Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Blackthorne--Scene 71

image from pinterest.com 


Cinemagenic Seventy-One


“When you have a child, the world has a 
hostage.”--Ernest Hemingway.

1(sound cue) harmonica & accordion. 
2(two-shot) Salina, over Wallace’s shoulder:
I am my father’s daughter.
Wallace, smiling : It’s just that you can’t close
your eyes, click your heels, and Thor disappears.
His kind of mean hangs in like colic. I think you 
should give some thought as to how to straighten
things out.
3(close-up) Salina : OK, Pop. I figured I would cross
that little bridge when I get to it.
4(medium close-up) Wallace : Damn, girl, you should
be fixing to find a way to let him down easy. He is not
used to being told No.
5(voice over) Salina: Well, there’s a first time for 
everything--followed by a chuckle.
6(sound cue) piano & harmonica.
7(cut to medium wide shot/exterior) An old buckboard
reined up out front. Johnny Eagle was driving it. A 
young black mustang jerked against his harness and 
the tall gray mule alongside him. Rod Buck pulled up
and stepped down off his huge roan. Wallace walked 
out on the porch, squinting into the east as golden rays
began to edge up over the sign on the CHINA DOLL.
Wallace wiped his liver-spotted calloused hands on his
clean apron.
8(three-shot) Wallace: Nice to see you. Did you run out
of chuck?
Buck: Among other things.
Wallace: Hey, John--then turned on his heel as the
Eagle returned his greeting with a silent nod.
Buck stepped up onto the porch: Do you want to 
come in, old brother?
Johnny: Not today, boss. I think I will wander down to
the cantina and shoot the buzzard shit with Mateo.
Buck: I’ll join you there later.
The Eagle jumped down from the wagon; Buck 
watched him making his way along the dusty street, 
watched how straight he carried himself, how his 
shoulder and arm muscles rippled as he walked.
9(sound cue) guitar & coronet.
10(two-shot) Wallace was in the doorway : So
what do you need on this fine morning?
Buck: I’ll need some paint for one--stepping into
the store behind Wallace--What have you got?
10(medium wide shot) Salina was still at the fabric
table. She straightened up and stared at Buck, not
pretending to work.
11(voice over) Wallace: What quantity & color?
12(close up) Buck: Enough to paint a rainbow on
your crapper.
13(two-shot) Salina, over Buck’s shoulder: What a 
colorful way of speaking. Good morning, Mr. Buck.
Buck: Good morning, Miss Salina.
Salina: Does Johnny Eagle work for you now? 
Buck: That’s what he tells me.
Wallace (as voice over) Blue, black, red, white and
green--a fine selection.
Salina: Fixing up the old place?
Buck: We stay in the bunkhouse for now. The house
needs a ton of work. After I get things presentable,
you might could come out for a visit.
Salina, smiling warmly: Yes, I might could.
14(sound cue) violin & flute.
15(two-shot) She returned to her fabric bolts. He 
spent an awkward moment considering what to say 
next when Wallace inquired:  What colors?
16(sound cue) heavy boot steps just before the front 
door swung open, awakening the bee hive of bells.
The Eagle rushed in, a bit out of breath: Boss, I think
you need to come with me right now.
17(three-shot) Buck: Hey, fierce one. I haven’t 
ordered anything yet--nor have I had time to ask
Miss Salina for a date.
18(medium close-up) Another smile from the lady.
19(two-shot) Buck: Just tell Mateo to wait a few 
Johnny: It’s Chatawa.
Buck turned and the two men tramped out of the 
store. Wallace shrugged his shoulders & followed
them to the doorsill. A large crowd had gathered

down at the auction corrals.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN


painting by James Ryman 


“If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.”
--Tennessee Williams.

By day, I am nearly invisible as I bus tables and
wash dishes at Denny’s. I live in my grandmother’s
basement--a nice little apartment with it’s own
entrance. Gramm is hard of hearing, and for me
that’s a blessing.

By night, I troll the bus station, back alleys and
the gay bars. I’m a big handsome Swede, with 
long blond hair & deep blue eyes--looking like
Thor and shit. Though for years my sexual
preferences were conflicted, I seem to attract
gay men, so it’s just easier to score with them.

