Wednesday, May 27, 2020

Blackthorne Episode 116

image from


Cinemagenic 116


“Fast is fine, but accuracy is final.”--Wyatt Earp.

1(sound cue) guitar and violin.
2(overhead crane wide shot) Buck and the big Indian
 faced off against Thor and several back-up gunsels.
3(medium close-up) Thor: Did you hear me, buffer. I 
think you should apologize to my little brother.
4(tight close-up) Buck: We played this game before. 
I’m going to get Ramos anyway, so why not just
hand him over and let him take his chances with the
5(sound cue) castanets and harmonica.
6(tight close-up) Thor: I’ll tell you what...quit begging
like a little girl and let your iron do the talking.
7(medium close-up) Buck: Goddamn it, Thor. Ramos
just shot Mateo in cold blood. I’m taking him. You
gain nothing by pulling on me.
8(one-shot) over Buck’s shoulder, Thor: You know this
ain’t about Ramos. It’s about you and me.
Buck, over Thor’s shoulder: Well...I’m not backing
down this time.
9(sound cue) snare drum baps and coronet bleats over
chair scraping and crowd gasp.
Thor: That’s good to hear. I’ve found out that you’re
too big for me to whip. I now know my woman prefers
you to me. So we’re going to finally find out how fast
you are.
Buck: Fast enough to kill you.
Thor: Now’s the time, stepping closer.
10(medium wide shot) Buck and Thor at opposite edges
 of the frame. a series of jump cuts, their eyes, their hands 
hovering over their six-shooters.
11(sound cue) loud piano chords.
They watched each other’s eyes, like prize fighters,
waiting for that twitch, that message. Buck saw it first.
Both their right hands became a blur. Thor’s .38 fired
first, overlapped by Buck’s Colt barking in his right hand. 
Thor’s bullet grazed Buck’s right shoulder, Buck’s lead
ripped apart Thor’s gun hand.
12(sound cue) French horn and bass drum.
13(one-shot) Thor stood there for a long moment,
his face contorted in disbelief and pain, looking
down at his pistol on the floor, 
14(close-up) its polished handle covered in blood. 
His little finger lying on the floor alongside it; just
lying there like a bloody sausage. 
15(medium close-up) He raised his eyes to meet 
Buck’s, and found himself staring down the barrel
of the Thunderer.
16(close-up) The smoking Colt aimed at the center
of the lens.
17(two-shot) Thor, snarling: Why didn’t you shoot
to kill?
Buck: Why didn’t you?
18(sound cue) saxophone.
19(cut to medium wide shot) Upstairs, a door burst 
open, and Ramos charged out followed by two men.
20(two-shot) Buck’s sawed off seem to jump into his
left hand, and he fired once with both barrels, as he
dove for the floor. The Indian shot the short bully
guard in the chest before he could raise his shotgun
21(cut to upstairs) Ramos filled the smoky saloon with
his screaming, squealing like a throat-cut swine,
clutching at his stomach, staggering forward,
crashing through the railing,
22(upwards reverse dolly shot) as he plunged head
first fifteen feet to the floor.
23(camera holds as his body falls toward the lens)
24(sound cue) 280 pounds of gut-shot meat hitting
the bare floor.
25(medium wide shot) He hit with a horrible thunk.
Everyone in the room heard his neck snap. His
broken body shuddered, as all the nerves in it
fought with death, lying in a heap like a bison felled
with a .50 caliber Sharps. The Indian mercy shot
him in the head, and pieces of his brain splattered
for ten feet.
Every person in the room was on the floor behind
overturned tables. The two men upstairs hid behind
what was left of the railing. Paul Bronson had
scampered up the stairs, and hid in a room. All the
whores were out of sight. Playing cards and poker
chips were scattered on the floor. Buck was slowly
crawling toward the guard’s cubicle
26(sound cue) blues guitar slide.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub OLN

Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Room for All

painting by Norman Rockwell

Room for All

For some, life may be a playground, simply a
vainglorious game of theatrics, self-deception,
and lack of empathy; just another empty room.”
--Erik Pervernagie.

Is there room in my
heart for compassion for those
dying in Brazil?
Nature treats us as pariah,
attacking every country.  Glenn Buttkus.

Many people hear voices
while shut up in rooms, staring
at four silent walls.
Odd that as writers, we pretty
much do the same damn thing.  
--Margaret Chittenden.

It was not the room’s
disorder that was frightening;
rather it was that
I could see no key to repair it.
--James Baldwin.

There is a room with-
in me, a chamber actually,
where Love waits to trump
the cruelty of some men, that being
their highest goal it seems.
--Glenn Buttkus.

Twas a cozy room,
books packed tight on shelves,
or lying in piles.
It smelled of very rich words
and very deep thoughts.
--Jenny Nimmo.

If your thoughts are only
as tall as the height of your
ceiling, you will never
fly above your room.
--Israelmore Ayivor.

For some, a prison
cell is their only room,
for others it may
be an appliance box, or
an abandoned car, or alley.
--Glenn Buttkus

When a small night-lamp
alone illuminates our love-
making, the room be-
comes circular, passing through
night humming with stars.
--Fernand Dumont.

Today, we’re divorcing
the past and marrying the present,
divorcing indifference,
and marrying Love, finding
God in every single room.
--Kamand Kojouri.

No room at the Inn
is biblical in tone, and
now plenty of rooms.
Christ could have been born without
the lovely Ode de la Cowdung.

I have triple pad-
locked the racist views of my
past, banning them for-
ever, cuz humanity is actually
a brotherhood, our family.
--Glenn Buttkus

Glenn Buttkus


Monday, May 25, 2020

Broadway Dirge

painting by Piet Mondrian.

Broadway Dirge

“Glory falls all around us as we sob a dirge
of desolation at the Cross.”--Maya Angelou

Staring at Broadway Boogie Woogie by Piet
Mondrian, painted in 1943, what I see, beyond
the striking red-white-blue (America) plus golden
sunshine yellow ( hope & wealth) with a spotless
white background color scheme, is geometry,
symmetry, a tidy map of wartime New York City--
tightly controlled and organized, patriotic, almost
 a Pollyanna canvas;

and beyond that I see an abstract map of the New
York subway system directly below Times Square,
the Broadway-Seventh Avenue Line, tiny bullet
trains juiced up with electricity speeding through
the underworld darkness.

The New York subway opened up in 1904, with
the coalition of five companies. By 1932, it was
overseen by a transit authority. Presently it serves
6 million riders a day, or at least it did until Covid-19
attacked NYC like an alien invasion.

Today the bustle and marques of Broadway has been
extinguished, leaving it dark, empty, lifeless--and under
its mourner’s skirts, at 2 a.m. the subway trains are
cleaned and disinfected. Mondrian today would create
 a dystopian painting; red and black geometric splotches
on a dirty white background, and retitle it Broadway

Pigeons in Time Square
nest over closed signs, being
alert for the hawks.

image from

Glenn Buttkus


Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub

Thursday, May 21, 2020

Grab them by the POTUS

image from

Grab them by the POTUS

“The concept of global warming was created by the
Chinese in order to make US manufacturing non-
competitive.”--Donald J. Trump.

Lots of blame to go
around, as America’s death
toll rapidly rises.
Beyond finger pointing there
are all those damn “what ifs?”.

Trump cracks me up with
his windmills cause cancer,
and Lysol injections
could sterilize our internal organs,
and Corona just can’t touch him.

I wonder if people had a sense of humor
regarding the Bubonic Plague?
They tell me that even morticians
find a lot to laugh about within
the absurdity of their vocation.

This angry virus
has already killed more people
than we lost in WWII.
Trump’s idiocy has led us like
lemming to the sea cliff’s edge.

I remember as
a kid, the joke,”Why is Arthur Godfrey
like a machine gun?
Because he fires ten employees a
minute .” Does that sound familiar?

Which do I actually fear most,
horrible death from Covid-19,
or the re-election of Donald Trump?
It’s about a toss-up, I guess.
Both would be a terrible catastrophe. 

Glenn Buttkus

tanka, kyoka, and gogyohka

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub MTB

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

Vagabond Buddha

image from

Vagabond Buddha

“A Vagabond Buddha is awake. They embrace that
awakening for the simple joys that arise in the
present moment.”--Eckhart Tolle.

Poetry has always
been a portal for my best
imagining.   G. Buttkus

There is a crack
in everything--that is how
the light gets in.  L. Cohen

If you think it long
and mad, the wind of banners
passes through my life.  P. Neruda

America, I
have given you my all and
now I am nothing. A. Ginsberg

Find your place on the
planet. Dig it, and then accept
responsibility.  G. Snyder

One day I will find
the right words, and I know
they will be simple. J. Kerouac

I’m here to unlearn
the teachings of the church.
I am my own God.  C. Bukowski

We are stardust, we
are golden, and have to get
back to the garden.  J. Mitchell

Do I contradict
myself? Fine, for I’m large, and
contain multitudes.  W. Whitman.

I can hardly sit
still; fidgeting, I feel like
I could throw off sparks. R Carver

First, the uterus
gives access; finally then death
gives us egress.  G. Buttkus

Glenn Buttkus


Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub