Monday, October 16, 2017

The Dead Sea



image from sites.psu.edu


The Dead Sea

“Destruction is man’s will; nevertheless remember
prevention can also be man’s will.”
--Babu Rajan.

Global warming is not our only problem with our
besieged oceans, nor are oil spills. After using our
seas as a toilet for thousands of years, it is man’s
garbage that is the primary culprit. We let 1.4
billion pounds of trash per year enter the ocean.
In addition there is run-off pollution, called non-
point sources.

I love seeing images of fish & marine life snarled in 
plastic refuse. There is a proliferation of micro-
plastics, pieces a few millimeters in size, just below 
the surface, from coastal garbage patches clear to 
the Arctic sea ice. Many pollutants create algae 
bloom, which in turn creates a dead zone. Habitats 
& reefs, normally teeming with life, are becoming inert 
biological deserts.

The sea is dying;
we are to blame--but it is

not too late to act.


Glenn Buttkus

Saturday, October 14, 2017

J. Hump Records



image from breitbart.com


J. HUMP RECORDS

“I hear that Melania has a reoccurring nightmare--
she’s in bed pinned down under a 300 pound sack
of orange shit.” --Bill Maher.

Damn,
it was Little Bill who broke the news--
our President has let Rap become 
his new Muse.

Debonair Donny has found a way to expand his
base and rejuvenate his Presidency. BITCHES 5,
a new Rap group, performed at the White House
during Black History month. Midway during the
show, Trump leaped to his feet, turned his red
ball cap backwards & began to rap alongside the
performers. He and the lead singer began to bump
hips, then doing a facsimile tango while rapping 
in counterpoint duet. Everyone clapped, and our
President became smitten.

At three a.m., he began a Tweet storm:

OMG-I’m in lust with #Shakutth & she adores #Me.
My secret love with Rap has been revealed. She is
now my constant companion. Moving her now

into the WH. #She makes me feel 40 again! Am
appointing her the #SecretaryOfTheArts. That hag
Melania is out in the cold, while sexy foxy..

#Shakutth has captured my heart. Skank #Melania
will live in NJ; will not divorce her, cuz that could
stain my political image; she agreesOK

Shakutth is a gorgeous 25 year old NY-bred sassy
sometimes lesbian, who is half black & half Jewish.
She told CNN that her Lovey-Name for the
President is “J-Hump”. He created a record company
for her. Her first album, J. Hump Rules, has shot to
the top of the Pop charts, & is very popular in
Israel.

She is at his side 24/7, replacing Ivanka as his 
political advisor. “She is my chocolate Yoko Ono.”
She began to dress just like him, starting a new
fashion trend & resurrecting his Clothing Line.
His popularity numbers rose from 35% to 75%.
She stated to FOX & FRIENDS: I flat out told 
Jay--if you want to keep tapping this fine ass,
then it’s no more fucking Nazis. 

She recruited 50 of her LBGTQ friends to be her
Brown Shirt Posse, dressing them like Mussolini
thugs. They’re all strapped with pink Glocks. The
Secret Service works with them, all eager to do
photo-ops with the new entourage.

Jared & Ivanka throw huge parties now where the
BITCHES 5 perform, celebrating all the Jewish
high holy days. Our President goes to a Jewish
Temple on Saturdays, and a Baptist Church on 
Sundays. He has learned a lot of Yiddish epithets
which now spice up his Tweets. A rabbi has a new
office alongside the WH chapel. Trump has been
endorsed by Jews for Jesus & Woody Allen.

I’m now having a ball,
don’t need no fucking wall.
I told Little Rocket Man
that from now on he can keep his
regime cuz he’s part of my team.
I told all those losers in Europe
that they could suck my syrup,
while I’m banning all travel to Middle East
(cept for Israel) cuz my diplomacy is dope,
a fucking fantastic moveable feast. Yup,
and we fixed Obama Care--did it on a dare.
I tell you I could not be a happier man,
cuz Mexi-cants have turned into Mexi-cans.
and I’ve gone from being a sad sack zero

to a fucking red-white & blue super hero ! 


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN



Thursday, October 12, 2017

Pachyderms on Parade



painting by Samuel Adler Heydenn


Pachyderms on Parade

“I just shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he
got in my pajamas I’ll never know.”
--Groucho Marx.

Climate change is the elephant squatting
in the yard, tearing up important grass,
making mud, sucking up ponds, then spraying
trunk rain, eating hedges, showing its ass--
impervious; as all those who are crass
say global warming is just a bad joke,

but they are giving hornet’s nests a poke.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub MTB

Monday, October 9, 2017

Dream Dancing



painting by Pedro Alvarez.


Dream Dancing

“Those who were seen dancing were thought to be
insane by those who could not hear the music,”
--Friedrich Nietzche.

Pepper breeze,
          melting lull,
               rose leaves,
                     dawn ghost,
                          curling bubble breath,
                      Spring balloons,
               fear giggle,
        green breeze,
cloud journey,
         storm scars,
                whisper jar
                        drizzle echo
                                    shimmering slip,
                        twisting leaves,
                  sound cue,
           spilling sparks,
   giggle shadow,
flickering,
dream dancing--
opening into that
actual

blissful hope.


Glenn Buttkus

Most all of the Quadrille words.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Hold On, Pain Ends



wall art by Banksy


Hold On, Pain Ends

“Hope is patience with the lamp lit.”
--Tertullian

Does hope die
confronting adversity,
                   poor health,
                   overwhelming odds,
                   madness, chaos,
                   or evil?

                   No.
                  
                   Of course not.
               It is renewed
           with each sunrise,
                  every breath,
                  every heartbeat,
                  every smile,
                  every hug.

Hope conquers despair,
just as Spring dispatches Winter;

you can count on it.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Q44

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Blackthorne--Scene 70



image from horowhenua.kete.net.nz


Blackthorne

Cinemagenic Seventy

Parenting

“The child supplies the power, but the parents
have to do the steering.”--Benjamin Spock.

1(sound cue) piano & harmonica
2(overhead crane shot) Blackthorne awakening,
kids & dogs running about. a few citizens on a
stroll, one wagon rolling down the street.
3(dolly shot) moving in to the General Store front.
4(medium wide shot) interior of the store; Henry
Wallace counting out his money for the morning
register.
5(close-up) twenty dollars in silver, ten in paper,
five in change; the same every morning.
6(medium wide shot) early rays of sunshine that
filtered in through the stained glass on his front
door, some emerald sprites of light dancing with
the dust along the plank floor, The words
GENERAL STORE covered the two front
windows, The red paint on the large letters was
peeling. Onions, pickles and bacon, tobacco &
leather, peppermint candy canes, linseed oil
and gunpowder smells chased each other 
around the cramped spaces.
7(sound cue) banjo & violin.
8(tighten the shot) Wallace hummed a song, 
matching the score, as he strolled over by the
front window with STORE painted on it. He tied
his clean linen apron around his thin waist.
9(medium close-up) Wallace staring out the 
widow at the few people outside. He had a
breakfast egg stain on one corner of his frost
mustache. He removed his reading glasses.
10(sound cue) Good morning, Pop--came a
cheerful voice behind him.
11(two-shot) He turned and nodded to his
daughter, Salina--his look thorny.
12(medium close-up) Salina--Is your back
bothering you again?
13(two-shot) over Salina’s shoulder--Wallace:
The only way I’m gonna cure my aches & pains
is to die. You may not realize this, but I’m not
getting younger.
Salina: Could have fooled me.
Wallace: Seriously (she laughed) when are you
going to give me a grandchild to go fishing with
--and when in the hell will you start minding the
store yourself?
14(close-up) Salina: Well, let’s see, if I get 
started today, you could have one in less than a
year. You know that I’m not ready to get married
yet, but for Christ’s sake, if you’re dead set on
having a grandchild to spoil, I’m sure that I can
find a dozen dull dicks around here to assist me 
in making one.
15(medium close-up) Wallace: Why do you always 
have to make a monkey’s ass out of me so early
of a morning?
16(sound cue) clarinet & accordion. 
17(wide two-shot) Salina chuckled, but did not
reply. She walked over to the fabrics table and
started folding & stacking the patterned bolts
of cotton and the colorful bolts of silk. Wallace
opened the front door, chiming the tiny welcome 
bells, and kicked a hand-carved doorstop under it.
Wallace: Thor Bronson was looking for you.
Salina: Damn, alert the society page.
Wallace: This is a small town. Sooner or later, you
are going to have to see him again.
Salina: He’d like that--but the skinny bastard leaves 
me cold--and like his brother, he spends too much
time with the whores.
Wallace: Seems like you didn’t always feel that way.
Salina: He behaved himself at first. I danced with him
a few times, had a picnic, drank moonshine with him
on the Fourth of July. Around here, that’s like being
engaged. I’m sick of it. Do you approve of him?
Wallace: Hell, no. He’s an arrogant asshole--but
hey, he is a Bronson.
Salina: And therein lies the problem.
Wallace: He’d put you up in a fine house, & treat
you like a prairie queen.
Salina: I’d rather marry a ranch hand & live in a tent.
Wallace: Talking to you is like talking to myself--I 

can’t make no headway.


Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN

Grammer's Wig



image by Tony Luciani


Grammer’s Wig

“The most wasted of all days is one
without laughter.”--e.e. cummings

my shoes fit not
many times post-yogurt
(no spit from sandals)
old man toenails because
in a mason jar gather gleam.

knows no one like troubled
church mice, their claws broken
pining for flight to nestle
in christ’s beard suspended
from penitent arches, wanting
to lick the painted tears.

loam-deep fingerless gloves as
concrete dwellers wine in their whine,
damn too busy app-pursuing to count
(ladybug’s dots) on table clothes
in the outhouse blue purity.

why do sheep weep as llamas cry,
(wolf masks dominate) october’s
last gasp as socks from crippled
dogs are launched at the moon,
barely a midnight slit.

after death sex lingers
with dignity, necklaced in poetry,
pursuing pedophile priests living
in cloud cracks, praying between
the lines, scourging themselves
with feather dusters as cherubs clap,
holding still wings of plastic blood-red.




Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub