The Welcoming

painting from fineartamerica.com

The Welcoming

“Only cops and vampires have to have an

invitation to enter.”--Christopher Moore.

I was traveling through the Midwest

last year--a road trip to visit

cousins who have a dairy farm

near Fort Dodge, Iowa.

On the way there,

I was tooling down U.S. Route 69,

listening to “Hot Country K97”,

when I swung over the Des Moines River,

drove south on Central Avenue

into the heart of Fort Dodge,

stopping at the old Wahkonsa Hotel.

They’ve got a great bar there

and I needed a beer badly.

I sat on a stool at the bar,

and sipped at the cold brew.

A heavy set man in a dirty down vest,

a red plaid shirt and a John Deere ball cap,

sat down next to me. He spoke softly.

Hey, stranger--you just traveling through?

Yup. I’ve got some cousins on a farm nearby.

Did you know that Gene Ford, the major league

pitcher, came from right here?

Sorry, I don’t really follow sports that much.

Tell me, are you a nigger lover?

Shocked, I stammered...I’m from Seattle--and we

tend to be pretty liberal there.

Around here, we’ve kept the darkie population down

to 5%--and the beaners too, 5%.

Uh-huh--so what do you do for a living?

I’m a long haul truck driver, a flatbed carrier, hauling

drywall all over the country.

Yeah--I hear that the gypsum mills here are huge.

Mostly we’re all loyal Republicans in these parts.

President Trump is like a God to us. For the first

time since the 50’s, we can be proud
to be Americans.

Do you think that he is doing a good job as President?

Damn rights--he’s our kind of guy. We’re still unhappy

about those eight years we suffered under that 

nigger monkey raghead Obama.

Ah, please, before you continue, know that I am

a Democrat, and we do not see eye to eye on

politics or your world view.

World view? Shit, I figured as much. I can spot

a Commie Liberal a country mile off.

Looking around, I said--Sounds like I may not

be very welcome here.

You catch on fast, numb-nuts.

Several other men began to gather behind me.

I could see a Nazi tattoo on the neck of one.

We’re not unfriendly--so finish your beer and

then get your leftist ass the fuck out of here!

I abandoned what was left of my beer--

their laughter and cat-calls ushered

me out the door. Christ, this was not

the town I had visited a decade before.

Something wicked had past through 

before me.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Flotsam

image by glenn buttkus.

Flotsam

“Our language is a mighty river, picking up silt and

flotsam here and discarding it there; but growing

wider and richer.”--Robert MacNeil.

The beaches along the coast

    of Washington State are never

        littered with beautiful and exotic

             shells, but we do get some cool flotsam--

        pieces of rope and torn nets, and

     colorful styrofoam fishing floats,

bouquets of bird feathers,

clam and crab shells after

they’ve been picked over

by gulls and crows--

                     but mostly driftwood, some entire

                     trees, their roots splayed like squid

                     tentacles. I am attracted

to the smaller pieces,

the chips and broken tips.

Upon closer inspection,

each piece turns out 

to be a tiny work of art,

a unique sculpture

fashioned by finger waves

and the stress of the journey.

We seem to be in the Japanese current.

After their tsunami, I found

                               pink tennis shoes,

                               strange children’s toys,

                               and Asian golf balls.

The piece I took with me

was left out on the deck

until it completely dried out;

then it resembled

           a rattlesnake head ready to bite.

           or a capital A running from something,

           or a sea eel coming out of a coral reef.

You know it may have been

                           part of a house,

                      or a piece off some furniture,

                  or the hilt of a Kendo sword,

             or a chunk from a girl’s hope chest

          or the middle of a baseball bat

  or a slat from a suburban picket fence.

It rests on an oak shelf inside now. When I pass

it I often pick it up, rub it, staring at it, marveling

at its rough-hewn beauty. Then I return it to its

repose. After its long journey, it seems happy

in its new home.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tempest

painting by Daryl Joyce

Tempest

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

--William Shakespeare.

Huge Congressional waves

are crested with malevolent chaos.

For over two years,

calm seas have been rare.

The helmsman is mad

as Lear,

and the oarsmen row

as obedient lemmings;

their strokes uneven--

the ship wandering

in circles;

no safe harbor

on the horizon.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Blackthorne--Scene 79

image from pinterest.com

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Nine

Prudence

“In our country, we have three unspeakably

precious things--freedom of speech and

conscience, and the prudence never to

practice either of them.”--Mark Twain.

1(overhead crane shot--medium wide) the

confrontation and the crowd. In the 

peripheral a freight wagon lumbers past.

2(sound cue) French horn and cello over

hoofbeats and wheel squeaks.

3(two-shot) over Thor’s shoulder--Buck moves

toward him, walking easy; the red and green 

shotgun shells on his chest bobbing.

4(medium close-up) Buck: What do you want,

badass, an apology?

5(four-shot) Cash stepped in front of Thor, and

the sheriff stepped in front of Buck. Cash waved

his gloved hands in the air.

6(medium close-up) Cash: Alright, alright! Is this

any way for neighbors to behave?

7(two-shot) Cash, over Thor’s shoulder: Back off,

Thor. Quit fighting your little brother’s battles for

him. I’m sure that, for now, an apology will suffice.

I will even walk over to my place and convey it to

him--although he probably will be hiding under

some whore’s skirt.

8(sound cue) faint saloon piano.

9(medium wide-shot) Buck moved out around the

sheriff, and Thor stepped out from behind Cash.

10(close-up) Buck: Listen, gunhand, this is my

home now, and I really want to settle down here.

As for you, I believe that you won’t live to be as

old as me.

11(jump-cut close up) Thor, taken aback.

12(medium close-up) Buck: Yup, someone will

kill you--but I’d rather it wasn’t me.

13(close-up) Cash, biting his lower lip, sucking

his teeth: Just cool down, both of you.

14(close-up) Buck: So, hey, you can tell that 

sweet little tinhorn brother of yours that I am

real sorry I tossed him out of a window. I can

see now that it wasn’t any of my business

that he was pistol-whipping his girlfriend--and

you tell him to enjoy riding that stallion I 

caught for him, and to remember all the time

that he is riding it--what good friends the Bucks

and Bronsons are going to be.

15(two-shot) Cash, stepping in front of Thor:

Do you mean that?

16(sound cue) banjo & harmonica.

17(two-shot) over Cash’s shoulder, Buck: Most

of it. Some of this depends on you.

18(two-shot) Cash, over Buck’s shoulder: Hell,

there’s a fair chance we can get along. Some

of that depends on you.

19(medium wide shot) Buck: Right now, in front

of all these good folks...I want you to know that

you can keep using the lake on my property for

your herds. All I ask is that you don’t graze too

long on my land. I’ll need some of that grass for

my own horses.

Cash, smiling and nodding: A damned fine start.

He pulled the glove off his right hand and they

shook on it. Buck turned on his heel, and started

up the street toward the General Store. Hop and

his deputy lowered their scatter guns. Johnny

Eagle stood for a moment, still returning Thor’s

menacing stare, Then he turned and followed Buck.

20(medium close-up) Be seeing you soon, neighbor!

Thor yelled after them.

21(sound cue) branch flute and snare drum. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Cirque du Vitam et Mortem

image from cinemasterpieces.com

Cirque du Vitam et Mortem

“Time is a circus, always packing up

and moving away.”--Ben Hecht.

Who can ever forget

their first visit to the circus?

Mine was in 1952,

in the Big Top,

set up in a farmer’s field

outside of Seattle--

Ringling Bros--Barnum & Bailey.

I remember

fresh sawdust,

wooden bleachers,

tall vendors in red striped pants

selling peanuts, cotton candy & popcorn,

the distinct oder of exotic manure--

elephants, horses, lions & tigers.

There were three big rings,

about 50 feet in diameter

circus is from the Latin for circle.

We sat by the middle one,

so that we could see the ringmaster.

There was a thrilling opening parade,

complete with marching band & clown cars.

Lion & tiger trainers

and the trapeze/high wire acts

were my favorites, amidst

a cacophony of brass instruments,

crowd clatter, lion roars, & elephant trumpeting.

Huge colorful balloons were tethered to everything.

Being an inquisitive eight-year old,

I wanted to know the history of the circus.

My Mom told me it was a tradition

that started in England in 1770,

and that most of the high wire/trapeze acts

that we had just seen were

recruited in Europe.

“The clowns too?” I asked.

“No, dear, they have their own school in Florida.”

“Can I go to clown school?”

“You don’t have to,” she said,

“You’re a natural clown already.”

She may have been right,

but when she died at 39,

the copious tears of a clown

flooded the neighborhood.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Crazytown

image from theurbantwist.com

Crazytown

“Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide

the madness.”--Allen Ginsberg.

Aardvarks on golden leashes are

Becoming a common sight in Crazytown;

Cats wearing snake skin zoot suits,

Dancing the bop with their kitties,

Every one of them with slick-backed hair

Fighting other Toms in back alleys.

Gyrating pooches howling the blues,

Having a ball in their pork-pie hats.

Inside the station the rat police plot

Jacked-up charges and bogus fines.

Kind kangaroos are the court judges,

Leaving leeway for folks in Crazytown.

Many of us fear being there late at night;

Nobody, certainly, carries very much cash.

Others are drawn to the spirited melee.

Prostitute opossums wear those short skirts,

Quite ready to offer love for sale, cuz wild

 Rendezvous’s happen often in Crazytown.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Together We Fell

image from Business Insider


Together We Fell

“At Shanksville, where many people who were

given no time at all to decide, did the right thing.”

--Bill Clinton 2011

It felt like we all lived through

the same nightmare on that

Tuesday morning in 2001.

A plane had crashed into

one of the twin towers

blared the news report.

I immediately remembered the many planes,

in foul weather, that have crashed into

the Empire State Building--but hey,

it was a beautiful morning, cold and crisp

and electric blue.

Then the second plane

hit the second tower,

and it suddenly dawned on us

that we, that America was under attack,

just like that gorgeous Sunday morning

at Pearl Harbor.

The rest of our morning was a horror show,
people jumping, both towers falling,

the crash at the Pentagon,

and the courage shown by the passengers

who brought their plane down 

in a field at Shanksville, thus preventing

an attack on the White House.

Then we experienced the aftermath,

where tens of thousands of volunteers

pitched in to clear the rubble

and search for survivors;

when the whole world sent

their prayers and support.

Every year on 9/11

we celebrate Patriot’s Day.

For the first several years

there was a reading aloud

of all the names or those who perished.

It took over an hour.

I recall in 2003, when Mayor Bloomberg said:

So many names--there is hardly room

on the walls of my heart.

Today, 17 years later, I listened

to Trump bumble his way

through a well-written tribute;

like listening to a fifth grader

reciting Shakespeare.

He mentioned the 7,000

men and woman in the armed services

who have died in the Middle East

fighting in the war that never  ends.

I don’t know what makes me sadder,

remembering that tragic day,

or trying to fully grasp the nightmare

we are once again all living together.

The 21st Century has yet to rise

off its knees.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Dawn Patrol

image by Thomas Pollart.

Dawn Patrol

“I am but mad north-northwest; but when the wind

is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

--William Shakespeare.

The white-out is coming

said the squirrel

to the hare;

Put on 

your white winter coat

to fool the hawks.

The flapping wings

are already

in the gray clouds.

Death can be quick for

rabbits in the snow; talons

dropping from the sky.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Blackthorne--Scene 78

image from icollector.com

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Eight

Stalemate

“Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs--

better than all the stalemate ifs.”

--Robert Frost.

1(Medium close-up) Thor: I’m not interested in

dirtying my hands by touching you. I don’t touch shit.

2(two shot) Buck, over Thor’s shoulder: So let me

get this straight--you’re afraid to use your fists?

3(two-shot) Thor, over Buck’s shoulder--clenching

his jaw: I said, I fight with my gun. You know what 

a gun is don’t you buffman? You got enough iron

hanging on you to lame a damn mule.

4(sound cue) piano & harmonica.

5(medium close-up) Buck: Well...what if I don’t

feel like fighting today?

6(close-up) Thor:  What?

7(cut to overhead drone shot) the whole crowd

standing in the street.

8(tight close-up) Buck: What if I just don’t feel like 

killing you this morning?

9(two-shot) Thor, over Buck’s shoulder: I would

have to say that your feelings don’t mean shit

on this street today.

10(medium wide shot) Buck: Look around you,

gunfighter. The whole town is watching--dozens

of witnesses. A town pretty much owned by your

brother, I grant you, but maybe today will be

different. Maybe today if these folks see you

kill a man in cold blood, a man who refused to

fight you, maybe they will become angry, and pull

down on you, and shoot you to pieces like a

rabid skunk.

11(sound cue) banjo & snare drum.

12(medium close-up) Thor: I wouldn’t bet my

life on it.

13(two-shot) Buck and the Eagle--Johnny:

Shoot him in the guts!

14(medium wide shot) Thor tensed, but didn’t

budge. Cash looked on, smiling, his hands on the 

fence for all to see.

15(medium close-up) Thor: Don’t think that

I won’t pull first.

16(two-shot) Buck, over Thor’s shoulder: Oh,

I know you are capable of murder, but I don’t

think you will do it today.

17(close-up) Thor: I’ll shoot your eyes out!

18(close-up) Buck, calmly: OK, asshole--

now’s the time.

19(medium close-up) Thor’s right hand began

to move. Stop! someone yelled.

20(medium wide shot) Sheriff Joe Hop stepped

out of the crowd, with a scatter gun aimed at Thor.

The tall deputy, also armed with a shotgun, stood 

on Hop’s right, holding on Buck.

Cash Bronson: What are you doing in town, Joe?

Joe Hop: Keeping the peace.

Bronson: Seems like you’ve had a bad case of that

lately.

Hop: It’s time.

Bronson: You don’t say. Time for what?

Hop: Time for someone to say no. Buck is saying

it, and I‘m backing him.

21(close up) Thor: So you’re going to nursemaid

this sorry sonofabitch?

22(two-shot) Hop over Thor’s shoulder: Yeah, it

sure looks like it.

23(sound cue) Indian seed rattle.

24(close-up) Buck: There’s only four of them.

25(two-shot) Hop, smiling then drawling: Yeah,

I know--but some innocent bystander would have 

got plugged sure as hell. So I figured to stop it.

26(medium close-up) Thor: Is it stopped?

27(two-shot) Hop: It is--unless you want your fancy

belt buckle blown out through your ass.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Heartbreak Hotel

image from fineartamerica.com

Heartbreak Hotel

“The heart was made to be broken.”

--Oscar Wilde.

Are we living in the End Times?

Can any one of us fully process

the world’s ills in a single day?

My heart is shattered beyond repair

because of...

drug cartels in Mexico and South America,

drought, starvation and unclean water

in Africa and Illinois, the Opioid Epidemic

in the middle class, the thousands who 

died needlessly in Puerto Rico, monster

tornados, hurricanes, & volcano eruptions,

glaciers melting & drowning polar bears,

cruelty to animals, the battering and raping

of women, the fucking 1% that owns nearly

everything, terrorist & racial massacres, the

killing of young black men by the police, the

New Millennium Crusades, authoritarian

assaults on democracy, the spread and growth

of the homeless population, our crumbling

infrastructure, governmental corruption at

every level, the insidious lobbyists who own

the politicians, the seasonal forest fires,

torrential rains, flash flooding and mudslides,

those massive traffic jams, our renewed fear

of nuclear destruction, when “the truth is not

the truth”, when Trump orders his minions

to disregard all the coverage done by the

free press and media--and to only pay

attention to the propaganda spewed out

on Fox State TV--

all this, in one form or another

broadcast every single day,

because we live in an age

where a camel farts in Saudi

Arabia, and within ten minutes

it becomes banner news.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday--Monday

image from cabroworld.com

Monday--Monday

“Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day--

sometimes it just turns out that way.”

--the Mamas and the Papas.

The cat demanding its breakfast blended

with the bastard-buzz from his clock radio--

6:00am. Opening his eyes, he caught a

flicker on the back of his lids form the last

moment of his dream--a wharf rat sitting on

his chest, its red eyes bellicose. 

His right arm was numb from some awkward 

sleeping position. His pillow case was damp

from his slumber’s open mouth drool. Tossing

his blankets back, he immediately felt the

September chill in the room. He stood up

stiffly and walked across the cold hardwood

floor to the open window; he preferred to sleep

in a cooled room. Shutting the window he 

managed to muffle some of the traffic noise.

Standing up in the shower, with his hands high on

the wall, the steaming hot water finally pronounced

him “fully awake”. Damn, did he scribble down the 

phone number of that hot blonde from the bar last

night? Why didn’t he use a condom? Whiskey stupid.

Could he ever find her place again? Would that dent 

he left on that silver Lexus get somebody excited this

morning? The plumbing thunked as he turned off the

shower. Barely dry, he stepped boldly out into that

blue Monday maze.

Hawks like pigeon eggs

from the nest on the roof next

door--their breakfast raw.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub