Final Post | Feel free to read

Dear Readers,
It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Glenn Buttkus, a beloved member of our community and a talented poet. Glenn passed away on Friday February 17, 2023, leaving behind a rich legacy of poetry and short stories that touched the lives of so many.
Glenn's poetry was a reflection of his creativity and passion for participating in prompts from many online groups. Please feel free to share your thoughts, memories, and tributes to Glenn in the comments section below, as we honor his life and celebrate his contribution to the world of poetry.
Rest in peace, Glenn Buttkus.

Your poetry will continue to inspire and delight us for years to come.

Poem Finder

painting from artamerica.com

 Poem Finder

“The world is never the same once a good poem

is added to it.”--Dylan Thomas

Quite often, poetry hides in plain sight. It can squat

beneath clover, or coagulate on a fresh corpse. In

the street of the sky, night walks scattering poems.

It can camp alongside a red rock in a clear stream,

or under your dirty fingernails.

I found a poem once in a smoking pile of spent brass

cartridges, as well as in a puddle of oil on my garage

floor, and between the dull teeth of a hand saw, and

on the back of a peeled label from Bukowski’s beer,

and even in the spaces between the lines of a Rumi

quote.

I discovered a long poem deep within the rotting pulp

of a dragon’s tooth, and a short one in the damp folds

of Marilyn Monroe’s panties. I tell you, you can find

verse within a swarm of fireflies, or in the middle of

a squirming snake pit. 

Glenn Buttkus

Prosery

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

War Haters

image from pinterest.com 

WAR HATERS

“War does not determine who is right--only

who is left.”--Bertrand Russell.

Today war in Ukraine gets less press,

but nobody told the goddamn Russians.

They hire mercenary ex-convicts and thugs,

for assassinations, beheadings and rape.

Who will win is anybody’s guess,

though I hope to God it’s Ukraine.

Russians are deploying very young mugs,

barely covered by the Bear’s bloody cape.

Iranian drones create a murderous mess,

all soft targets killing thousands of civilians,

mantled in blood beetles and corpse bugs

too numerous to try to drape.

Ukraine needs more help, certainly not less,

Because for Putin, war is a drug.  

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub MTB

Sesquipedalians Rule

from gettyimages 

Sesquipedalians Rule

“Give a silent man a pen and a piece of paper.”

--Criss Jami.

Some folks

who bump into

a strange new word

become bumfuzzled.

Most poets, however

are stricken with forelsket,

and just can’t wait 

to look the word up.

Once the interloper

is defined,

they embrace 

merak, and the universe

has a scintilla of joy.

It is not that we eniteo.

or achieve enlightenment,

but we do feel

the stir of susurrus

as we close our eyes

that are awash with phospenes.

Then we connect

to our orenda, becoming

an outlaw of the sensorium.

Later,

by the sea,

as we stare

into a empyrean sky

rife with fire,

witnessing the sun

dipping behind the flat horizon,

we reside, temporarily

at our querencia,  and we feel

a bit alliferous

as we levitate.

Glenn Buttkus 

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Sledgehammer

painting by Sidney Holmes. 

Sledgehammer

“The idle man cannot know what it is to enjoy

rest, for he has not earned it.”--John Lubbock.

I’ve had

those jobs

pouring iron,

with machines,

assembly lines,

picking up dead rats,

and swinging a

sledgehammer

for 8 hours,

and they were work--

no satisfaction

beyond a paycheck;

but as a

Special Educator,

I actually did 

good works,

and loved every day.

Glenn Buttkus

Quadfrille

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Blackthorne Episode 156

painting by Steve Atkinson

 Blackthorne

Cinemagenic 156

Caballo

“When riding a horse, we borrow freedom.”

--Helen Thompson.

1.(sound cue) guitar and coronet.

2(wide drone shot) the encampment in front of the

cabin. (drone descending shot, closing on the front 

door) The vaqueros had pitched two large tents, 

bright red canvas with yellow tassels. These were for

cooking and gathering. There were three smaller 

sleeping tents to one side.

   Jesus was warming up some chow. The river was 

fifty yards from them. One man was washing tin 

dishes, while another was fishing. Adjacent to them 

was a corral with six horses in it. Fancy Spanish

saddles were perched on the top railing. 

3(sound cue) coronet & drums.

4(one-shot) Buck stepped out onto the low porch,

using the crutches, that were capped in lamb’s wool.

5(expand to wide shot) The men exploded in

applause, followed by cat calls and whistles:

Aye, carumba! The Buck! The Buck!

Buck held up his hand, squinting in the sun.

Enough, enough--gracias. You are wonderful

compadres!  He sat down in a tattered wicker chair.

You would think I was Christ risen.

6(two-shot) Jesus: Don’t be so humble, Hefe. Christ 

was only stabbed a couple of times. You were shot

to pieces.

Buck laughed, holding his ribs. Jesus lifted up a hand;

I know. I will try to behave. Jesus put a red sombrero

on Buck to shield his eyes. They placed two over-

turned buckets next to his chair, and brought him some

hot chuck and coffee. 

Buck: Muchas gracias.

He sipped the coffee and his eyes widened:

Damn, son, who boiled their socks in this?

Everyone laughed. One tall charro said:

Probably all of us at one time or another.

Buck groaned. Then he began to eat slowly. The

bacon was thick-cut and meaty. The eggs were 

over hard with black pepper on them. The beans

were spicy. 

Buck: This is some good groceries.

Tall Charro: One good thing about being on the Buck

Watch, is we eat good.

7(sound cue) piano and fiddle.

8(two-shot) After breakfast, Buck shared a cigar with

Jesus. 

Buck: When I get back on my feet, how about you

fellers come to work for me?

Jesus, after a pause, gazing out: Nooo--I don’t think so.

Buck: What?

Jesus: It’s too late.

Buck: I’d pay a fair wage.

Jesus: smiling: Miss Salina already hired all of us. We

are for you already. 

Buck chuckled, and sat up straight in his chair,

shaking his head and folding his arms. You know, I 

probably don’t deserve that woman.

Jesus: Probably not, but you got your hook in her 

good. So you are a damn lucky hombre.

Buck puffed on the cigar and stared out at the corral. 

Suddenly his body jerked. He pushed back the 

sombrero, and pointed out at the horses.

Buck: Who owns the Appaloosa?

Jesus: You do. No one else will ever own him.

Buck: My God, is that....Chatawa?

Jesus: Yes. We found him picketed in the trees when

we came to rescue you. 

Buck: with a tear rolling down his cheek: I am blessed.

Jesus: I promised myself that if you cashed it in, I 

would return that stallion to the wild. 

Buck: I think I’ll be sticking around for a while.

Jesus: Good--that damn horse is wearing us all out 

riding him. A true war horse, a special spirit. So heal

up and mount up.

Buck: I can do that.

 Glenn Buttkus 

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN

Branch Hug

image from pinterest.com 

Branch Hug

“War, children,--it’s just a shot away.

If I don’t get some shelter,

I’ll just fade away” --The Rolling Stones.

When I walk in the forest, and it starts to rain,

I look at the trees. Pine, fir, and larch branches

start far from the ground. Cottonwood, poplar, and

maple branches grow close to the ground, providing

a dry shelter from the deluge.

I snuggle up next to a wide rough-barked trunk, and

cover myself in crisp dry leaves. I peer out through

the thick leaves and muscled branch forearms, 

looking at the rain, coming down in diagonal sheets

to the forest floor.

I close my eyes and dream of elves and owls who 

create a dwelling in the great trunks. I awaken to the 

trill of birds and the buzz of bees. Smiling, I shake off 

the fairy dust and step out into the magic of a sun

break.

The owl sleeps in a

tree during the day, waiting

joyfully for the night.

Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub