Thursday, February 15, 2018

Demons



image from enigmasystem.deviantart.com


Demons

“The demons you have are what motivates
you to make your art.”--Tom Reiss.

Sixteen kids and staff
died yesterday; Florida
wails, while we join them.
Pain rides me like a demon--

there seems to be room for more.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at ,< href="https://dversepoets.com/"> dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

The Key


painting by Catrin Welz-Stein


The Key

“ We just need to find the key the unlocks the
right doors.”--Dan Groat.

When Randall was thirteen,
the world revealed itself to him
like a Monarch bursting
out of its dun cocoon.

All the good stuff--
literature,
art,
poetry,
cinema,
theater,
nature &
girls.

He was ecstatic to discover
the he was was
budding writer,
artist and acrobat.
Nature sang auras
drenched in sunrises
warmed by tropical breezes,
protected by mountain gods.

He was small for his age,
became branded as a Nerd,
was bullied by other less talented students
and was adored by his teachers.

He loved Shakespeare,
and he wrote a one act play
all about a special boy
who was bullied.
One day he invented a magic hat
that was shaped like a lighthouse
and it had a mystical lock on its side.

He fashioned a wondrous key
for the hat in metal shop
and it was a perfect fit.
He felt from that day forward
that all problems had solutions
and his key unlocked the answers.

When he was 23, sitting
in a prison cell, he began to write
his three-act plays, all about those
vulnerable young boys who went
to college, fell in with a fast crowd,
got into drugs, became an addict
and a dealer, became lost souls
who went down in flames.

His hat became
a cone of shame,
a beret of regret.
The only keys he ever saw
were on the belt of the guards.
A song lyric buzzed in his head;

“another one bites the dust.”


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Blackthorne--Scene 74


painting by Marcia Baldwin


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Four

Preface

“Everything before the ride is preface--everything 
after it is appendix; love is the story.” --Glenn B.

1(two-shot) Johnny: Hey--none of that now--you
know me. You can smell the past on me. I have oats
for you, and gentle hands. So calm down fierce one.
Forget about all these bastards on the fence. Just
see me and the Buck. Come to me, eat.
2(sound cue) piano and harmonica--gentle riff.
3(medium wide shot) the Eagle extended his handful
of oats.
4(cut to overhead drone shot) the man and horse 
still as statues
5(close up) the Appaloosa showed his teeth.
6(sound cues) horse nickering softly, harmonica,
mild buzz of the crowd.
7(two shot) Johnny remained rock-still. The stallion’s
ears came up. He moved slowly toward Johnny, but
while watching Buck. Chatawa began muzzle down 
into Johnny’s big right hand, chomping at the oats, but
picking them up delicately with his lips, careful to bite,
chewing around the bit.
8(medium close-up) Johnny: That’s right, thank you, 
eat--it’s good for you, makes your coat shiny. Now,
come over here, boss--stroke his shoulder.
9(three-shot) Buck moved up slowly: Yes, easy, my
stippled boy. We are here now. 
The oats were consumed. Johnny rubbed the horse’s
face. Buck reached out and stroked a muscular
freckled shoulder. The stallion turned his head and 
looked at the hunter. He shivered a little to the touch,
stamping one of his shapely legs.
10(close up) A little girl can pet a horse, Breed--but
it takes a man to ride one”, taunted Graff.
11(two shot) The Eagle unlatched the thick black
bridle, and carefully slipped the cruel Spanish spade
out of the stallion’s mouth. Hey, Valiante--we don’t 
need this, do we? Johnny worked the rope not 
lashed to the breaking post free, and tossed it to 
Buck. The hunter recoiled the rope, took the bridle
and draped the both over the sawhorse. Johnny
rubbed the horse’s forearms. The stippled stallion
calmed. The Eagle turned to the rails: Ryker, have
you got a halter in your gear?
12(medium close-up) Ryker: Yeah, I do--but Jesus 
Christ, don’t tell me you going to ride this devil 
without a saddle or a bridle with a bit?
13(two-shot) over Ryker’s shoulder. Johnny: 
Get it for me. please.
14(medium close-up) Bronson: Come on, Johnny,
this ain’t no rodeo. I want this animal saddle-broke.
15(two-shot) Johnny turned to face Bronson, and he 
spoke evenly and unemotionally.
16(close-up) Johnny: Mr. Bronson, this is a 
magnificent medicine horse, but still he is an Indian 
pony. He can run like the winds of hell. but who 
knows how long he’s been running wild. He’s never 
had a saddle on him, so the first ride now must be 
Nez Pierce style; bareback and bold. Once he gets 
used to the weight of a man again, then we can 
introduce him to a saddle.
17(two-shot) Ryker handed him the chest halter.
Shit, we all see the fucking split ear, but Mr. Bronson 
wants it broke today. Indian horses respect authority. 
You are just wasting our time here.
Johnny paused a moment, and stared a hot hole in
Ryker’s forehead: A man who beats a horse can 
never understand them. For me, Ryker, you have
no opinion. I will break him properly and he will have
a saddle on him in an hour.
18(medium close up) Good enough, boomed Cash
Bronson, ending the conversation.
19(sound cue) blues guitar slide, harmonica, & banjo
20(medium close up) Thor was leaning against the top 
rail, his chin on his crossed arms, watching Buck. His
dark eyes were like slits of coal in this lean face. His 
golden buckle flashed in the sun.
21(medium wide shot) Johnny took the halter from 
Buck, and let the marbled stallion smell it, then he
slipped it on smoothly; without a bit, Chatawa 
accepted it as Johnny deftly buckled it. He lay the 
reins gently on the horses back. Buck handed him a
lariat surcingle, with a hand-hold loop at the top. He
wrapped it slowly around the belly, cinching it up



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Blackthorne--Scene 73



image from arualmk.deviantart.com


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy-Three

Heart Tug

“Do no harm, open your heart--but take no shit”.
--Anonymous.

1(sound cue) banjo & harmonica.
2(medium close-up) Ryker searched for Bronson’s 
face, but 
3(cut to two-shot) Cash had already moved up 
alongside Johnny: This horse is stone mean, breed
--even you can see that, right? It would not hurt, now
that he’s in my rotunda, to break some of that damn
pride of his.
The Eagle did not respond, keeping his intense gaze
on Ryker.
Cash: I want him broke in for Paulie, and you know 
he’s not much of a horseman--this stallion has a 
wagon load of too much spirit. 
Johnny: But this is not the way.
4(medium close-up) Yes, he is a medicine horse. He
is strong, and he has great pride. But he was Nez
Pierce broke, and has been ridden in battle. I tell you
he would rather die, or he will kill one of you before
you break him with a whip or spurs.
5(close-up) Ryker: You damned flea-bitten squaw--
this horse needs to learn some respect. This ain’t
the first horse I ever broke--you know that. If you
don’t start out with him my way, he’ll be riding you
within a week.
6(sound cue) piano & Indian seed rattle.
7(two-shot) Johnny: I will do this--let me ride him:
more a statement than an inquiry.
Cash took a long look at the stallion. What will it 
cost me for your services?
Johnny: About an hour.
8(medium wide shot) Cash: What do you think about 
all this, Paulie? 
Buck turned to gaze at the youngest brother. When 
Paul recognized him, he froze for a second as a ripple
of fear passed over his face--but then realizing he was 
safe, he smiled a pitiful crooked smile, and spoke in a
small voice: It don’t matter a damn to me who ends up
riding this fucking horse.
9(close-up) Chatawa bobbing his head, flashing
his angry eyes.
10(medium two shot) Graff watched the Eagle--
obviously still angry about his past humiliations,
his face reddening, he spat out: Mr. Bronson, if
this lice-assed halfbreed, says he’ll do it for
nothing--just let him. No sense in getting one of 
our own crew busted up. Probably that damn  
jughead is going to throw him over the fence, 
and we’ll all get a good laugh out of it.
11(close-up) Cash:  Alright, Johnny --we’ll try it
your way. Ryker, get your sad ass out of the corral.
12(sound cue) piano & banjo.
13(medium wide shot) Grumbling all the way, 
Ryker dropped the blanket back over the sawhorse, 
and tossed the whip into the dust, before crawling
up onto the rails.
14(sound cue) six-string blues slide.
15(two-shot)  The Eagle asked as he dismounted
the gate, staring at the waiting stallion: Well, my 
Buck, what do you say?
Buck: Sure, let’s get it done--as he opened the gate
and stepped into the corral.
16(sound cue) the old leather hinges on the gate, 
and crowd murmuring over guitar chord.
17(cut to overhead crane shot) the whole corral,
as Johnny moves toward the dappled stud, and
rail riders were jockeying for better sight lines.
18(sound cue) saxophone & juice harp.
19(two shot) Johnny: Hey, my brave Chat-a-wa.
The stallion’s ears perked up, and he shook his 
head yes--These people have been treating you
like an Army mule, haven’t they? Well, relax son,
for we’re here now, me and the buffalo. Do you
remember the buffalo? Chatawa nodded. So, are
you ready for a treat?
20(medium wide shot) Johnny dipped into a partial
bag of oats by the fence and strolled right up to the
stallion. Buck was three paces behind. The stud
flattened its ears and backed up.
21(sound cue) Indian branch flute.  




Glenn Buttkus

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Diamond Tipped



image from pinterest.com


Diamond Tipped

“I’m a Hip Nip--it just sounds groovy. A drummer
laid it in me,”--Pat Morita.

Hell--you don’t hear the word/term groovy that
much anymore; more of a 60’s kind of thing.

I remember the giggles I received from the young
nursing staff, just before I succumbed to the boss
anesthetic for my recent colonoscopy, when the 
last thing I said was “far out”.

Maybe I’ll utter that at the very moment of my 
death transition as I tune in to what’s shaking
beyond the veil--it will definitely be big time
groovy, and I’ll probably dig it. 

Being in the groove is 
not the same as being in a

rut--so just groove on.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Visitors



image from amybarickman.com


Visitors

“Fish and visitors stink in three days.”
--Benjamin Franklin

We visited frail Miss Lucille
on her 90th birthday, honoring her
request to attempt to renew her
expired Driver’s License.

The line was hours long at the DMV,
a typical bustling state office;
my wife stood in line for her--
when it was finally her turn

She requested a folding chair.
They were kind to her, but
refused to renew her driver’s license.

She had expected that result,
but you could see her disappointment.
She passed away three days later.

Neruda Sonnet
***********************************************

Since my mother-in
law died, I just don’t feel like
visiting Texas.
At ninety, she was much more
than only matriarch; much.

Tanka
*************************************************

In my home, we have
portals; visitors appear
at very odd times.

senryu
***************************************************

For most of my life, I have enjoyed both visiting
with friends and relatives, and welcoming them
to my home--but ill health has trumped sentiment
and reduced practiced candor & civility to ragged
bursts of crankiness.

We are expecting all three daughters and eight
grandchildren to our home for Christmas. My 
latest bout with my immune system has placed 
nails in my mattress, stones in my innards, and
barbs in my belt.

Hordes of arachnids 
become visitors during
winter; fantastic.

Haibun



Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, December 4, 2017

Erotica Horribilis



image from picstopin.com


Erotica Horribilis 

“I just wanted to test myself, to see if I could
overcome the dire situation I was headed toward.”
--Timothy Treadwell

Though he 
was in shock,
he could clearly
hear the terrible
crunch as
bear 141,
a rogue grizzly,
bit his left leg off
at the knee.

It happened
in slow motion--

after thirteen summers
in Alaska,
he was being
devoured alive.

Death
had 

teeth. 


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44