medium wide shot) Buck: What is it?

The Eagle pointed to a cloud of dust rising above

the horizon to the north of the house.

Someone’s coming; more than one horse.

Johnny was wearing a shell belt; something he 

seldom did.

12( two-shot) Buck: Kind of jumpy, aren’t

you?

Johnny: When does the shit fly?

Buck: I’m going to go see Bronson tomorrow.

Johnny: And you figure he’s going to be real

pleased to see you?

Buck: Couldn’t tell you--still I’m going to try to

settle some things with him.

Johnny: I’ll give my rabbit’s foot some tugs for

you; it might help.

Buck: I didn’t know you were Irish.

Johnny: I might be.

13( cut to overhead drone shot) a wagon came up

over the rise, moving fast. It slowed on the flats

below the big boulder, and started down the drive

toward the house.

14(sound cue) fiddle,and banjo.

Voice Over: Johnny: It’s Salina Wallace.

15(medium wide shot) Johnny dismounted from the

gate, on the inside of the corral. He propped his

rifle against the fence. Buck strolled out into the 

yard. Salina rolled up in a black leather carriage,

harnessed to a pair of palominos. 

Salina: Afternoon, Mr. Buck. Hi, Johnny!, her smile

broad, her voice joyous. The Eagle waved a greeting,

and began unsaddling a horse he was working with.

Buck: I notice you’re still Mistering me.

Salina: OK, Rod--I have a question for you.

Buck: Shoot.

Salina: Are you hungry?

Buck: Hell, I could eat. What’s in the basket?

Salina: Fried chicken, potato salad, biscuits and

blackberry pie...are you interested?

Buck: Damn tootin’, lady! We live on bacon and 

beans around here. You hear that, Johnny? This

fair maiden has brought us a feast!

16(sound cue) harmonica and fiddle.

Johnny put the work saddle over a rail sawhorse,

and tramped up to the fence. Salina sat with her

gloved hands in her lap. She wore a pleated riding

skirt, high riding boots, a Spanish peasant blouse,
and a flat green hat with tassels on it.

Johnny: Kind of hot and dusty for a picnic, ain’t it?

Salina: I figured we might go inside to enjoy the

vittles. How would that be?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--OLN