Wednesday, August 31, 2022

Blackthorne Episode 156

painting by Steve Atkinson


Cinemagenic 156


“When riding a horse, we borrow freedom.”

--Helen Thompson.

1.(sound cue) guitar and coronet.

2(wide drone shot) the encampment in front of the

cabin. (drone descending shot, closing on the front 

door) The vaqueros had pitched two large tents, 

bright red canvas with yellow tassels. These were for

cooking and gathering. There were three smaller 

sleeping tents to one side.

   Jesus was warming up some chow. The river was 

fifty yards from them. One man was washing tin 

dishes, while another was fishing. Adjacent to them 

was a corral with six horses in it. Fancy Spanish

saddles were perched on the top railing. 

3(sound cue) coronet & drums.

4(one-shot) Buck stepped out onto the low porch,

using the crutches, that were capped in lamb’s wool.

5(expand to wide shot) The men exploded in

applause, followed by cat calls and whistles:

Aye, carumba! The Buck! The Buck!

Buck held up his hand, squinting in the sun.

Enough, enough--gracias. You are wonderful

compadres!  He sat down in a tattered wicker chair.

You would think I was Christ risen.

6(two-shot) Jesus: Don’t be so humble, Hefe. Christ 

was only stabbed a couple of times. You were shot

to pieces.

Buck laughed, holding his ribs. Jesus lifted up a hand;

I know. I will try to behave. Jesus put a red sombrero

on Buck to shield his eyes. They placed two over-

turned buckets next to his chair, and brought him some

hot chuck and coffee. 

Buck: Muchas gracias.

He sipped the coffee and his eyes widened:

Damn, son, who boiled their socks in this?

Everyone laughed. One tall charro said:

Probably all of us at one time or another.

Buck groaned. Then he began to eat slowly. The

bacon was thick-cut and meaty. The eggs were 

over hard with black pepper on them. The beans

were spicy. 

Buck: This is some good groceries.

Tall Charro: One good thing about being on the Buck

Watch, is we eat good.

7(sound cue) piano and fiddle.

8(two-shot) After breakfast, Buck shared a cigar with


Buck: When I get back on my feet, how about you

fellers come to work for me?

Jesus, after a pause, gazing out: Nooo--I don’t think so.

Buck: What?

Jesus: It’s too late.

Buck: I’d pay a fair wage.

Jesus: smiling: Miss Salina already hired all of us. We

are for you already. 

Buck chuckled, and sat up straight in his chair,

shaking his head and folding his arms. You know, I 

probably don’t deserve that woman.

Jesus: Probably not, but you got your hook in her 

good. So you are a damn lucky hombre.

Buck puffed on the cigar and stared out at the corral. 

Suddenly his body jerked. He pushed back the 

sombrero, and pointed out at the horses.

Buck: Who owns the Appaloosa?

Jesus: You do. No one else will ever own him.

Buck: My God, is that....Chatawa?

Jesus: Yes. We found him picketed in the trees when

we came to rescue you. 

Buck: with a tear rolling down his cheek: I am blessed.

Jesus: I promised myself that if you cashed it in, I 

would return that stallion to the wild. 

Buck: I think I’ll be sticking around for a while.

Jesus: Good--that damn horse is wearing us all out 

riding him. A true war horse, a special spirit. So heal

up and mount up.

Buck: I can do that.

 Glenn Buttkus 

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN

Monday, August 29, 2022

Branch Hug

image from 

Branch Hug

“War, children,--it’s just a shot away.

If I don’t get some shelter,

I’ll just fade away” --The Rolling Stones.

When I walk in the forest, and it starts to rain,

I look at the trees. Pine, fir, and larch branches

start far from the ground. Cottonwood, poplar, and

maple branches grow close to the ground, providing

a dry shelter from the deluge.

I snuggle up next to a wide rough-barked trunk, and

cover myself in crisp dry leaves. I peer out through

the thick leaves and muscled branch forearms, 

looking at the rain, coming down in diagonal sheets

to the forest floor.

I close my eyes and dream of elves and owls who 

create a dwelling in the great trunks. I awaken to the 

trill of birds and the buzz of bees. Smiling, I shake off 

the fairy dust and step out into the magic of a sun


The owl sleeps in a

tree during the day, waiting

joyfully for the night.

Glenn Buttkus


Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

Blackthorne Episode 155

image from 


Cinemagenic 155

Hurts So Good

“Those who keep silent about their pain

hurt more.”--C.S. Lewis.

1(sound cue) violins.

2(medium close-up) Buck opened his eyes.

3(expand the shot) It was late morning. The sun

was bright behind the tattered window curtain,

made of a potato sack, and around the edges of

the door. He yawned.

4(sound cue) Buck as voice-over: Christ, I’m

becoming a bum--sleeping in like a teenager.

He sat up on the side of the bed. He still ached

everywhere. Dos yipped at his feet, wagging his

butt and licking Buck’s hand. He petted the dog’s

head, rubbing behind his floppy ears.

Buck: Yeah, I know, life is rough for a house pup.

No one ever feeds you or plays with you. 

Dos puppy-barked twice.

Buck: You sly little shit, I don’t buy it. I fed you last

night ( pointing to a 10 pound sack of Spratt’s Dog

& Puppy Cakes) and everybody feeds you table 

scraps. Buck stretched and yawned again:
Jesus! Jesus!

5(sound cue) heavy boots crossing the porch, 

over castanets.

6(one shot) the front door opened and Jesus

stepped in.

7(two shot) Jesus: Buenos Dias, Hefe!

Buck: Can you feed this pup? He seems to think

it’s breakfast time.

Jesus: He’s wrong, it’s almost lunch time.

Buck: No shit?  I’m really getting lazy and spoiled.

Jesus: It’s called healing--enjoy it while you can.

I mean I never seen nobody so shot up and is still


Buck: I have.

Jesus: Who?

Buck: Johnny Eagle.

Jesus: Si, que cabron, one tough son of a bitch,

that one.

Buck: Yup, one courageous hijo de puta!

Like a father to me, a pinche saint.

Jesus: And yet, even he could not survive the

lead bath he had--but no one will ever walk

in his footprints again.

Buck: Damn rights, and now he waits for both

of us. There was a moment of silence.

So what kind of chuck you got?

Jesus: Chili, tortillas and bacon...and you can have

a couple of eggs if you want them--and some coffee

that is stronger than cat piss!

Buck: Speaking of pissing.

He grabbed a pair of crutches leaning on the wall.

His left leg was in a cast. He hobbled a few steps over to 

a chipped ceramic chamber pot and pissed a pint.

Jesus: I’ll fix you a plate. Do you want it here, or do

you want the adventure of stepping outside and joining

us on the porch?

Buck smiled, and rubbed his stubbled chin: You know

what? It looks like a fine day outside. How about I

enjoy my late breakfast out there with y’all?

Jesus: Could you use some help with the walking?

Buck: Probably, but hey, let me cuss and moan and

Cowboy up, and I’ll meet you out on the porch.

As Jesus opened the door, Dos scampered outside.

Jesus: I think he needs to pee as well.

Buck: I suspect he crapped over in the corner last


Jesus: Better than on your bed.

They both laughed. Buck groaned.

Jesus: I know--don’t make you laugh.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN

Tuesday, August 16, 2022



image from


“Music is always a creative process that comes

from the heart. It’s a feeling, a vibration that we

ride on.”--Maurice White.

In Chicago,

the windy city,

in 1969,

Maurice White, formerly

of the “Salty Peppers”,

formed “a new kind of  band”,

akin to the big sound of “Chicago”.

Maurice wanted to create

a unique kind of sound,.

something “elemental”,

authentic, flexible, complex

and all-inclusive.

He put together a rag-tag

bunch of his musical friends,

and called it--

Earth, Wind, & Fire.

The band has gone on 

performing for 53 years. 

It’s style spans jazz,






                        Latin &


They have sold 90 million records,

are multiple Grammy winners,

are on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,

and have been inducted into

the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Quincy Jones, Miles Davis, and Alicia Keys

call it their “All time favorite band”.

When Maurice was asked why 

“Water” was left out of their name,

he said,”Too many words”.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Thursday, August 11, 2022

Just Bill

image from  

Just Bill

“Success is a lousy teacher. It seduces smart

people into thinking they can’t lose.”--Bill Gates.

He felt like the King of the Road.

He adhered to the Muscle Code.

He had Chevrolet Impala

on his chest; gold crayola

fenders, 396 mill,

rag top, 4-speed--name was Bill.

He felt like the King of the Road.

He adhered to the Muscle Code.

Glenn Buttkus


Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Tuesday, August 9, 2022


image from 


“Sex in your seventies is still great, and it

certainly beats fish & chips”.--Paul Daniels

On Pier 54,.

at Seattle’s waterfront,

sit Ivar’s Fish Bar;

a local landmark & treasure.

I went there

for the first time

in the summer of 1951,

when I was seven.

Elliott Bay

batters at it’s back door.

The smell of kelp, 

wet pier timber

and barnacles

dances in the salt air.

The crowd gathers

in front of the wide high counter,

manned by four manic employees.

The menu is printed huge

on the back wall.

You must yell out your order,

as one of them repeats it

and writes it down.

Then you fade back and linger,

waiting for your food.

The Alaskan cod and halibut

is always fresh and tasty.

The clam chowder

is the best I’ve ever had,

The fries are golden & perfect,

and the tarter sauce is beyond compare.

You dine

in an outdoor covered area,

that’s heated in the windy winter.

Large flocks of sea gulls hover,

begging for a handout.

You would throw a french fry,

or a bit of fish.

into the air,

and there was always

a gull there to catch it.

It was adjacent

to  the Seattle main Ferry Docks,

and great Super Ferries,

came and went.

emptying their cars

and boarding others

beneath blasts from its horn.

A meal at Ivar’s

was always spectacle,

a major event. 

Ivar, the owner,

was quite the character,

and he did all the TV commercials

for the restaurant, reminding me of Burl Ives.

Their motto is “Keep Clam”.

I even have a bobble-head doll of him.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub