Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Yahweh Epistle

image from pinterest.com

 Yahweh Epistle

“God is the creator, not the manager.”--Sadhguru.

Father, brother, patriarch or king,

we will bend a knee and kiss the ring.

We stare at a sky full of a trillion stars,

gazing from the moon to Mars.

We hope and earnestly pray,

AllThatIs is more than just words to say.

We need it to be much more,

as we whine, sputter and roar.

We need a viable Creator, a God,

at the vertex, so that we can cod

-ify Creation, and make some sense

out of our lives, can recompense

for our dark side, and for the evil

we covet, hoping for a retrieval

of our higher self, reaching for forgiveness,

aspiring to be almost fearless

during calamity and illness,

able to find Christ in Christmas.

No man survives all alone,

just so much muscle and bone.

No, we need something or someone

to count on when all is said and done.

There is actually more than one path

to find You, and avoid your wrath.

Certainly You have more than one name,

and often we ask You to take all the blame

for the chaos and tragedy we suffer,

even though You made our spirit tougher,

and gave us courage to stay the course,

dispensing love and not using force.

Somehow we know that we are not the center

of the universe, and that You are our mentor.

It must be sad to believe in nothing,

with no friend to help us grieve.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Wednesday, March 3, 2021

Blackthorne Episode 131

image from western pulpcovers.com 


Cinemagenic 131


“Come not between the dragon and his wrath.”

--William Shakespeare.

1(sound cue) a shot shattered the tranquility, 

cracking like a stick of dynamite.

2(close-up) a bullet passed through the top of his

hat. parting his hair.

3(medium wide shot) Buck spurred the soot gelding

and flattened out on its neck.

4(sound cue) snare drum and coronet. 

5(one-shot) the jail door swung open and the Sheriff

staggered out onto the boardwalk, carrying a shotgun.
6(sound cue) Two more shots blasted out of the

shadows over a blues slide chord.

7( cut to wide shot--slow motion) In front of Buck, as he 

gallops toward the camera.

The hunter’s steed collapsed under him, its heart

bursting with a bullet. As the horse went down, Buck

kicked out of the stirrups, diving into darkness. He

rolled on his shoulder and landed on his stomach,

peering through the dust made by the gelding’s fall. 

8(return to real time) He drew his pistol.

9(cut to crane shot) lights came on in the saloon, the

hotel, and the Wallace’s.

10(sound cue) French horn and guitar.

11(medium wide shot) a dark figure raced across the 

alley between the saloon and the warehouse. It was

silhouetted against the sun for a moment.

12(close-up) Buck on the ground firing his pistol; the

Thunderer barked twice.

13(one-shot) The gunman dove onto his face in the 


14(sound cue) horses screaming, doors slamming, 

people yelling.

15(medium close-up) Joe Hop, blood streaming down

the side of his face, his eyes glazed.

16(one-shot) Buck quickly lizard-crawled up to the 

fallen gelding, using it as cover. He holstered his

handgun, and jerked the Sharps out of the carbine 

boot. Hop struggled to hold and aim the shotgun.

Cheewa jumped up to the right of the Sheriff.

Startled, Hop snapped off a shot. The big black

dog yelped once as he was hit, lifted up in the

air and landed dead. Buck drew and fired his

pistol. The shot hit Hop in the elbow, and the

shotgun clattered to the boards below. The

Sheriff folded, going down slowly, crumpling

up into a bloody heap on the planks, no

longer feeling the chill of the morning air. 

17(close-up) Hop: Fuck me.

18(close-up) Buck: Goddamn you, Joe!

19(sound cue) Several gunshots, pistols and

rifles over snare drum and bass drum.

20(one-shot) Buck dove forward, rolling toward

the jail porch. The dun mare bucked and tugged

at her wrapped rein. Bullets peppered the ground 

around Buck as he scooted. He heard loud, voices

from all quarters. He halted directly under the

horse. She tried to kick him, as he rose up to his

knees, A bullet hit the hitching post next to his ear,

and it felt like a wasp sting. The air stank of death

and gunpowder. 

Buck! BUCK!! someone screamed.

It was Salina.

21(medium wide shot) Buck leaped to his feet, pulled

the rein free, and swung up into the saddle with the

Sharps at arm’s length. He kicked the mare’s sides

toward the flatness of the prairie, into the sun, ducking

into an alley. Dark dust twirled up under the horse’s

hooves as, she galloped into the shadows. A dozen

guns roared behind them, ripping off siding and

breaking windows. 

22(sound cue) staccato coronet, French horns and

harmonica huffing over galloping hooves.

23(one-shot) Buck lie on the side of the mare’s neck,

talking in her ear, coaxing for more speed. 

Frustrated lead raced past them. She moved like

a war horse, fast and untouchable, sprinting straight

into the mouth of the molten morning sun as it rose

from its mountain sepulcher, a great flaming maw

that soon swallowed them up, leaving only golden

hoof prints in the cold dust.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN