You Don't Say?

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You Don’t Say?

“Damn foolishness for one man, is the breath of

life for another.”--Maxim.pinterest.com

Wisdom

is packaged

every which way.

Playing hopscotch

in the middle of the freeway

is not productive.

He who

prefers a lie

over the truth

is required to

vote Republican.

Be very careful

what you wish for,

because it rarely

manifests itself

favorably.

A basket

can only hold

so many eggs.

So if you buy

more baskets,

one day you will find

you’ve become

a basket collector.

The swift cross

the finish line first,

but they have

no recall of the journey. 

You have to weather

the storm of lust

in order to reach

the port of love.

When your wife

asks you if she

looks fat in 

her new pant’s suit,

shrug

and go bowling. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub MTB

Final Cue

 

painting by Gustav Klimt

Final Cue

“exit stage left.”--actor’s script.

At some point,

artificial intelligence

will be sentient. 

Will it have a soul?

Today, the Mars Rover simply

says: My battery is low

and it’s getting dark.

It saddens me

that some people

when discussing death

believe in nothing;

leagues beyond atheism,

they feel that death

is a permanent dirt nap,

a flip of the Big Switch,

a terminal power failure,

a forever implosion

that produces nothing;

darkness and forever silence,

devoid of hope.

I tend to believe

we have a Higher Self,

who is a co-creator of the Universe.

It is often referred

to as the Soul.

It is the most refined form of energy.

Energy cannot be destroyed,

it can only be transitioned

or transformed into something else.

In the inexplicable vastness

of a trillion trillion galaxies,

this spiritual energy

is its most valuable commodity.

To even consider

letting loose of it,

or destroying it

is unthinkable.

I suppose

if New Age and Zen

had a baby, it

would look a lot like me.

I am truly spiritual

without being religious.

If “Death is but a Doorway”,

then as I journey beyond the veil,

I expect to be alone,

even if I’m not,

or fast asleep

when the moment

of transition

catches up to me,

and sweeps me 

out of my aged husk.

I hope to say,

to myself,

or to family,

or to the very air

I flee from,

Well...fuck me. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Stink Eye

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Stink Eye

“The evil eye exists and should not be taken

lightly.”--Firdaus Shazz.

The eyes

have it--

usually,

the truth.

Trump’s minions

are under

his grifter’s spell.

His verbage

of lies

become

the slime

that binds them

to his con.

For me,

his eyes

betray him

They shine

with evil

intent.

He has no

poker face.

Glenn Buttkus

Quadrille

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Blackthorne Episode 153

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic 153

Healing

“The barn is burned down--now I can see the moon.”

--Mizuta Masahide.

1(sound cue) Piano and fiddle.

2(medium close up) interior of the cabin. Buck is 

sitting up, propped with several pillows, drinking 

coffee.

3(medium wide shot) The door opens and Salina 

comes in, beating some of the trail dust off her

leather skirt. She wears a man’s hat, and a bright red

scarf. The yellow leather fringes on the bottom of the

skirt twirl as she moves. She had on a sparkling

white blouse, two buttons open at the bodice,

revealing the swell of her breasts. She pushed the

hat onto her back. The strap ran through a silver

heart. Her eyes sparkled.

4(sound cue) soft guitar strumming.

5(two shot) Buck: Hey, babe, how are things in town?

Salina: As you can imagine, chaos rules--but actually

some good things are developing.

Buck: How do you mean?

Salina: I hardly know where to begin.

Buck: Let her rip.

Salina: Well, for one thing, you are no longer

considered an outlaw.

Buck: But I shot the Sheriff and stole a horse.

Salina: One of the vaqueros found the horse while

we were at Bronson’s, and returned it to the owner.

Buck: Really?

Salina: Turns out the owner is someone who likes you,

and he isn’t filing charges.

Buck: What about the other horse, the one that got shot

out from underneath me?

Salina, chuckling: That was one of Bronson’s, so nobody

gives a crap about it.

Buck: Damn, I don’t know what to say.

Salina: Start by congratulating Dad who is the newly

appointed mayor.

Buck: No shit?

Salina: Most folks hated Cash Bronson. Now 

Blackthorne has changed its stripes--and we owe it 

all to Paul Bronson.

Buck: Come on, you’re joshing.

Salina; Yup, leaving him alive was a lucky choice.

You might say he’s had his coming to Jesus moment.

He sobered up, got his nose stitched up, and he had

a pow-wow with Dad and the new city council. The 

first thing he did was clear you of any wrong-doing.

He feels terrible about the sins of the past, and has

decided to do penance, wanting to help the town.

Buck: Is Joe Hop buying into this new deal?

Salina: Since you took Bronson out of the picture,

the Sheriff is in a forgiving mood. He hired two

young brothers as deputies, and he seems a

changed man. People are looking forward to a

brighter future. The Union Pacific is talking about

running a line through here. We are going to be

a railhead!

Buck: I’ll be smothered in cow pies.

Salina: Not today. I haven’t told you the best part

yet. The town has decided on throwing us a big

wedding, and for our wedding present they are

going to rebuild the house and barn out at 

Antlered Buck!

6(sound cue) piano and harmonica.

7(tighten the shot to a close-up) Salina sat on the bed.

Buck just sat there with his mouth open, overwhelmed.

His eyes moistened, and he couldn’t say anything.

Salina: All you gotta’ do, Darling, is get well, and get

the hell out of that bed as soon as you can. I miss my

man.

Buck said hoarsely: I can do that.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN 

Robbed at Ten

 Robbed at Ten

“They are just little kids. They don’t know how to 

protect themselves. Give me a gun and some body 

armor, and I’ll go in myself!”--a parent in Uvalde.

We were watching a movie, some dumb educational

thing about bullying.

Bang, pop, bang, pop, pop, pop, pop!!!

What was that? I asked.

I don’t know, my teacher said.

Thunderous gunfire erupted next door.

Children, get under the tables and pretend to be dead!

We all dove for the floor. I could see the adjoining door

open and the legs of the shooter entering. My

teacher turned to face him, and was shot three times.

I closed my eyes. Jesus I thought. The gunman said

nothing; his rifle did the talking. He sprayed the room,

braaat, braaaat, pop-pop-pop-pop.

I was hit four times, three times in the legs, and once

in my left arm. I went into shock. Some of us 

screamed, but the AR-15 led the conversation. 

I could see the clock. It was over in three minutes. I

heard him reloading his clip. 

The windows exploded as four more shots rang 

out.

The police were firing at the gunman. He returned fire 

with a lethal barrage. The cops retreated. He popped

in a fresh clip from his back pack, and shuffled back 

into the other classroom. I dialed 911.

This is 911, what is your emergency?

I whispered: We have a shooter at Robb Elementary, 

and he is killing us all--and I hung up. My teacher lie 

near me. He was still alive too. The gunman was 

shooting at the  cops from the other classroom. I 

glanced around the room. It looked like the floor of the 

slaughterhouse our class had visited. I tasted vomit. I 

could hear the shooter pacing.

The police will breach our rooms any minute now, and 

take down this son of a bitch. If I get medical attention, 

I may survive.

But the breach never came. All I could hear was the 

gunman pacing and whistling. I lie there forever. I 

began to shiver, and my legs went numb. I was 

bleeding a lot, with blood pooling all around me. 

Some of us were still alive. There was a low moan, 

whimpering and whispering for Mommy. I could see 

the clock. It had been an hour since the last shot. I

could feel myself slipping into darkness, dying quietly.

I could hear the voices of children in the netherless,

the misty void. I rushed toward the light. I emerged

into a sunny day at the beach. I was met by three girls

I knew. They were giggling, and had bright ribbons in

their hair. We held hands and headed toward the

welcoming waves. The white sand was warm on my

bare feet. Gulls sang hosannas. We joined the rest of 

the Robb kids who were splashing in the shallows.

Chicks who are nest-bound

are easy prey for rooks and hawks;

I weep for them all.

Glenn Buttkus

Poswted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub