Hug, Kiss & a Tickle

image from theworldrace.com

Hug, Kiss and a Tickle

“If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

--William Shakespeare.

I know it is full-on Spring

now that the night birds sing;

as the lawn demands to be mowed 

and my old back becomes bowed

from weeding, seeding & humming.

Soon I will have another birthday.

It is a time to shout a loud hooray,

because I will turn seventy-three

and too many loved ones have left me--

too young, too soon; definitely not OK.

There once was a billionaire bully named Trump,

who shouldn’t even be King of the Dump--

but OMG he became our President,

kissing chaos & favoring rules that are bent--

as History will label him a cancerous lump.

They tell me aging is not for sissies,

as I moan, fuss, & perform divers hissies--

angry at my ancient body’s failings

as youth departed other sailings--

only salved by my sweet wife’s kissies.

We now inhabit a vast empty nest,

though we never have confessed 

how much we really miss our kids--

as three daughters put in their bids

for us to baby-sit so they can rest.

I always travel with my trusty camera,

searching for remote & deep caldera,

or those fabulous golden light moments,

or rusted vehicles with their pretty dents;

I might even find a smiling chimera.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

the title is what we get from grandchildren as they go home.

the image is a 125 year old man in Israel.

Packs & Prides

image from fineartamerica.com

Packs & Prides

“We have all known the long loneliness, & we have 

found that the answer is community.”--Dorothy Day.

As poets, many of us gravitate

toward one group, or one site--

or even a few, where brief forays

into fellowship validate our world view--

where friendship takes firm root and

poetics blossom like fruit trees in Spring;

         minds are being aligned,

        talents are being shared,

      lessons are being learned,

      & styles are being expanded.

There are no perfect solutions to complications

predicated by community & co-habitation. We 

have seen too often that the loners, outriders

and the isolated can become vulnerable.

                                               victimized &

                                               violated--

so nomads created tribes,      then villages.       

                                               then towns,

                                               then cities, &

                                               then countries.

Yes, we have found that by huddling together

in urban nests there is a safety in numbers,

but there is also a reduction of liberty & privacy.

History is littered with man’s failure to sustain a

perfect community. After years of defeating Roman

legions, Spartacus took his army of gladiators and

slaves to the toe of Italy & he built the Sun City--

where all men were equal. Soon though, he realized

that a community of 80,000 souls needed some sort

of constabulary, justice system, governing body, public

works & sanitation procedures.

Within six months over half of his population defected,

and fled, returning to the less stressful arms of slavery;

refusing to step up & do their part. As a reward for

Spartacus, his grand vision of freedom & brotherhood 

crumbled into treachery and crucification. 

We run in packs like

wolves, hoping communities

are sanctuaries.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Still

painting by Megan Duncanson.

Still

“Shoot for the moon, and if you miss it

you’ll still be among the stars.”--Les Brown.

As my eyes open,

glancing out the window

at the dark gray underbelly

of Spring cumulus,

I realize I’m        still alive,

                          still behind on projects,

                          still in pain,

                          still hungry,

                          still ambitious,

                          still in love 

with my wife--

so I greeted

the new day.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44  

Ground Control to Major Tom

image from fragrantica.com

Ground Control to Major Tom

“Take your protein pills and put your

helmet on.”--David Bowie

Please be aware that we really do care

that your broken navigational array

is causing you clinical dismay; all we can say

is look at things this way--for you it will

always be today as your capsule catapults

you, despite anything we could do, beyond

Pluto, beyond the sun--know that your

personal journey has just begun.

the stars are within

your reach--soon you’ll touch the face

of God  allthatis. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Baptism by Bullets

image from saatchiart.com

Baptism by Bullets

“I do not fear computers. I fear the lack of them.”

--Issac Assimov.

In 1967, when I was in the service, I feared combat

--and I worked very hard to maintain my clerical 

MOS. Why play hopscotch on the freeway? I had been

taught that fear is good, essential for survival. Beware

the fearless man, for he was an idiot--death in a hat.

I used to have a reoccurring nightmare. I was on patrol,

deep in country--walking point. Suddenly we were 

ambushed, The jungle canopy was alive with active

sniper fire--gunshots blossoming all around us. The

nine of us were cut to pieces, and we all went to 

ground.

Out of the bush, the Cong appeared. I was wounded in 

several places, but I played dead. They jabbered a bit 

in their clipped sing-song, & then the gunshots began.

They were shooting the wounded. A shadow crossed my

face. I felt the barrel of a rifle against my temple. I heard

the discharge, as a dark rainbow of ballistics exploded

in my head. But then I realized that miraculously I was

still alive. The universe was telling me that they couldn’t

kill me. I always awakened shaken but smiling.

A jungle is not

a garden. Death awaits you.

Do not befriend it.  

 Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun

Blue Rain

image from vogue.om

Blue Rain

“If you ever come by, for Jane or for me;

your enemy sleeps & his woman is free.”

--Leonard Cohen.

Four in the morning, end of December.

New York is cold, but I like where I’m living.

I’m writing you to see if you are any better;

always for you it’s the taking, not the giving.

