To Be A Poet

Painting by Jackson Pollock

To Be A Poet

“Wine is bottled poetry”--

Robert Lewis Stevenson

To be a poet

is to be a cipher, a

witness, a judge, an

artist, a lover, or a

malcontent--the one who sees.

There are as many varied themes for poetry

as there are hobbies, interests, politics, 

tragedies and celebrations; a plethora of

possibilities.

“If you have some heavy lifting to do, bring in

the poets.”

Since I was a teenager, as soon as I was introduced

to the free verse of Walt Whitman & the scatological

energy of Ginsberg, poetry became my favorite form

of communication.

First leap from the nest

tests new wings, answers the call

of soul, of nature.

Poets in foxholes have shared the horrors of war

much more clearly than novelists or reporters. Poets

amidst revolutions write the anthems,, the mantras, 

the slogans and the manifestos. Poets in love, or
lust, can find the words to woo, to seduce, and to

touch potential partners & future readers.

Personally, I adore our community of poetics, our

sweet family, spread out across the globe, enjoying

the fellowship, the sharing, and the challenge of 

trying out new and classic forms.

Pigeons and crows share

the great maple next door, and they

have weaved armistice.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub--Haibun

Chinatown

image from Zhang-Zongjing.com

Chinatown

“Medicine is a science of uncertainty and an art

of probability.”--Willam Osler

Several decades ago,

when my medical problems

began to manifest themselves,

it took a couple of years

to partially diagnose me.

Doggedly I searched for cures & answers.

I went to a rag-tag group of healers,

but theology in several languages

are soul journeys, and I never found

the key to healing.

At one point, I decided to investigate

Eastern Medicine. Through a friend I found

a Chinese doctor working out of his kitchen

on Beacon Hill. He spoke very little English.

He sniffed me a lot, took a long look at my

tongue, skin, and eyes--telling me that I had

liver trouble.

He wrote me a script in Chinese,

and sent me to an address in Chinatown.

It was a shadowy, dimly lit rambling

panorama of tall shelves, with little library

ladders in several places. On the shelves

were huge glass jars of herbs, roots, & bones.

I was given “special tea” and a bottle of little

black pills. I never knew what they were; the 

label was in Chinese. I thought to myself,

“Probably repackaged Carter’s Little Liver Pills”.

The tea seemed to be leaves, grass, and twigs.

It smelled like a dead skunk on a gut wagon. It

made me throw up twice, and gave me a healthy

case of the trots--but I found no solace,

                                              no answers, &

                                              no healing.

Peacock called across

the pond, but only the koi

heard the sad shrill song.

 
Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Lost Spurs

image from etsy.com 

Lost Spurs

“Film acting is really the trick of doing moments. You 

earn your spurs by acting on stage.”--Sam Shepard.

Damn.

I lost track of time,

quiet as cat’s feet, silent as

butterfly wings; just no

Warning that Open Link

Night was upon us--so my

BLACKTHORNE saga waits.

Now a string of cute

tanka/haiku will have to 

suffice; just my Bad.

Summer breezes flutter

maple leaves and robin’s flight;

sun smiling in clouds. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Succubus

image borrowed from mysuperpost.com

Succubus 

“The older I get, the surer I am that I am not running

the show.”--Leonard Cohen

Ah, the Liberal Arts--

I was always better at them

then science or math;

writing, painting, & acting

were joyful pursuits.

Of course, most of us who

     chose Art to pursue, found out,

          unfortunately, that the arts as avocation 

                  are grand, but our hubris consisted of a 

          perceived need to transcend our amateur 

       status; believing that only when we  

were paid for our gifts could our

creativity be legitimate.

But nothing is more fickle than the arts when

                   it comes to making a living;

                   it is true that our narcissism,

self adulation and ego            are satiated,

                   as Creativity blossoms like

                   a field of poppies in Spring;

all passionate red and intoxicating--

yet the dark day usually arrives

when our side job becomes

our primary income.

I believe that there is a beautiful bravery

about those of us who became

professionals,       who roped the dream,

                             who embraced fantasy.

I gave a decade to Art, and then thirty years to

teaching, discovering that serving others was much

more satisfying than just serving my self. I know 

that Art is essential to the human experience, just

as necessary as technology, science, or commerce.

More’s the pity that patrons are few, and success

is elusive & fleeting.              

Art as a muse is

fine, but she can be a bitch;

so beware her smile.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

The Antidote

borrowed from yourlifinsurance.tk

The Antidote

“I know but one freedom, and that is the freedom of

the mind.”--Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

It is one thing to have no real access to freedom, to be 

in chains or behind bars, but quite another when your

your body can, or will not respond to your commands; 

its rebellion simmering for decades, stripping away 

dexterity, strength, function & balance--until one dawn

you become trapped in your home, and everything

that you consider to be your self as a person is just

painfully stripped away, torn asunder.

Then comes the panic & insomnia, wrapped in a

terrible mantle of fear--of darkness, of sleep, of demons,

even death. The key to egress, to homeostasis, is

within. Feed the mind, break the chains.

There is a breaking

point for each of us, but the

mind can restore all.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets