Quagmire Now

Iraqi Quagmire by latuffdeviantart. com

Quagmire Now

“My words in her mind; cold polished stones

sinking through a quagmire.”--James Joyce.

The world today is a worrisome place.

Almost war between India and Pakistan.

A very satisfied smirk on Kim Jong Um’s face.

Cohen paints Trump as racist, cheat, & con man.

Almost war between India and Pakistan.

Some hostilities are many centuries old.

Cohen paints Trump as racist, cheat, & con man.

In politics, the truth is hardly ever told.

Some hostilities are many centuries old.

Strife in Israel echos grievances from the past.

In politics, the truth is hardly ever told.

Changing minds cannot be accomplished fast.

Strife in Israel echos grievances from the past.

A very satisfied smirk on Kim Jong Um’s face.

Changing minds cannot be accomplished fast.

The world today is a worrisome place.

Glenn Buttkus

Pantoum

Post over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Never Forget

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Never Forget

“We must develop the capacity to forgive--for

there is some good in the worst of us, and some

evil in the best of us.”--Martin Luther King.

Forgiveness is a bigger word

than love; more profound,

more letters, more complications.

It is the shining corner stone

for most religions.

I mean, we hope to hell

that there really is a God,

so that on Judgement Day,

He/It/She will forgive us our sins.

Even though I don’t think

the word asshole

is in the Bible, the Koran,

or the Tibetan Book of the Dead,

basically we count on some higher power

forgiving us for having been an asshole.

I am more comfortable

with the Zen notion that

our very own Higher Self--

you know, the spiritual entity

that continues to exist after

our divers meat sacks are discarded,

will be the only judge of our behavior

in this lifetime; the karmic debt

transfer issue is still confusing to me.

As my self, I find it difficult

to truly forgive anyone

for a pregnant plethora of possible

grievous and negative infractions.

I am able to accept, adjust,

and accommodate, but not actually

forgive--and certainly not forget.

It’s like I have a special chamber within,

where I file the injustices, inequities,

insults and injuries that I have suffered.

I don’t think of it as holding grudges;

rather I believe it is just logical

to keep track of the red flags,

cons, betrayals, and wounds.

I have been snake-bit.

I did not forgive the snake; 

I killed and ate it.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Food Chain

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Food Chain

“Mosquitoes remind us that we are not as high up

on the food chain as we think.”--Tom Wilson.

Sharks eat sea lions.

An orca eats sharks.

Sea lions eat yellow tail.

Tuna eat sardines and tropical fish.

Tropical fish eat insects;

and ironically damn mosquitos

chow down on me.

Hummingbirds sip their

nectar, as crows push them off

the bright red feeders.

Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Blackthorne--Episode 88

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Eight

Brawlers

“Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate,

O anything of nothing first create.”

--William Shakespeare.

1(sound cue) guitar chord

2(medium close-up) Thor, his face reddening,

pulling off his shirt: Don’t give me any more of your 

pacifist bullshit! You know damn well what this about--

so just jerk your shirt off and get your fists up...or I 

will lay into you right where you stand.

3(two-shot) Salina came up to Buck and kissed him.

4(close-up) Thor: Only a slut would do that in public.

5(sound cue) Thor’s men laughing over blues guitar

slide.

6(medium close-up) Salina: Hey, these days, sluts

are something you’d know a lot about.

7(extreme close-up) Buck’s eyes simmering with fury

8(medium wide shot) Buck unbuttoning his shirt, his

back to the camera. Salina facing him, forcing a 

small grin, her chin quivering. Thor in the background,

slightly out of focus.

9(sound cue) harmonica huffing, accelerating slowly,

like a train picking up speed.

10(cut to overhead crane shot) People became 

hushed as they pushed back, letting the circle widen. 

Buck stepped further into it.

11( two steadicam operators) the fight will be handled

in wide shots, close-ups, and alternating POV’s. The

action will simply be described:

Thor came in slowly, circling the bigger man, dancing,

his fists windmilling. Buck stood flat-footed, turning to

face Thor at every point.

Thor: Come on, big man, now’s the time--show me 

how tough you are.

Buck didn’t even have his fists up.

Someone in the crowd yelled: Damn, are you two

fellers going to dance or fight?

Buck turned his head to answer, and Thor rushed

in, tackling him low, bringing the hunter to the boards.

The gunfighter hammered at Buck’s stomach, hitting

him with stiff punches. Buck swung a wide fist up 

from the floor, and it collided with the side of Thor’s

head, spinning him off. Buck partially sat up,

gulping for air. Thor leaped on top of him, twisting

a half-nelson over his head. Buck muscled up to

his knees, with Thor cursing and squeezing on him.

He squirmed around in the other’s grip, partially

facing him. The hunter wrapped his long thick arms

around the gunfighter, beginning to apply pressure 

of his own, squeezing the marrow out of Thor’s

ribs; both men immobile, frozen, straining and

squeezing, their eyes rolled back in the sockets,

their faces turning purple. One could have heard

a horseshoe nail drop.

           Thor exploded--kicking, squirming and

screaming. Buck held fast. The hardcase kicked

him in the leg, but Buck’s grip remained iron. Thor,

in a frenzy, kicked again and again, slamming the

hard heel of his shiny boot into Buck’s knee cap.

Buck howled and lurched sideways, rolling across
the floor, still clutching the smaller man. In the

middle of the third roll, with Buck on top, Thor

managed to rock backwards, and punched the

hunter in the throat. Buck let go and flopped over

on his back, as Thor scurried free.

              Buck stayed down as the hardcase

bounced to his feet. Buck got up to his hands and

knees. Thor leaped in and kicked him in the butt, the

thud filling the room, Thor’s gang cheered him on.

The hunter rocked up onto his shaky knees. Thor

kicked him in the small of the back. Buck caught his

balance with one arm--the black boot lashed out 

toward his stomach. Buck caught it with his other

hand. Thor jerked back, but Buck had hold of his

whole leg.

           As if in slow motion, the fighters pulled their

fist behind their ears and swung simultaneously.

Their clenched white-knuckled fists whizzed past

each other in the dead air. Thor’s blow landed

squarely on Buck’s jaw, and the hunter delivered

a smashing blow to the gunfighter’s groin. Buck’s

head snapped back, and the room began to spin.

...to be continued.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Arbeit Macht Frei

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Arbeit Macht Frei

“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it,

and eventually they will believe it.”

--Adolf Hitler

Our Emporer has no decency,

                             no conscience,

                             no compassion,

                             no discernible intellect,

                             no fidelity to the promises he made,

                             no loyalty to those who enabled, 

                             who elected and adored him,

                             no need to comprehend his own

                             job description, with

                             no need to tell the truth, or respect

                             it, or heed it.

  

We, the people, are privileged to be Americans,

free to witness our Republic being raped,

and forced to wear the rags of an Oligarchy,

at liberty to march in the streets, to inhale

tear gas, and to be hosts for rubber bullets,

               to preach on street corners,

               to write defiant poetry of dissent,

and most importantly of all--

               to vote in national elections,

even though voter suppression, gerrymandering,

fraud, extortion, and collusion

can reduce the full effect of our vote

to the stature of a popcorn fart.

It is hard for me to fathom

that in most other countries

things can be much worse;

where an offhand comment,

or a political cartoon, or an editorial

can constitute a death sentence.

Here, driving or walking while black,

brown, red, or yellow can garner

the same result.

Growing up in the upper/lower class,

being a blue collar firebrand, I have

always felt that the Privileged Class

were the super rich, the top 1%

that control 90% of the world’s wealth. 

In 74 years I have not encountered

anything to change my perspective.       

As a progressive clenched fist,

I must admit to flop-sweat nightmares

about jackbooted, bullet-proofed, SWAT

masked faces bursting into my home

at 3am, putting me in handcuffs

before sending me off to join my brethren

in Gulags, or death camps, or maybe 

just a Black Ops Detention Center  

where I will be reprogrammed 

and re-educated, to serve out 

my political penance before

I achieve Automaton status.                                                       

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

State Fair

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State Fair

“The Iowa State Fair sells fried sticks of butter--

nice to see how pro-life they are.”--Anonymous.

Marvelous fun awaits, in mid-summer at the

Washington State Fair, after paying the fee.

Cooking smells permeate like nectar for a bee.

Rollercoasters plunge making us yell Wheeee!

Barbecue, burgers, fish, and elephant ears--

winning Teddy bears bring us to joyful tears.