Yes, you used to look so much older,

as you went to the station to meet every train.

Your blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder.

You always came back without Lily Marlene.

My brother, what can I tell you?

What can I possibly say?

I miss you & I guess I forgive you--

thanks for standing in my way.

You treated Jane to a flake of your life.

After returning, she was nobody’s wife.

Glenn Buttkus

Lyrics remix from Leonard Cohen's
FAMOUS BLUE RAINCOAT.

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB  

Daddy Lost

image from fr.redmp3.su

Daddy Lost

“Papa, please get the moon for me.”

--Eric Carle.

In 1954,

when I was ten, 

a fifth grader attending

my 7th elementary school,

I was watching

THE HIT PARADE

on our 13” B&W TV--

Eddie Fisher was hosting,

Coca Cola was the sponsor.

He sang his #1 hit,

OH! MY PAPA,

& every time I heard the song

I was reduced to inexplicable tears;

perhaps it was the poignant trumpet solo,

or maybe the saccharine lyrics:

                Oh, my Papa;

                to me he was so wonderful,

                                       so good,

                                       so funny,

                                       so adorable,

                                       so gentle,

                                       so lovable.

Damn, somehow this song highlighted a

mysterious loss in my life, the lyrics vibrated

like cello strings, & emotions exploded.

My mother’s first husband, my “father”, was a

liar, a wife beater who cheated on her routinely.

Her second husband was a pedophile, who had

molested neighborhood children.

Her third husband was a handsome felon, who 

rode a motorcycle, drove hot rods, & had potential

for fatherhood, before he started molesting my

sister & beating my mother.

So the song was a trigger, & my adolescent

instincts became a voice that announced I had

no father, just a succession of stepfathers. Oh,

how I missed this lost phantom father that my

mother never mentioned. Years later my odd

suspicions  were confirmed, & I had to own them.

Papa was not a

term I ever embraced, for

it was a ghost’s name.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Exodus

image from saatchiart.com

Exodus

“The metaphor of Exodus has dogged the Jews

from the outset. Their very success attracts

resentment.”--Jack Schwarz.

Riddle me,

drizzle me    with 

                     double-speak,

                     political spin,

                                              and all other forms

                     of drizzletude.

Truth seems                          archaic

                      at present,

something     unseen,

                      unheard,

nearly                                     invisible.

My eyes

get drizzly,

my mind

dizzy, as        common sense,

                      equality,

                      liberty,

                      closure &

                      justice

run for the 

door.                      

      

               

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Trio

image from Pinterest.com

Trio

“There is something magical about three, you 

know. A trio is tight.” --Ian Williams.

I’m a big Golden Lab named Larry.

I guess I live on an Animal Farm,

because each time our humans 

leave the area, we all speak clearly

to each other. My two best pals are

a pig, Pecos, & a cat named Katie.

Larry: We need to hatch a plan to catch that fox,

old Red, who is killing our chicken friends.

Pecos: The killer comes during the wolfing hour,

so it will be tough to stay awake.

Katie: Do we have proof it is Red? I’ve seen a 

rogue Dobie skulking around lately.

Larry: Farmer Fred thinks it’s a fox.

Pecos: Truth be told, the predator only kills what he

will eat. Dogs go ape-shit & kill dozens, eating none.

Larry: Go easy on the dog-trashing, Bub.

Katie: I almost side with Red. He’s the only fox in our

area, & I’ve heard pups yelping late at night.

Larry: Something to consider, I guess. Those damn

housing developments have destroyed the forest &

green belts all around us.

Pecos: Gosh, we are so lucky to be domesticated

and have humans to feed us daily.

Katie: You’re the lucky one, bacon-breath, that day

when little Suzie made you her pet.

Pecos: Don’t remind me--I hide during breakfast &

Sunday dinner.

Larry: Come on, Katie, quit being so darned catty !

Katie: Zip it, dudes--I hear Wife Wilma headed our 

way, her milk bucket rattling & rubber boots squeaking.

Larry: Fine, we’ll talk later.

Pecos: Around here it just seems like one damn crisis

after another.

Katie: It’s just not kosher for a pig to whine.

The barn door creaked open & Wilma made her way to

the cow stalls: Hey, kids, how you doing?

I looked at Katie & we kept our composure, but Pecos 

giggled & had to turn his face away.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Shadows Know

image by glenn buttkus.

Shadows Know

“The very substance of the ambitious is merely

the shadow of a dream.”--William Shakespeare.

Shadows are companions, artists, jesters and

sanctuary from Sol. I love to click images where I

find shadows have created their own geometrics,

complicating & complimenting the composition.

When the wind is active, clouds race across the sky

and shadows streak like ghostly bullet trains. As the

playful clouds smother the sun, the shadows smile,

deepening as they mantle things, magically in flux.  

Moon shadows are sprites, specters, & night dancers.

On bright days, shadow kaleidoscopes cut abstract

swaths under, behind, & adjacent to everything--

comprising a second reality, an undulating ever-

changing dimensional shift.

For me, the finest

shadow artists are trees, for

they spin dream catchers.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun