Past Perfect

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Past Perfect

“Those who do not learn from the past are doomed

to repeat it.”--George Santayana.

Nostalgia can be a double-edged sword,

bright things chosen, dreamt of,

joys risen, lessons taught

then forgot, aspects

of truth slain, the facts spun,

mere illusions wove

from fallen memories;

but do we ever actually recall

who it was that bled,

who was bitten,

what was broken,

what was bought,

who was caught,

who came when sought,

who won or lost,

how many were shot,

who spoke at the rally,

how many times she was stung,

how bad the tap water stank,

what ballad was sung,

who it was ran the fastest

while others sat mute, undone, withdrawn,

what we ate ten Thursdays ago for lunch,

who was taken by the authorities,

how many lives have been torn asunder

by our pride, hubris, apathy, & ego,

how many opportunities we blew,

how our parents felt when we fled,

how much vodka we drank on our 21st birthday,

how we finally came to grace,

yet clung to stupidity

& kept repeating mistakes?

What had been

shown--then forgot,

created--then begot,

began--but soon lost,

shaken--not stirred,

looked at but not seen,

ridden but not mastered,

sprung but not freed,

chilled but not frozen?

Is the past given to us

only as secrets to be kept?

Is what we finally became

something we ever dealt with?

Can we ever 

be woken from false memories,

be shat from self-imposed dungeons,

be sworn to absolute secrecy,

be widely known as 

someone who is

honest, held in esteem, 

hidden from harm,

drawn from accuracy,

given a third chance,

allowed to let the Truth

be hewn from the entrails

of what we have already

written?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB  

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Blackthorne--Scene Eighteen

image borrowed from bing

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighteen

Pursuit

“Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice--

and moderation in the pursuit of justice is no

virtue.”--Barry Goldwater.

1(sound cue) guitar joined by a banjo.

2(cut to medium wide shot--angle on) Saloon upstairs hallway.

3(two-shot, angle on) Buck as he rushes past Millie back

into her room.

4(medium close up) Buck picking up his gun belt, & buckling it on

over his underwear; Thunderer on his right, sawed-off on his left. 

5(sound cue) Middle Eastern tongue chant over a base drum beat.

6(two-shot) Buck pushing past Millie, moving back into the hallway.

7(medium close-up) Millie standing mute, holding a damp sheet

up to cover her nakedness.

8(cut to a crane shot) Buck rushing down the wide staircase,

barefoot & bellicose.

9(sound cue) saxophone & harmonica duo.

10( camera reversing, pulling back) from Buck as he rushes

toward it.

11(close-up, angle on) his bare feet as he hits the floor.

12(angle on the nearest table top)

--as it is overturned,

--glasses of beer spilling,

--playing cards taking flight,

--customers scrambling out the way.

13(sound cues) glass breaking, angry men swearing, &

furniture banging together.

14(medium shot, angle on) Buck sweeping a chair out of the way.

15( hold on shot, angle on) Buck’s back--him almost at the front

door, customers on their feet--no one attempting to stop him.

16(sound cues) harmonica huffing over snare drum beats.

17(cut to exterior of the Saloon, angle on) the swinging doors

as Buck charges through them.

17(camera reverse tracks) as Buck reaches the street,

a gun in each hand. 

18(medium close-up) Buck quickly looks both directions.

19 (several jump shot inserts):

--a mother hugging her daughter close to her skirts,

--a small boy in a big hat staring wide-eyed,

--the storekeeper, standing in front of his store, hands

on his hips,

--a wagon stopping in the street, the driver pulling up

hard on the reins,

--two old men leaning forward on their twisted canes.

20(sound cue) blues guitar chords.

21(cut to angle on the adjacent alley) dust rising up, with

Buck’s black dog running in excited circles at the head of it.

22(angle on Buck) as he appears at the top of the alley.

23(close-up) Buck: shit!

24(medium close-up) a pile of broken glass and window

frame splinters.

25(camera pulls back) to reveal an empty alley.

26(sound cue) clarinet, low notes.

27(angle on) Buck’s back, as he turns around, holstering

his firearms.

28(cut to medium wide shot) Buck half-naked in the dusty

street.

29(sound cue) crowd noise, a dog barking.

30(hold the shot) as clumps of bystanders move in closer

to him.

31(angle on) Buck, standing calmly, his arms folded on his

massive chest.

32(close-up) Buck: anyone see where that son of a bitch

made off to?

33( medium close-ups) crowd faces:

--turning their gaze away,

--pulling their hats down,

--becoming silent.

34(angle on) Buck; well, there it is.

35(camera tracks left) following Buck as he padded barefoot

back up the Saloon steps, & re-enters THE CHINA DOLL.

36(angle on) the swinging doors, creaking as they stopped

swinging.

37(sound cue) player piano plinking out a roller tune. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets OLN128

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Decktime

image by glenn buttkus

Decktime

“My new house has a deck that wraps around my writing

room, outside my many windows I’ve hung bird-feeders

that stimulate my imagination.”--Julia Cameron.

I sport a baseball-sized scar

above my right knee, where

years ago I had fallen through

some bad boards on my old deck.

We, like many people, enter our home

through the back door, walking over from

the garage and crossing a fabulous new(ish)

deck to do so.

A couple of friends of mine, who

do some construction work in their spare time,

built a new deck for us, triple strength,

way above code, vowing that I would never

fall through it again;

“You could park a 1940 Buick on this bitch,”

they proudly boasted. 

They have business cards that simply state.

TWO FUCKING GUYS CONSTRUCTION:

Never more than 3 do-overs on any project.

We whistle while we work, & gratefully

accept food & hugs.”

During the second summer of the “new” deck,

they returned to build a fabulous roof over it.

It has become another room, an extension

of our house. My wife has decorated it with

a dozen pots of brightly colored perennials. 

I bought her a large & lovely ruby red

watering can, nestled in now between

purple & yellow blossoms.

The deck slider/swing has a carnival-striped

cover that always makes me smile, faintly

hearing a calliope whenever I look at it.

On bright summer mornings I enjoy snapping

photos of the shadow play from the wide beams

& the shapely pickets below the perfect

bannister caps.

Our 3 year old granddaughter has learned

to ride her new pink tricycle safely, & it’s

a joy to watch her whizz back & forth

on the deck, laughing at rain. 

Sometimes I sit out there with my yellow

legal tablet, writing or outlining poetry,

listening to the rustling of the thousand

leaves on the neighbor’s massive maple tree.

In the winter I can see Mt. Rainier peeking

through its barren branches, but after Spring

I have to stroll out to the alley to witness

its serenity. 

Our perfectly manicured & watered lawn

always pleases me as I stare beyond it

to undiscovered worlds, and buzzing word hordes

that hive up behind every rhododendron bush,

every weeping willow or tulip tree ringing

the dark spaded soil of our flower beds.

It is raining hard at the moment,

and the passionate pelting

on our plexiglass roof

serenades & soothes me,

so very safe in my haven. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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Kid Stuff

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Kid Stuff

“I’m going to model myself after Kurt Russell

and Jodie Foster.”--Haley Joel Osment.

Life

can be

hard for

a child star,

just

ask Haley

Joel Osment,

playing

little Gump

at 8;

saw dead people

at 11;

was a kid cyborg

in A.I.

at 13;

paid it forward

with Spacey

at 12;

romped with

Michael Caine &

Robert Duvall

at 15;

then

booze,

& drugs,

brought him

down. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on G-Man's Flash Friday 55

Trestles

image by glenn buttkus

Trestles

“The grave is but a covered bridge, leading from light to light,

through a brief darkness.”--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Train rails, highways for tall steel wheels, adorn

trestles & span rivers.

When great bridges sprout in people’s yards,

they intimidate the perspective.

The metal gate was betrayed by rust and an

ineffective padlock. 

I love those odd places where line and texture

finally procreate. 

I swear I met a troll named Red Sammy

under the bridge yesterday. 

An antique brass street clock stately stood in

a neighbor’s hidden back yard. 

A plywood pallet stoutly supports both

of our refuse containers. 

A rusty pioneer plow, with rotting harness,

suffices as yard art. 

The colossal ferris wheel, during early morning,

began to crave crowds. 

Standing in deep shadow, the sad sunflower

was still stretching & yawning. 

Cement flowers will gather living moss lichen

as decorations. 

That day, all the sagging windows wore

identical white uniforms. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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Blackthorne--Scene Seventeen

image borrowed from bing

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventeen

Samaritan

“The streets of hell are paved with

good samaritans.”--William M. Holden.

1(sound cue) the room shaking as we hear something

hitting the wall in an adjoining room.

2(insert shot) the bottle of bourbon falling off the dresser

& breaking on the floor.

3(close-up) Buck, immediately angry.

4(close-up) Millie: not that bastard again!

5(sound cues) high notes on a saxophone, then rapid thumps

on a base drum.

6(medium wide-shot) saloon, upstairs hallway, Millie’s

closed door.

--Buck bursts into the hallway from her room, clad only

in his red breechclout.

7(sound cue) a woman’s scream, a man yelling.

--Buck steps up to the closed door, where all the

commotion is coming from.

8(sound cue) two thuds, incoherent yelling, squawk of a sax,

and more drum beats.

9(cut to interior) of the other prostitute’s room.

10(angle on the door) Buck kicks it open.

11(sound cue) wood splintering, hinges ripping off.

12(cut to medium two shot) a short man, dressed as a gambler,

is choking a half-naked blond woman, his belt around her neck,

forced to her knees, with him bending over her.

13(sound cue) french horn joining the sax.

--Gambler: bitch!

14(three-shot) Buck enters the frame, grabs the man’s nearest

arm, spins him around & rams a knee into his stomach.

15(sound cue) the blow from the knee, exhalation of breath

from the man.

16(angle on) the blond whore, choking, wheezing, untangling

the belt from around her neck. 

17(cut to medium shot) the gambler drawing a nickel-plated

short-barreled pistol.

18(close-up) gun discharges as Buck slaps it away.

19(angle on wall mirror) exploding to shards from the stray

bullet.

20(sound cues) crowd noise mixing with snare drum.

21(close-up) Buck delivers a short jab to the man’s throat.

22(two-shot) over Buck’s shoulder, the man spins around

& collides with the dresser, clunking it against the wall.

23(sound cues) more breaking glass, punctuated by beats

on a xylophone. 

24(angle on the gambler) shot in slow motion--the man pulls

the lace dresser cover off as he is falling--& is showered with

picture frames, brushes & combs, cold cream & perfume

bottles as he collapses on the floor. 

25(cut to a two-shot) the blond whore on her feet, holding a

water pitcher over her head.

--blond whore: son-of-a-bitch--I’ll kill you!

--Buck slaps the pitcher out of her hand, drenching her in

water as he punches her in the chest.

26(close-up) water pitcher shattering on the floor.

27(angle on Buck) as he brushes her aside, and nearly

steps into a knife blade.

28(close-up) gambler: asshole! who tugged on your rope?

29(close-up) Buck: like to beat on women, do you?

30(sound cue-Voice Over) gambler: eat shit!

--Bucks knocks the knife out of the man’s hand & hurls

himself at the gambler.

--they collide with the wall.

--Buck punches him in the groin, then easily hoists the 

smaller man up onto his own wide shoulders, and spins

around twice--then tosses him through the closed window.

31(cut to angle on exterior of the window) slow motion shot

with smashed glass flying everywhere as the man passes

through it, rolling out onto & then down the slanted roof,

falling off the edge & out of the shot.

32(hold the shot) for two beats.

33(sound cue) blues guitar slide. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets OLN127

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Cobylstones

image borrowed from tess kincaid 

Cobylstones

“Outside of America, I should hardly be believed if I told

how simply Dover Street merged into Back Bay.”

--Mary Antin. 

There is just something

eerie-lovely

about cobblestone and brick

streets & sidewalks;

best seen at night,

wet with mist

or other liquids of the darkness,

best photographed

in black & white;

each stone,

each brick

a separate story,

another face,

another number;

like walking on the helmets

of thousands of terra cotta soldiers,

like pounding legos or lincoln logs

into the pliant earth--

getting harder to find in most cities,

except in some older alleys

or feeder walkways--

immediately transporting us back

to wooden carriage wheels, horse’s hooves,

vendor & junk wagons, wild wheelbarrow races--

astonishing abstract art to tread upon,

intricate, yet uneven patterns of polished stone

that rises up to meet your heels, never

just lying there like those great flat flounders

of granite/concrete/tarmac setts,

as unmoving & apathetic

as a bored spouse forced to consent

to conjugal duties;

almost alive, nearly animate, becoming

mad hatter checker & chessboards,

a challenge to all straight paths,

daring us to travel diagonally

like escaped lines on a Klee painting,

reminding us that life

is far from linear,

and that delicious madness

transferred to our soles

can liberate our lethargy,

shatter our shackles--

leading us onward

by stepping sideways,

backwards, in a circle,

or even leaping into the air

as our pedestrian travel

becomes a spirited ballet. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at Magpie Tales 201

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