Security

painting by daria petrilli 

Security

“Perhaps home is not a place, but simply

an irrevocable condition.”-- James Baldwin.

Deep within each of us, where saltwater resides,

there are hidden reefs & caverns

where microscopic prehistoric fish, or their spawn,

or their shadows, or their essence

swim blindly in the total darkness,

wriggling freely between organs, struggling

toward the light that cascades through

membranes & viscus-covered trap doors;

misunderstood, mislabeled as cells, corpuscles & viruses,

they remain both sentinel & home guard,

ever ready to pounce upon intruders

& tear them to pieces with their feral fangs.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at Magpie Tales MAG 265

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Blackthorne--Scene Thirty-Six

image borrowed from horse-wallpapers.com

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Thirty-Six

Courtship

“Thou & I are too wise to woo peacefully.”--William Shakespeare:

Much Ado About Nothing.

1(two-shot) Johnny Eagle stood as a red-brown statue in the yellow

sawdust of the small corral. The black mustang pawed the air with

one of her shapely legs, danced a bit, whinnied deep in her throat

as she began to circle the Indian, who turned smoothly to face her.

2(medium close-up) Johnny: Hey, sweet lady in black, you want to

go for a little ride?

3(two-shot) The ebony mare reared up on her hind legs, then kicked

out hard with her legs as she settled to ground.

4(close-up) Johnny: Yes, hell, yes--she likes me: white teeth flashing

in a big smile.

5(three-shot) Some of the men who were gathered around the corral laughed.

6(sound cue) snare drum & Indian branch flute.

7(medium close-up) the fat foreman: Damn it, breed, let’s get to breaking

this bitch! You’re paid by the horse, not the hour.

8(Close-up) Johnny, his eyes still on the horse:

Hang onto your fancy pants, boss--Johnny knows best.

9(sound cue) an explosion of derisive laughter from the rail riders.

10(cut to medium close up) blood crept into the foreman’s face & neck.

11(two-shot) the Indian loosened the loop at the end of his lariat, & began

to swing it over his head.

12(sound cue) hypnotic soft whirling of the rope over Indian seed rattle.

13(medium wide-shot) the midnight-black mare bolted just as Johnny

tossed the loop, but he was a practiced hand at this & had led the throw.

The horse ran right into the loop.

14(hold the shot, slide into slow motion) the rope slides over the mare’s

head, tightening immediately as the horse bucked & thrashed wildly.

15(close-up) the Indian quickly secured the end of the busting line around

the center post.

16(medium  wide shot) the horse stopped struggling, just stood breathing

hard, quivering its withers, pulling against the rope.

17(sound cue) overlapping bystander voices:

--That’s it, you got her!

--Ride the bitch, Pard!

--She’s all yours now!

18(cut to medium close up) a tall thin cowboy: Watch her, Johnny! She’s 

small but snakebite mean--she stomped the shit out of Bob Sears last

week; that’s why they sent for you. 

19(close-up) Johnny, struggling to hang on to the rope:

--Oh, I’ll bust her cherry for sure, gents--then tie a red

ribbon in her tail.

20(sound cue) more robust laughter over guitar chords.

21(medium close-up) the frowning fat foreman, his arms

folded, his expression dyspeptic.

22(sound cue) guitar, harmonica, & clarinet.

23(cut to single shot of ) Johnny Eagle, middle-aged, gray

streaks in his long raven tresses, his face deeply lined with

life, with the body of a young man--heavily muscled, hard,

hairless smooth as red soap stone. His colorful vest was

decorated with porcupine quills & snake scales, his pants

were gray elk hide, worn shiny at the knees. A large eagle

talon hung on a silver chain around his neck. He pushed back

his short-brimmed hat, the strap hugging his tan throat. He 

wore a thick leather belt with knife scabbards on each hip--the

big knife on his left side was Bowie-wide, a foot-long &

lethal, 3-fingers thick--the one on his right side was a

throwing knife with a buckhorn handle & a tapered well-

balanced blade.

24(close-up) his big hands unbuckling the thick black belt,

its Navajo silver buckle gleaming with turquoise, & let it

drop gently into the sawdust. 

25(sound cue) galloping horse hooves off in the distance,

over a hawk’s scree, over a trumpet riff.

26(medium close-up) Johnny: Easy, little one, stay calm, girl--

your wild days are almost over.

He reached inside his vest, then stuffed a cigar stub in his mouth,

struck a stick match on his incisors, lit the stoogie & puffed on it.

He picked up a latigo breaking bridle & slung it over his shoulder.

--Hey, Conchita, Johnny is going to ride you now.

27(two-shot) the Indian took a fresh grip on the taunt busting rope,

as the mare shuffled, whinnied & jerked at it. He pulled his way to

her, hand over hand, saying: Easy there, little lady--that’s it--stay

calm--Johnny won’t hurt you--eessee, eeaassssyy...

28(medium wide-shot) the watchers grew silent as the bold Indian

stood at arm’s length from the skittery soot mustang.

29(sound cue) piano, harmonica, & flute.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets OLN

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Republican Shame

image borrowed from fineartamerica.com

Republican Shame

“Huge sums for war, tax breaks for the rich, while wanting deep 

cuts to programs working people need--that is the Republican

budget plan.” --Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.)

Dearest Republican Senators:

How do you pull it off? 

Targeting the rednecked, ill-educated, low-income

                     John Bircher, KKK, racist, & sexist citizens, 

                             who consistently support you at their own peril,

                     somehow you have wrested away control of the majority in 

             the U.S. Senate, continued to sugar-coat & spin the 

vast majority of facts that confront you, & have led the most 

shameful attack of a sitting President 

             in the entire history of our country.

You deny responsibility masterfully, 

as hard data is revealed concerning 

your misdeeds; facts like--

When Bill Clinton left office in 2001,

                America had a 230 billion dollar surplus.

                              After two terms, when George W. Bush left office

                        in 2009, this country was left with a 1.3 trillion dollar deficit. 

                  Continuing to point the blame at the Democrats,

          the Republicans, who had taken us into wars in Iraq

& Afghanistan, running up the cost to trillions of dollars,

          now, it seems, that in order to deal with this deficit,            

                    they want to slash Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security

                                education & nutritional programs.

Nobody who works a 40-hour week,              should be living  below

                      the poverty line. In the last two years,

                      the 14 wealthiest Americans earned

                      a 157 billion dollar increase in their net worth,

                                         which exceeds the combined income 

                                         of the lowest 40% of our population.

              In addition another study revealed that

              the top 1%  earn more income than the bottom 50%;

              can you spell inequity?

Most of our highways & bridges

are in  terrible shape, crumbling, unsafe, ignored;

We spend more money on our military budget,        something like six

                     trillion dollars, more than 90% spent by all the other

              countries in the world combined, sending the cream

         of our youth to spill their blood in the Middle East.

Why in God’s name can’t we spend 1 trillion dollars

        on rebuilding America’s infrastructure, creating safer

        transportation & new jobs?

And what about our soaring costs for a college education,

creating student indebtedness that will take             decades to repay?

        While 25% of all large corporations in this country

                    pay no federal income tax at all, & another       

                                   50% receive huge Republican-created tax breaks.

                    Middle class youth cannot afford college.

         It is essential that corporations need to pay their fair share,

so that we can reduce educational costs

to the realm of affordable.

Even though I realize

that my complaints will go unheeded,

       my data will be discredited,

       my concerns will not be addressed, 

       my children & grandchildren’s future is in jeopardy, &

       my efforts to get your attention are fruitless, still

I feel better uttering these shameful facts,

rather than watching the disintegration

of democracy mutely, dispassionately, 

just enabling You to have your way with

this country without a fuss.

I remain ashamed of your greed, deceit, & apathy,

as I gird my loins for the 2016 presidential election.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Poetics

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Buccaneers

image borrowed from newswatch.nationalgeographic.com

Buccaneers

“Damnation seize my soul if I give you quarters,

or take any from you.”--Edward Teach (Blackbeard).

Throughout time pirates roamed the sea;

almost every body of water they did rule--

greed, desperation & opportunity were the key.

Plundering, pillaging, & robbing for all to see,

labeled buccaneers & privateers, but always cruel,

throughout time pirates roamed the sea.

Not all pirates were only men on a spree--

women like Anne Bonny conquered ridicule;

greed, desperation & opportunity were the key.

Sailing in two-deckers, the carrack replaced the galley,

& 74 guns were their most impressive tool--

throughout time pirates roamed the sea.

From Blackbeard to Jean Lafitte, we would agree,

bold murderers were depicted as very cool;

greed, desperation & opportunity were the key.

Somalian pirates operate today as guarantee

that war lords & poverty were added to the pool;

for throughout time pirates roamed the sea,

as greed, desperation & opportunity were the key.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

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Dead Eyes

Johnny Depp at Madame Tussaunds Museum

image borrowed from fan pop.com

Dead Eyes

“The eye through which I see God is the same eye through

which God sees me, one eye, one seeing, one knowing,

one love.”--Meister Eckhart.

In the late 80’s, 

          I got hooked watching the TV series,           CHINA BEACH,

                         about an evacuating hospital during

                                        the Viet Nam War, a kind of MASH without

                         all the slapstick.  There was a morgue attendant 

          character, Pvt. Beckett, played by Michael Boatman--

& on a lot of the episodes there would be scenes

                         of him tending the bodies of the slain soldiers,

           & somehow in the thick of the horrors of war,

           within the confines of that morgue,

           when he was alone with those men,

                         he demonstrated incredible tenderness & humanity,

                         washing the bodies & talking to them as if they

           were his old friends--retaining his own sanity

           while immersed in dark insanity of war.

It must take a special mind set

to become a mortician, one that finds

the emotional benefits of being truly compassionate

not only to the grieving families

but to the deceased themselves.

I think I was about twelve

           when I attended my first funeral, & it really

                                bothered me that the guest of honor,

                                                   dressed in his best suit, powdered &

                                 made up to mask the gray pallor 

                      of the face of death, was lying in this fancy

            silk-lined beautiful casket                   with his eyes closed.

“Why are his eyes closed, he’s not asleep,” I asked, 

“It removes his humanity.”   

My sweet mother pondered this before replying,

“I think it’s because when the soul departs the body, life leaves

the eyes, & no one wants to peer into dead eyes.”

Even at that age,             I could see the absurdity of the traditional 

                          funeral--all that pomp & ceremony

                                        with a mere empty husk of dead flesh,

                                        with formaldehyde filling the flaccid veins,

                                        with lipstick & mascara on its face.

                      I mean why not replace the lifeless eyes

                                            with glass replicas, then prop up

                the body, heightening the ceremony

with a more natural pose.

Sure, it might seem a little creepy at first,

but no less than kissing dead lips

or staring into closed eye lids.

                Taxidermists & Wax Museum artists have always

                              had the right idea--put sparkling glass eyes

                              into those dead sockets, forcing light

to reflect off the fake pupils--heighten the illusion,

intensify the viewing.

Can you imagine the conversations following

the progressive kind of funeral I envisioned?

“Wow, Uncle Bernie looks better than he has for years!”

“I swear, Mama looked so life-like, I expected her to chide

me for the tie I selected.”

“I tell you that old bastard kept staring right at me, only me.”

“I noticed Bob’s eyes followed me all around the sanctuary.”

“I don’t truly understand it, but Sadie had joy & contentment

in her eyes. It made me smile.”

Of course, this would only be the first step

in what could become a feel-good funeral service.

We could have the deceased pre-tape messages,

& play them as certain family members approached

the open casket--& several other inspired notions

that shall remain undisclosed for now.

I’m almost serious about this.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Poetics

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Blackthorne--Scene 35

image borrowed from hdwallpaperscool.com

Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Thirty-Five

Equus

“When Equus leaves, if he leaves at all, it will be with

your intestines in his teeth.”--Martin Dysart.

1(medium wide shot/fade-in) a high plateau vast meadow, dotted with

fat clumps of yellow wild flowers, punctuated by red Indian paint brush.

2(sound cue) harmonica & guitar.

3(medium close-up) Long dew-covered blades of tall grass waving in

a soft breeze.

4(sound cue) pleasant wind whoosh over the harmonica riff.

5(extreme wide shot) the eternal prairie with its verdant flats lying lush

between rambunctious rolling hillocks, a dark mountain range rough

on the horizon, the day’s sun rising blood red out of the blue haze in

the distance.

6(sound cue) horse herd whinnying midst far-off galloping hooves.

7(slow zoom-in crane shot to medium frame width) as we begin to pick

out twenty-plus equestrian dark dots rolling up white dust along the

right side of the frame.

8(sound cue) twin guitars & French horns.

9(cut to helicopter shot) skimming high over the prairie toward the horses.

10(shot begins to zoom & tighten) as the lens introduces the herd galloping

ever larger into the frame.

11(sound cue) wonderful rumble of pounding hooves, the larkful whinnying

of joyous horseflesh.

12(cut to medium wide shot) camera tracking the herd at ground level.

13(medium close up) Beautiful mustang heads, rippling muscles, long

manes & tails streaming, galloping at full speed.

14(cut to the same shot in slow motion) massive shoulder muscles undulating,

manes wind-swept, tails straight out.

15(sound cue) piano & banjo.

16(medium close-up) a tall magnificent Appaloosa stallion leading the herd,

running like the lyrics of an Apache song, like the paintings on Navajo drums,

like the stories told around Comanche campfires.

17(medium wide-shot) the great spotted stud slid to a stop & the small herd

halted behind him. 

18(close-up) the stallion bobbing his head, his neck muscles bulging, staring

off to his right,

19(sound cue) Indian branch flute, train whistle, bison bellow.

20(camera dollys back) opening up the shot to include a bluff on the mesa

above the herd with a lone albino bison standing on its edge.

21(cut to medium close-up) the white buffalo as sentinel, as medicine brute.

22(sound cue) trills on Indian flute with choral chanting.

23(cut to medium wide shot) with the pair in counterpoint, the

white buffalo on the right side of the frame, the Appaloosa on

the left side, with the morning sun rising hot between them.

24(shift locale, close-up) two eagle feathers twitching, fluttering

from the back of a short-brimmed flat black hat.

25(camera dollys back) as we see an Indian wrangler in a corral;

a swarthy figure in the morning light, short & heavily muscled, wearing

a beaded vest, a white breechclout over leather breeches. 

26(sound cue) horse snort-song over Indian snake rattle.

27(cut to wide shot) a horse-breaking corral, near the large Bronson

barns on the edge of town. The wrangler standing still in front of the

central breaking post, watching a chestnut mustang--a dozen cowpokes

perched on the fence around it. 

28(close-up) the horse’s dark eyes as it shook its head.

29(two shot) the horse rearing back on its hind legs, showing itself to

be a mare.

30(close-up) the Indian’s face, smiling.

31(two-shot) the horse pawing at the ground, eying the breaking bridle

in the man’s brown calloused hands.

32(close-up) big hands with thick rope veins that stood out.

33(cut to medium close-up) a red-faced pot-bellied man in a drugstore

Western shirt, in an Eastern tan suit coat.

--Come on you half breed bastard, we don’t have all day--are you going

to fuck it or ride it?

34(medium close-up) The Indian giving no acknowledgement to the

taunting, intently watching the mare.

35(sound cue) long reedy trills on Indian branch flute.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets OLN

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Warts & All

image borrowed from southernmetals.com 

Warts and All

“There is a road from the eye to the heart

that does not go through the intellect.”

--Gilbert Keith Chesterton.

Behold the beauty

of things dead & discarded;

find your reflection.

Harmony or discord, gleaming gems or gruesome garbage, three coats

of hand-rubbed wax over four coats of metallic paint on a fender or the

rust pocks & pits on it decades later sitting in a forgotten corner of a

farmer’s field, a weather vane of an iron rooster bent in half from a bolt

of lightning, a pious pile of salvaged vehicle brakes, toothless gears,

and bent hub caps, a dead John Deere with flat tires covered mostly

with blackberry vines, a building after a fire, a castle keep or rampart

centuries after deterioration, shattered swords amidst antique weaponry,

acres of old planes, military & conventional, with wires & straps waving

in the breeze, row after row of mothballed ships of past wars, huge 

wrecking yards where cars are stacked up like grotesque waffles, ivy-

choked moss-encrusted wrought iron gates hanging askance on broken

hinges, headless statues with missing wings & appendages, abandoned

houses, factories, & insane asylums still standing--filled with equal parts

pain & joy, discarded dreams, fat spiders & useless bedsprings, 100-year

old newspapers found as insulation in pioneer cabins, the sheen on

elk ribcages picked clean by predators, insects, & weather, log jams of

smashed trees clogging fast-flowing streams, lichen & fungal mushrooms

sprouting from trunks & branches, seedlings growing out of the rotted

hearts of dead-black stumps, perfect geometry created accidentally  

on sidewalks & curbs, in train yards, & across rooftops, busted padlocks,

rings of unclaimed keys, patina that has eaten through solid steel doors,

a flag preserved & displayed despite its tattered edges & cannonball

holes, ship wrecks left on remote beaches, greasy wooden bins of

old car doors & hoods, the smiling chrome teeth in old grills & bumpers,

or powerful pallets of detached engine blocks, gutted transmissions, or

huge burlap sacks of metal washers.

Beauty can reside

in hellish haze, refuse or

patina’s embrace.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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