Driving bumper cars create loud rebel yells.

On the giant ferris wheel we face our fears. 

Cotton candy, jam scones, fudge and sugar corn.

Falling in the Space Drop makes one forlorn.

There’s pygmy pig races and pungent flower huts.

There’s shooting tin ducks, and red plastic horns--

chuck wagon parades and a real Cowboy Rodeo--

crossbows, swords, Bowie knives and a gun show--

sno-cones, yogurt and ice cream of every flavor,

and chess matches with formidable foes.

In the huge barns we’re greeted by lovely smells

of critter scat and fresh hay, plus sound of a cow bell.

We spent a lot of money, but what the hell,

we skip home humming “Farmer in the Dell”.

Glenn Buttkus

Rubaiyat

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He's Not a Duck

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He’s Not a Duck

“Small men often feel a need to prove their

courage--but I doubt he could kill a duck.”

--George R. R. Martin.

But he certainly is a cartoon.

Over 8,000 lies in 742 days--

quite the torchlight of untruths,

even for a bilious gasbag

like T45. 

The last two years have been unreal,

even surreal. El Presidente truly

is the Emperor of Dark Souls, destined

to trod the path of exile.

I quake with terrible anger daily

as Diablo Jose Frump pretends

to be the God of War, he with

the frat boy’s draft dodging bone spurs

beneath a coward’s stripes.

My only portal to solace

is to launch salvos of humor

his direction

Surely, his deserved karmic destiny

will be that he’s remembered as the

                   Benito of Bumpkins, the

                       Prince of Morons, the

                      Statue of Stupidity, the                               

                    Aardvark of Asshats.

I do fear that if he just refuses

to be impeached, if he creates

a cadre of stormtrumpers to

protect himself, and then he

disbands Congress, he may appoint

himself as President for Life,

or he may just explode like a

gluttonous Monty Python character.

Meanwhile,

the lies are thick as gnats in August,

democracy bleeds from a thousand cuts,

overwatch is a sad ineffective joke,

and very soon there will be

another bevy of Fox News celebrities

that will be appointed

as the Secretaries of Everything.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Love For Sale

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Love For Sale

“Hollywood is a place where they will pay you

a thousand dollars for a kiss, and fifty cents

 for your soul.”--Marilyn Monroe.

Audrey Hepburn liked to kiss.

Marilyn Monroe did not.

Tony Curtis once said:

Kissing Marilyn is like kissing Hitler.

She was a sex symbol

only on the outside;

that’s so sad.

Snowshoe rabbit has

only a camouflage; hawk’s talons

give the kiss of death.

Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Blackthorne--Episode 87

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Eighty-Seven

Turnover

“Turnover is how high you bounce when you

hit bottom.”--Gen. George S. Patton.

1(sound cue) French horn and snare drum over

the crowd and the band.

2(crane shot--wide pan of the crowd) Tension swam

through the smokey air. The dancers never stopped.

The music kept squawking from the end of the room.

3(cut to medium close-up) Thor turned slowly:

Hop, you’re getting pretty damn big for your boots.

The Sheriff: They still fit alright.

4(four-shot) Johnny Eagle: Hey, Peno, are you 

brusco? Do you actually want to start a fight?

5(medium close-up) Thor, with his lips curled back:

A greasy halfbreed, a fucking runt sheriff, a guy that 

smells like buffalo shit, and a father that mixes sand 

with his sugar--I’m so happy for you, Salina!

6(sound cue) saxophone squeal and drum bap.

7(two-shot) over Thor’s shoulder, Salina slapped him

very hard. He slapped her right back, and she 

slumped into Buck’s arms.

8(steadicam wide shot with panning--jump cuts) 

Paulie used a blackjack behind Hop’s ear, knocking 

him down. Wallace went for Thor--Thor blocked the 

punch easily. Two burly ranch hands jumped on Johnny, 

pinning his arms behind him. Buck still held Salina, but 

maneuvered her to a nearby chair. The music and the 

dancing stopped. People were open-mouthed and silent. 

The deputy stood with his arms folded on his chest.

9(tighten the shot) Paulie now had the sheriff’s pistol,

pointing it at Buck: Should I blast his liver out, Thor?

10(sound cue) Guitar and harmonica.

11(medium close up) Thor: Easy, little brother. I do

agree that this big fellow needs a lesson, but don’t

shoot him just yet. We can do that some other time

12(medium wide.shot) Wallace tossed a glass of

punch in Thor’s face, and lunged at his waist. Thor

collided with Paulie, and his brother dropped the gun.

Buck rushed forward and slugged one of the men

who were holding Johnny. The Eagle used his free 

elbow to give the other man a kidney punch. A

pistol shot blasted a hole in the ceiling. The deputy

pushed his way to the combatants.

13(close-up) Deputy: Things are getting a bit

rough here!

14(two shot) Wallace: Damn you, Billy--you did not 

try to stop this until we got the upper hand!

Deputy: Appears to me that these two are the ones

having a dispute, and the rest of you are buttin’ in

where you don’t belong.

Wallace: What the deuce are you jabbering about?

Deputy: A fair fight between Thor and Buck.

Thor nodded and Buck smiled.

15(sound cue) guitar and accordion 

16(overhead crane wide shot) The crowd came alive.

They helped the Sheriff up, and pushed the tables, 

chairs, benches and bales against the walls. Thor

strolled across the open space to the far side.

Several of his men stood all about him.

17(medium close-up) Sheriff Hop stepped into the

middle, his gun regained, and most of his

consciousness: Calm down, folks, rubbing the back

of his neck and giving the stink eye to the Bronsons.

18(two-shot) Paulie was letting Thor take a big pull

from his silver decanter.

19(medium wide-shot) Sheriff: What a treat--looks like

we going to have a main event here tonight. These two

citizens have been at each other’s throat, for one 

reason or another, for weeks now.. This is the primary

reason everybody’s weapons are piled on that table

over there. So, what the hell, we’ll let them fight. It’ll

be bare knuckles, everything goes. It won’t be over

until someone gives up, or has to be carried out.

Buck stepped into the circle, flanked by Wallace

and the Eagle.

20(medium close-up) Buck: I keep telling the 

Bronsons that we don’t have anything to fight about.

21(voice over) Thor: Go to hell! 

22(close-up) Thor: You wanted a fist fight the other

day--skin not iron, remember? You are a big man,

but I will knock you on your goddamn ass!

23(sound cue) guitar blues slide.

24(close-up) Buck: What will it prove?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

The New Kid

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The New Kid

“When I was the new kid, pussy was just a cat,

sex was just a gender, 69 was just a number, and

bang was just a sound.”--Anonymous.

I was far from invisible,

ten schools in ten years; incredible.

I became the sometimes pariah,

stranger and me indivisible.

I was the perpetual new kid,

popular as an arachnid;

growing up fast and hard, all fists

and intellect, making sure I did

not anger leaders, nor bully

their followers, making teachers fully

impressed, carving my place at the table,

living much of the time mid--gully

between friends and belligerent foes,

I stayed strong eating my Cheerios,

surfing more highs than undercurrent lows--

emerging with all my fingers and toes.

So I’ve never managed to be

invisible, though it could key

less stress and strife, happier me;

instead of always fighting and never flee.

Glenn Buttkus

Rubaiyat

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Sentinels

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Sentlnels 

“Loneliness is the poverty of the self; solitude is the

richness of self.”--Mary Sarton.

As a kid, I remember my mother saying,”Butch, I am

amazed at how much time you spend alone without,

apparently, being lonely. I would go to my room and

read, play games, sketch, study and daydream.

Ironically, it was never really a punishment for me to

be told to go to my room.

When I am alone--strolling, hiking, meditating, writing,

or using my camera, I’m in the zone, laser-focused;

feeling joyful, blissful and creative. When I’m single,

without a life partner, far from family and friends--

then in the midst of crowds, loneliness stabs my

chest like a heart attack, like a ghoulish demon

with depression as its companion, and it spreads

through my body like a virulent infection from a

wound.

The converse, of course, is that when I share

nature, travel or art with a loved one, I feel very

fulfilled, bursting with happiness, completed. I

no longer can enjoy a play, a film, or a sunset

without someone else in attendance. I believe

that solitude is essential for creative growth,

but it is fellowship that provides substantiation  

and validation.

Eagles mate for life,

but as sentinel hunters,

they value solitude.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub