Friday, September 25, 2015

Feathers of Stone


image from rootfun.net


Feathers of Stone

“I don’t want to be a cliche.”
--Cheron L’Estrange

Wrought iron, bronze, copper & aluminum,
as well as polished ceramic, pewter
& soft fragile soapstone birds

can never fly; but perhaps just
outside of the dimensional lines
their wings become rainbows


& they soar like joyful gulls.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at With Real Toads

For Kerry & her HS students;
Inspired by Cheron L'Strange--CLICHE

Ascension


image from modiglianigallery.org


Ascension

It was not a beautiful death.
It is not by machinery but by faith:
--Niska Ramkhelawan.

The Savior’s Cross coveted the role
of being the holy graphite
in Jehovah's Great Pencil.

Just humble wood, yet became a holy
symbol; for the crucifix will forever 
 be the launching pad for

the Son of Man’s blast-off.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at With Real Toads
for Kerry & her HS students, 
inspired by Niska Ramkhelawan--FAREWELL

Alice


image from slingsandarrowsofoutrageousfortune.com


Alice

Time will heal everything,
or at least that’s what they say;
--Niska Ramkhelawan

After the White Rabbit just
disappeared, Alice paused for
a moment staring into the darkness

of the lovely lepus lair, contemplating
Time, & challenging its authenticity
within this place & moment,

out of her body in mid-dream.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on With Real Toads
for Kerry & her HS students, inspired by Niska Ramkhelawan--YOU 





The Kindred of Nebula


image from the guardian.com


The Kindred of Nebula

Adrift in the sky,
An everlasting beauty
Hindered by the breaking dawn
--Nsiki Gwala.

So much to 
struggle with as we stare
into a night sky,

on the desert,
     or in the mountains     
          where stars bloom so thick
                     that the darkness recedes
                          to make room for their brilliance,
          as the mechanism of our soul engine
     begins to thrump like a Viking horn,
thrilled & fueled by the universal
light show.
                       You say that the shining jewels of the heavens
                       are held up by tender titans, God’s squad of
       worker bees--who are sun-blind in daylight,
       can only see after Sol has tangoed below
                       the horizon, bringing day to that
                       other hemisphere.

                       You say that you do not believe in ghosts, & yet here
                       they are;                  planets & suns & satellites
                       long dead;               imploded, exploded, burned out
in spectacular fireworks a billion universes away,
because light itself, one of the fleetest things we
are aware of, is in fact so slow, so lethargic within
the godhead schematic, we find ourselves 
worshipping ghosts, celebrating the deceased.

We are but dust mites
on grains of salt
endeavoring
to fathom quantum physics,
just sentient carbon units
aspiring to soar way beyond
our minuscule galaxy
to reach out, to contact
other forms of life;
God’s other children--our cosmic cousins.

Yet, isn’t it ironic that it takes a humble Jesuit pope
to remind us of both our inherent humanity & our
manifest stupidity, scolding us for molesting the earth
& each other.
                          Astronomy is
                          Not new, but our perceptions
                          of the stars could be.

     

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on Real Toads
influenced by Kerry's high school student's poems, specifically Nsiki Gwala over at somewhere i have never traveled

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Jisei as Jibe


image from buddhistchannel.tv


Jisei as Jibe

“Life & death are one, even as the river & the sea
are one.”--Khalil Gibran.

Kanshi

No one prepares for train wrecks,
when calamity runs amok;

As karma moves at breakneck
speeds when the Bullet jumps rails.

Can we learn to be a speck,
or recognize a portal,

Give up French as we leave Quebec?
Time to enter the Station.


Waka (Tanka)

Our loved ones have gone
on before us, & now they
gather in Bardo,
with smiles, open arms, bright faces--
as warm welcoming spirits.


Haiku

How lovely to know
my transition comes on
summer’s last sweet day.





image from teenink.com


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB
where Gayle asks us to write Japanese Death Poems.


Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Dancing Boys


image borrowed from thingsyoumissed.com


Dancing Boys

“Priests don’t like to say raped--they prefer misdeed, 
inappropriate touching, or a mistake. That is insulting.
I am not a mistake.”--Charles L. Bailey, Jr.
from THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.

What does Michael Jackson
& Wal-Mart have in common? Little
boys underwear half off.

I saw a haunting piece on CNN this morning, all about how the
American military has to turn a blind eye to the Afghan generals,
politicians, & religious leaders who all have sex slave young boy
companions. One prominent general said, “It is the way of things.
 I could not compete with the others if I did not have a boy”. I must
submit that sometimes for Westerners, the heart makes the 
simplest things so damn complicated--how the reality of things
allows Afghan leaders to go all Kite Runner & shit & we are expected
to respond like a muzzled declawed grizzly or a lioness with 
belladonna in her eyes; so that bold child rape can be excused as
some kind of acceptable Muslim socialization, that we must not tamper
with the sick, perverted Afghan customs for fear that we might disrupt
our fragile relationships with the men in power? For Christ’s sake, two
American sergeants were booted out of the Army for assaulting an
Afghan officer who was bragging about having sex with his boy. Have we
all gone insane?

Personally, the sordid fact that there are Catholic cardinals & bishops
who keep harems of alter boys dampens my enthusiasm for the
lauded arrival of Pope Francis at the White House today. Can you
image Obama in the Lincoln Room saying, “Welcome to America,
Frankie. Tell me though, what are your views on pedophile priests--
did you ever bugger young boys on your way up?”  It throws a
sickening shade like shadow dancers, that nauseating image of
young Afghan boys shaking their pre-adolescent butts for those
old men, who in my book are hardly a cut above those who practice
bestiality with farm animals, chickens, & dogs.

When I look at my beautiful grandchildren & think about all those
child pornographers & twisted demented predators who want to have
sex with them, who tweet & text to our children, I cum every time I
look at those craved images of you”, I get a little crazy, wanting to
shoot eggs with guns, or personally perform the rites of castration
that will swell the ranks of eunuchs. I don’t care that this moral stigma 
has been with mankind throughout recorded history, damn it, we need
stand our ground on this issue--even though our intervention
will do about as much good as it does to complain of the
Muslim treatment of women.

The rape of young boys
is unacceptable, within the church
or any other society.

Glenn Buttkus





Friday, September 18, 2015

Blackbird on Barbed Wire


image from seattletimes.com


Blackbird on Barbed Wire

Everybody knows the dice are loaded,
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed,
Everybody knows the war is over,
Everybody knows the good guys lost.
--Leonard Cohen

My Japanese friends still remember when the Puyallup Fairgrounds
were taken over by the U.S.Army in 1941, & converted to a
Japanese-American relocation camp, with barbed wire & searchlights
replacing the carnival rides, food booths, barns, & garden halls. There
were no rodeos held there for five years. At its peak, the camp’s 30
acres housed over 7,000 detainees. I still think about it whenever I
attend the Fair. 

Back in 1900 it was just a County Valley Fair,
then for decades we just called it the Puyallup Fair;
now it has the title of Washington State Fair,
runs 17 days, & hosts over a million visitors--
becoming a glitzy throbbing star of fairs,
capping its midnight closures with 10 minutes of fireworks.

I really dislike huge crowds, so even though I make an annual trek
to the fair, even people watching becomes tedious when the crowds
are so thick you can’t see your feet. One year I went by myself, entering
as soon as the gates opened at 8:30 am. knowing full well that I would
be able to prowl about with my camera, wandering like a wraith, snapping
great images of sunlit carnival colors, empty booths of chance with their
huge stuffed animals hung like swinging meat, & at rest shining ferris wheels. 

My three daughters loved the place, as most children do; now they take
our grandchildren there to SillyVille to stand in lines for 30 minutes to
enjoy a 5 minute ride on the Whirling Teacups,
                                   The Great Wave,
                            Fancy decked-out ponies,
                      the Tiny Tot Railroad,
                 the Lil’ Coaster, &
             the bumper cars.

“If you don’t become the ocean, you’ll be seasick every day.”
--Leonard Cohen.

The adult thrill rides are legendary,       the tall classic wooden
                                                     Giant Coaster,
                                                 the Inverter,
                                       Kamikaze,
                                   Super Loops,
                                 the Wild Cat, like a sleek
                    bullet train, or if you can
stomach the spinning rides, just hop aboard
     the Matterhorn,
                   Star Ship,
                           Zero Gravity,
                                  Wave Swayer,
                                       the Enterprise,
                                              the Monster, or
                                                        the Spider. 

My personal favorite is the Extreme Scream,
a 200 foot vertical tower with
chain-driven rows of seats
that chug slowly to the top
before dropping 180 feet in
three seconds.

                   After the rides one has to troll the savory
                   smoky food booths, because the overpowering
                   smell of fresh hot scones, elephant ears, fry bread,
                   cotton candy, tacos, spicy BBQ & Earthquake Burgers
                   draws you as if you were a starving refugee. 

When night falls, after retrieving a jacket from the car, you skip along,
dance & jig to rodeo horns, calliope pipes, several canned Carnie
chanties, thrilling to the blending of screams of delight & barker’s
bellowing, & the colorful blinking of circus lights embedded on
everything like massive costume jewelry. 

Ring the bells that can still ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There’s a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in--Leonard Cohen.


                                         
Glenn Buttkus