My father used to get drunk and beat the hell out 
of me, before he was stabbed & killed in a bar fight.
My mother was a crack addict, and she died when
I was 14, just after an older homosexual had given
me a ride from school, and raped me in his garden
shed. I could have stopped him, but hell, I enjoyed
the attention.

Five years ago I discovered that I preferred to have
sex with young boys who agreed to be mute and
non-responsive. I had a part-time job in a mortuary,
and I developed a real taste for necrophilia; but
most of the lover boys still made noise & moved

So I made the decision to start killing them, so 
that my sexual & emotional needs could be more
adequately satiated, I’m very strong, so strangling
them was the easiest & quietest solution. Soon I
became expert at cutting up their bodies in the 
bath tub, and dissolving them in barrels of strong
chemicals. Gramm noticed I burned a lot of incense.
I told her I was converting to Hinduism.

One bright day, I got to staring at the neatly sliced
up portions of meat, and out of nowhere, I fired up
my oven and made a delicious roast out of buttocks.
To date I have slain 37 young men, and eaten a 
dozen of them. The last seven of them as a lark, I
saved their heads in my refrigerator. As I sink deeper
into the darkness of depravity, murder, and sweet
cannibalism--I have no regrets. At some point I will
be caught, and that’s as it should be. I will probably
get 20 consecutive life sentences, and after a few 
months I will be cornered in the shower room by
several men & stabbed in the eyes.

I have become a
demon--every night is like

Halloween for me.

Glenn Buttkus

Monday, October 30, 2017

Compassionate Conflict

image from pinterest.com

Compassionate Conflict

“Kindness is a language the deaf can hear and
the blind can see.”--Mark Twain

Unfortunately, our kindness, like our compassion
and empathy, is that part of the human condition
that allows the unscrupulous among us to work
their cons, scams & lies--allows politicians to 
thrive, and lawyers to successfully defend the guilty.

I always feel the tingle of alacrity when a stranger
stops me in a parking lot, sharing some sob story,
asking for ten bucks for gas so that his pregnant
wife can get to the doctor; or those smiling sons
of bitches who come to my door offering bogus
services, or collecting data for a greedy corporation.

Yet if you approach me, then look me in the eyes,
tell me your situation. & I hear no alarms--I will 
give you food, a ride, or money, or all three. So,
yes, even though deceptions surround us, making
me paranoid, suspicious, or sarcastic--my heart
is still touchable.

Mighty maple first
puts on a show. then it

kindly shares its leaves.

Glenn Buttkus

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Nacori Cantina

image from flipsidesf.wordpress.com

Nacori Cantina

“BLOOD MERIDIAN seems to me to be the major
esthetic achievement of any living American writer.”
--Harold Bloom

Looking left,
the Judge’s pistol fired.
rolling clear--

got to his feet,
paying their respects,
the dead man fell;

Smith had drawn his Bowie,
the knife protruding,
dark arterial blood spray--

jabbing with their knives,
holding the wounds shut,
sound of gunfire--

stepping over several corpses,
huge pistols roared,
20 Mexicans shot to pieces;

bullet splinters blossoming out of the wood,
mud walls pocked with fresh holes,
blood splatter drenched stucco.

The Judge was like a cat,
he picked the man up;

blood flowing from his ears,
the man did not get up.

Door frame filled
with smoke, jammed with
the dead and dying.

a great ringing silence,
his back to the wall;

Figures stood frozen,
gunsmoke drifting through
like fog.

Glenn Buttkus

Blackout Poetics--Page 179

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Tuesday, October 24, 2017


image from penbaypilot.com


“I believe in my mask. The man I made up
is me.”--Sam Shepard.

On that first date,
the mask you wear
is mannequin--
not a wrinkle,
not a care.

Behind the Ray-Bans,
under the Borsalino,
you seem to have no eyes, 
                             no window
                             to peek within.

For the office,
facing the boss,
the smile is greasepaint;
sincerity is your loss.

Looking at your spouse
after decades of marriage,
you become the king of masks--
swishing through the mix
flawlessly, like an old Disney
flip-animation tablet, although
                       your actual face,
                       your real thoughts,
                       your genuine emotions
are making more appearances

But in the mirror, under
          the blade,
          the comb,
          the deodorant,
          the powder, paint & spray,
you watch daily
as the wild man
           with unruly hair,
several day’s growth of beard,
and bacon between his teeth,
            that guy you slept as,
            who hides nothing,
the scrubbed, button-down automaton, with
that day’s supply of masks geared up and 
ready to camouflage-one for every encounter,
who now is prepared to rush out and join the
counterfeit conflagration of all those other
frozen Com media faces on route to their ruts.

When do the masks we
choose finally fray--become

just unwearable?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, October 23, 2017


image from inspirationseek.com


“The creak of bed springs suffering under the
weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound 
as I know”--Patrick deWitt.

Things that go creak
in the night,
loose gates,
cranky screen doors,
hardwood floors,
broken shingles,
and misaligned aging bones--

all can wake you,
or color your dreams,
forcing you to swim
up from the maelstrom 
of slumber to guppy-gulp

at consciousness.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, October 16, 2017

The Dead Sea

image from sites.psu.edu

The Dead Sea

“Destruction is man’s will; nevertheless remember
prevention can also be man’s will.”
--Babu Rajan.

Global warming is not our only problem with our
besieged oceans, nor are oil spills. After using our
seas as a toilet for thousands of years, it is man’s
garbage that is the primary culprit. We let 1.4
billion pounds of trash per year enter the ocean.
In addition there is run-off pollution, called non-
point sources.

I love seeing images of fish & marine life snarled in 
plastic refuse. There is a proliferation of micro-
plastics, pieces a few millimeters in size, just below 
the surface, from coastal garbage patches clear to 
the Arctic sea ice. Many pollutants create algae 
bloom, which in turn creates a dead zone. Habitats 
& reefs, normally teeming with life, are becoming inert 
biological deserts.

The sea is dying;
we are to blame--but it is

not too late to act.

Glenn Buttkus

Saturday, October 14, 2017

J. Hump Records

image from breitbart.com


“I hear that Melania has a reoccurring nightmare--
she’s in bed pinned down under a 300 pound sack
of orange shit.” --Bill Maher.

it was Little Bill who broke the news--
our President has let Rap become 
his new Muse.

Debonair Donny has found a way to expand his
base and rejuvenate his Presidency. BITCHES 5,
a new Rap group, performed at the White House
during Black History month. Midway during the
show, Trump leaped to his feet, turned his red
ball cap backwards & began to rap alongside the
performers. He and the lead singer began to bump
hips, then doing a facsimile tango while rapping 
in counterpoint duet. Everyone clapped, and our
President became smitten.

At three a.m., he began a Tweet storm:

OMG-I’m in lust with #Shakutth & she adores #Me.
My secret love with Rap has been revealed. She is
now my constant companion. Moving her now

into the WH. #She makes me feel 40 again! Am
appointing her the #SecretaryOfTheArts. That hag
Melania is out in the cold, while sexy foxy..

#Shakutth has captured my heart. Skank #Melania
will live in NJ; will not divorce her, cuz that could
stain my political image; she agreesOK

Shakutth is a gorgeous 25 year old NY-bred sassy
sometimes lesbian, who is half black & half Jewish.
She told CNN that her Lovey-Name for the
President is “J-Hump”. He created a record company
for her. Her first album, J. Hump Rules, has shot to
the top of the Pop charts, & is very popular in

She is at his side 24/7, replacing Ivanka as his 
political advisor. “She is my chocolate Yoko Ono.”
She began to dress just like him, starting a new
fashion trend & resurrecting his Clothing Line.
His popularity numbers rose from 35% to 75%.
She stated to FOX & FRIENDS: I flat out told 
Jay--if you want to keep tapping this fine ass,
then it’s no more fucking Nazis. 

She recruited 50 of her LBGTQ friends to be her
Brown Shirt Posse, dressing them like Mussolini
thugs. They’re all strapped with pink Glocks. The
Secret Service works with them, all eager to do
photo-ops with the new entourage.

Jared & Ivanka throw huge parties now where the
BITCHES 5 perform, celebrating all the Jewish
high holy days. Our President goes to a Jewish
Temple on Saturdays, and a Baptist Church on 
Sundays. He has learned a lot of Yiddish epithets
which now spice up his Tweets. A rabbi has a new
office alongside the WH chapel. Trump has been
endorsed by Jews for Jesus & Woody Allen.

I’m now having a ball,
don’t need no fucking wall.
I told Little Rocket Man
that from now on he can keep his
regime cuz he’s part of my team.
I told all those losers in Europe
that they could suck my syrup,
while I’m banning all travel to Middle East
(cept for Israel) cuz my diplomacy is dope,
a fucking fantastic moveable feast. Yup,
and we fixed Obama Care--did it on a dare.
I tell you I could not be a happier man,
cuz Mexi-cants have turned into Mexi-cans.
and I’ve gone from being a sad sack zero

to a fucking red-white & blue super hero ! 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Pachyderms on Parade

painting by Samuel Adler Heydenn

Pachyderms on Parade

“I just shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he
got in my pajamas I’ll never know.”
--Groucho Marx.

Climate change is the elephant squatting
in the yard, tearing up important grass,
making mud, sucking up ponds, then spraying
trunk rain, eating hedges, showing its ass--
impervious; as all those who are crass
say global warming is just a bad joke,

but they are giving hornet’s nests a poke.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Monday, October 9, 2017

Dream Dancing

painting by Pedro Alvarez.

Dream Dancing

“Those who were seen dancing were thought to be
insane by those who could not hear the music,”
--Friedrich Nietzche.

Pepper breeze,
          melting lull,
               rose leaves,
                     dawn ghost,
                          curling bubble breath,
                      Spring balloons,
               fear giggle,
        green breeze,
cloud journey,
         storm scars,
                whisper jar
                        drizzle echo
                                    shimmering slip,
                        twisting leaves,
                  sound cue,
           spilling sparks,
   giggle shadow,
dream dancing--
opening into that

blissful hope.

Glenn Buttkus

Most all of the Quadrille words.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Hold On, Pain Ends

wall art by Banksy

Hold On, Pain Ends

“Hope is patience with the lamp lit.”

Does hope die
confronting adversity,
                   poor health,
                   overwhelming odds,
                   madness, chaos,
                   or evil?

                   Of course not.
               It is renewed
           with each sunrise,
                  every breath,
                  every heartbeat,
                  every smile,
                  every hug.

Hope conquers despair,
just as Spring dispatches Winter;

you can count on it.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Blackthorne--Scene 70

image from horowhenua.kete.net.nz


Cinemagenic Seventy


“The child supplies the power, but the parents
have to do the steering.”--Benjamin Spock.

1(sound cue) piano & harmonica
2(overhead crane shot) Blackthorne awakening,
kids & dogs running about. a few citizens on a
stroll, one wagon rolling down the street.
3(dolly shot) moving in to the General Store front.
4(medium wide shot) interior of the store; Henry
Wallace counting out his money for the morning
5(close-up) twenty dollars in silver, ten in paper,
five in change; the same every morning.
6(medium wide shot) early rays of sunshine that
filtered in through the stained glass on his front
door, some emerald sprites of light dancing with
the dust along the plank floor, The words
GENERAL STORE covered the two front
windows, The red paint on the large letters was
peeling. Onions, pickles and bacon, tobacco &
leather, peppermint candy canes, linseed oil
and gunpowder smells chased each other 
around the cramped spaces.
7(sound cue) banjo & violin.
8(tighten the shot) Wallace hummed a song, 
matching the score, as he strolled over by the
front window with STORE painted on it. He tied
his clean linen apron around his thin waist.
9(medium close-up) Wallace staring out the 
widow at the few people outside. He had a
breakfast egg stain on one corner of his frost
mustache. He removed his reading glasses.
10(sound cue) Good morning, Pop--came a
cheerful voice behind him.
11(two-shot) He turned and nodded to his
daughter, Salina--his look thorny.
12(medium close-up) Salina--Is your back
bothering you again?
13(two-shot) over Salina’s shoulder--Wallace:
The only way I’m gonna cure my aches & pains
is to die. You may not realize this, but I’m not
getting younger.
Salina: Could have fooled me.
Wallace: Seriously (she laughed) when are you
going to give me a grandchild to go fishing with
--and when in the hell will you start minding the
store yourself?
14(close-up) Salina: Well, let’s see, if I get 
started today, you could have one in less than a
year. You know that I’m not ready to get married
yet, but for Christ’s sake, if you’re dead set on
having a grandchild to spoil, I’m sure that I can
find a dozen dull dicks around here to assist me 
in making one.
15(medium close-up) Wallace: Why do you always 
have to make a monkey’s ass out of me so early
of a morning?
16(sound cue) clarinet & accordion. 
17(wide two-shot) Salina chuckled, but did not
reply. She walked over to the fabrics table and
started folding & stacking the patterned bolts
of cotton and the colorful bolts of silk. Wallace
opened the front door, chiming the tiny welcome 
bells, and kicked a hand-carved doorstop under it.
Wallace: Thor Bronson was looking for you.
Salina: Damn, alert the society page.
Wallace: This is a small town. Sooner or later, you
are going to have to see him again.
Salina: He’d like that--but the skinny bastard leaves 
me cold--and like his brother, he spends too much
time with the whores.
Wallace: Seems like you didn’t always feel that way.
Salina: He behaved himself at first. I danced with him
a few times, had a picnic, drank moonshine with him
on the Fourth of July. Around here, that’s like being
engaged. I’m sick of it. Do you approve of him?
Wallace: Hell, no. He’s an arrogant asshole--but
hey, he is a Bronson.
Salina: And therein lies the problem.
Wallace: He’d put you up in a fine house, & treat
you like a prairie queen.
Salina: I’d rather marry a ranch hand & live in a tent.
Wallace: Talking to you is like talking to myself--I 

can’t make no headway.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Grammer's Wig

image by Tony Luciani

Grammer’s Wig

“The most wasted of all days is one
without laughter.”--e.e. cummings

my shoes fit not
many times post-yogurt
(no spit from sandals)
old man toenails because
in a mason jar gather gleam.

knows no one like troubled
church mice, their claws broken
pining for flight to nestle
in christ’s beard suspended
from penitent arches, wanting
to lick the painted tears.

loam-deep fingerless gloves as
concrete dwellers wine in their whine,
damn too busy app-pursuing to count
(ladybug’s dots) on table clothes
in the outhouse blue purity.

why do sheep weep as llamas cry,
(wolf masks dominate) october’s
last gasp as socks from crippled
dogs are launched at the moon,
barely a midnight slit.

after death sex lingers
with dignity, necklaced in poetry,
pursuing pedophile priests living
in cloud cracks, praying between
the lines, scourging themselves
with feather dusters as cherubs clap,
holding still wings of plastic blood-red.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, October 2, 2017


image from iambrose.deviantart.com 


“You can almost hear the frost faeries moving in
--but first you hear the crackle of their wings.”
--Vera Nazarian,

My home is twenty short miles from the Cascades,
and in our valley, lulled by the last weak rays of
extended summer, we watch the snow level
easing down on the brawny shoulders of the
foothills. Mt. Rainier has already put on its winter
garb, thickened its glaciers, and covered all its

My wife frantically picks her tomatoes. as the
blossoms wither and the stems droop. Tomorrow
morning it will be 38 degrees. The massive maple
next door is ablaze with autumn’s blush. We get
busy gathering boots, winter coats, covering outside
faucets, readying snow tires, and dusting off rusty
tire chains.

The nefarious frost faeries are gathering like clouds 
of icy mosquitos. We hear them buzzing at night,
like ravenous humming birds, approaching in dark
murderous murmurations from the east, coming 
ever closer, their chilled wings aflutter, their icy
fangs agape, their frozen gaze locked on us.

Great Maple stands so
ready to disrobe, needing

to shed its leaf skirt.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun