Saturday, August 31, 2013

In My Head

image borrowed by bing

In My Head

“The business of the advertiser is to see that we go
about our daily lives with a tune or a slogan throbbing
in the background of our minds.”--Marshal McLuhan. 

As a kid I can still remember slogans from
radio broadcasts, or reading them on highway
billboards, but boomers recall that during
the 1950’s, as televisions moved into
every household “Imagination at work--GE”
we started becoming willing victims of
Madison Avenue conditioning “A little dab
with do ya’--Brylcream”, as repeated viewings
of commercials “I’m not a doctor, but
I play one on TV” began to imprint jingles
& catch-phrases into our “Think outside
the box--Apple” subconscious.

Even the necessity of sustenance became
besmirched, as we needed to always
“Eat fresh--Subway”, but we should not
forget that we eat “Just for the taste
of it--Diet Coke”, before we begin
the burping & uttering “I can’t believe
I ate the whole thing--Alka Seltzer”,
delirious that we “Had it our way--
Burger King”, even though several times
during the feast we took “The pause that
refreshes--Coke”, and too often we did
rush lunch “Sorry, Charlie--Starkist”,
but hey “There’s always room for Jell-O”
before washing it down with “the real thing--Coke”
or sometimes swigging the freshness of
“the UnCola--7up”, or really hoping that
“this Bud’s for you.” because we all know
“Where’s the beef--Wendy’s” for it resides
within, right alongside “Finger lickin’ good--
KFC” chicken, which in Chinese translates to
“eat your fingers off”, which make me smile
ever since I found out that “Got milk?”
translates to “are you still lactating?”
but I do regret that the mere sight of golden
arches reminds me that I’m “loving it”;

and tell me, how in the world did the simplicity
of coffee, always “Good to the last drop--
Maxwell House” become a behemoth,
a worldwide phenomenon “one person,
one cup & one neighborhood at a time--Starbucks”,
and why is it that I can never drive past
a Rolls or a Bentley without rolling my window
down & inquiring “Pardon me, would you have
some Grey Poupon?”,

and although we would like to think we have a degree
of sales resistance, every time we see a pretty girl
“Nothing beats a great pair of Leggs”, knowing that
“You are worth it--L-Oreal” while adoring the fact
“that nothing comes between you & your Calvins”,
we still find ourselves spending too much on our
sweetie’s spark-lies because “A diamond is forever--DeBeers”.

Although I have never been a smoker, I still love to 
“Flic my Bic” and I would “Never leave the house
without it--American Express”. I would never
“Walk a mile for a Camel”, completely reject LSMFT,
and don’t give a damn that “Winstons taste good,
like a cigarette should”, or that some others are
“Outstanding, and they are mild--light either end--Pall Mall”.

Even in my own bathroom I am plagued with
“It keeps going & going & going--Energizer”,
or while standing at the sink “Look, Ma,
no cavities--Crest” thinking I “Wonder where
the yellow went--Pepsodent”,

and I freely admit that I am partial to
“Cheap Sunglasses--ZZ Top” & cheap watches
“It takes a licking & keeps on ticking--Timex”
while fully realizing “Sometimes you feel like a nut,
sometimes you don’t--Almond Joy”, knowing that
every single day we should strive to “Be all you can be--
US Army”, for at present when I “Let my fingers
do the walking--Yellow Pages” they are stroking
divers keyboards “Do you...Yahoo?”, smiling wide
as I am welcomed “to the Human Network--Cisco”,
always happy to “Hello Moto--Motorola” .

But seriously, there is something amiss when
you discover that “Just do it--Nike” was realized
when Gary Gilmore, while strapped to his death
chair, uttered his last words,
“Let’s do it.”

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over at dVerse Poets Poetics

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Friday, August 30, 2013

Sex Sells

image borrowed from bing

Sex Sells

“There are two sayings in every newsroom in the
country: sex sells, & if it bleeds, it leads.”
--Armstrong Williams

Last Sunday
at the MTV Music Awards,
Miley Cyrus simulated
masturbation with a giant
foam finger, grabbed her crotch,
pretended that another performer
was performing anal sex on her,
and pranced around in a nude
latex bikini.

Her mother actually loved it.

Justin Timberlake defended her;
It was the VMAs, what did
you guys expect?

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over on G-Man's Flash 55

Thursday, August 29, 2013


image borrowed from bing


“It is time to co-create a new reality, because the light
within us has been activated, & we must intensify that
flame until all false thoughts dissolve in the presence
of our Truth.”--Dr. Michelle L. Casto

Everywhere darkly deep
in the void, layered like
sleeping ice crystals,

like redwood rings,
like esthetic moss agate tableaus,
natal-wet with

cosmic viscus, furiously
fecund, squirming like blind microbes,
like a virus,

like sticky larva
in a nest of fire
ants--planets are

born in the
same instant others are extinguished,
their interstellar coupling

is timeless--as
we stare up at the
night sky thinking

we are seeing
stars, but actually much of
what we see

is only their
reflection, their essence moving across
unimaginable vastness, tricking

time, tricking us--
ripping at the very fabric
of the universe,

silent screams vibrating
beneath our visceral husk, beyond
understanding, beyond perception,

even deeper than 
our roller coaster ride of
life, as we 

hurl around the 
twists & turns of helix,
imprinting at Soul

level, where Self 
is still connected to AllThatIs;
glittering grains of

sand swirling up 
into scarlet wind snakes, whirling
over red dunes,

on the edge 
of yellow oceans, under four
suns in a

green sky; merely
sentient mute concentric overlapping circles 
spreading out enthusiastically

after impact, happily
rippling the loving surface of
those tiny puddles

in the corner 
of God’s eye, as Jesus wept
before we did.

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

As per the prompt, this is a very old poem, rife with my past, re-edited into a Collum Lune; 
re-written, re-conceived, co-created with the Former Me. 

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?

Monday, August 26, 2013

Blackthorne--Scene Three

image borrowed from bing


Cinemagenic Three

Pas Peregrinus

“Death most resembles a prophet who is without honor in
his own land, or a poet who is a stranger among his people.”
--Khalil Gibran

1(wide high-angle shot) the white buffalo standing center frame,
with Blackthorne glimmering in the background.
2(sound cue) female saloon performer singing a sad ballad, with
plinky-plink piano accompaniment. 
3(camera pans partially to the right) we can barely make out  a 
lone rider in the distance, silhouetted against the shimmering heat 
4(sound cue) acoustic guitar slow base chords.
5(hold shot on the rider for a 3-count)
6(cut to a helicopter wide shot) opening up until the buffalo is on the left,
the lone rider is on the right, & Blackthorne occupies the center of frame.
7(sound cue) guitar joined by harmonica & perky violin.
8(camera, without a cut, begins a slow zoom toward the town) 
and when we no longer see the bison or the stranger,
9(zoom-shot picks up speed toward the town, down to a low level 
POV, over the top of sagebrush, with) Blackthorne racing up
to meet our eye, to salve our curiosity. 
10(Traveling shot steadily speeds up, continues right down Main Street,
all the way through the six blocks of buildings) two saloons, general store,
barber shop, post office, sheriff’s office, cattlemen’s association, doctor’s 
house, small school with a picket fence around its yard--busy street clogged
with pedestrians, freight wagons, a couple in a fancy carriage out for a
romantic ride, ranch hands loading supplies & barbed wire, a pair of painted
whores hanging out on saloon steps, children chasing a cat, and an Indian
riding a tall paint horse leading three freshly-broken mustangs headed toward
the cattle pens & corrals at the end of the street. 
11(sound cues) dogs barking, player piano rolling out a tune, several random
pistol gun shots, shattered glass, rough laughter, hoarse yelling, various horse’s
hooves, a train whistle, and one small distant scream. 
12(jump-cut to medium close-up) the ivory bison with its shaggy head back,
blasting one bellow, a trumpeting. 
13(fade out, then back in--medium wide shot) a Western street with three loafers
slouched on puncheon benches in front of the China Doll Saloon.
14(sound cue) banjo picking.
15(dolly in to fill frame with the three men) slowly panning their lethargic 
unshaven faces.
16(sound cue) flies buzzing, laughter spilling out of the saloon.
17(pull back, revealing) part of a dusty street, two horse railings,
a deep water trough. 
18(three-shot) two of the men wore battered straw hats, a portly
man & a beanpole. One of the men was bare-headed, with shoulder-
length long matted curly hair, and a dark beard that was skunk-
streaked on one side. 
19the hatless man stood up, & squinted into the sun, covering his
eyes with the dirty sleeve of his red plaid cotton shirt.
20(one-shot, medium close-up) the fat man wore tattered bibbed
overalls, hitched-up with a wide worn leather belt.
21(fat man): what put a cockroach in your pants?
22(three-shot) the mutt & jeff sized loafers rose up to their feet, and
joined into the staring. The fat man yawned & stretched his arms over
his head. The beanpole scratched his butt.
23(sound cue) sibilant flatulence. 
24(cut to reverse three-shot) we see the backs of all three men staring
in unison toward the edge of town.
25(sound cue) acoustic guitar fast-strumming.
26(close-up) the hatless man spits a large dark wad of tobacco juice.
27(cut to the spit) arcing over the water trough & into the deep dust
on the street.
28(close up) hatless man: Rider coming. 

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets OLN

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Saturday, August 24, 2013

Schneewittchen & Rosenrot

painting by judith clay

Schneewittchen & Rosenrot

“Every once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life,
love gives us a fairy tale.”---Anonymous

Long long ago, when magic lived & evil could prevail,
in a small German village near the Dark Forest,
two young girls lived with her mother, an impoverished
widow, in a tiny hut, quite near the forest.

Rose-Red made friends easily, said what she thought,
always seemed to find the smile in every event, and
worshiped nature, loved to play outside.

Snow-White was taciturn & shy & loved to stay inside,
doing housework for her mother, or sitting by the hour
reading fairy tales, which she believed in.

One stormy early winter eve there was a loud banging
on their cottage door. Although everyone was terrified,
Rose-Red bravely went to the door and opened it,
to be greeted by a monstrous black bear, standing
taller than the doorway on two legs. 

Rose-Red could see immediately that the big bear
had kindness in his eyes. He told them that he would
never hurt them, that he was not that kind of bear.

They could see him shivering, with ice pellets hanging
from his jaws so they decided to let him in. He was
happy to lie in front of their small fireplace, and
he told them how strange & unhappy he felt:

“For some reason, all my bear companions disappeared
last week. I called them over & over, but they never
answered me. I am all alone, and I don’t know why.”

The girls patted him dry with one of their old tattered
blankets, & soon they were all laughing & playing
& rolling around the floor. The mother had to chide
them for their unbridled friskiness before they broke
some of the furniture. 

Early in the morning, the bear left, waving at them
until he was out of sight. He returned that night
with an armload of dry wood, and two wild turkeys
under his arm. They feasted on the birds, and
built a roaring fire. 

All winter he was their guest
in the evenings, and he brought them venison,
rabbits, & more turkeys. Even the wolves, who
used to boldly approach the hut, began to stay
far away from them. 

After the snow melted, mid-Spring, the bear
wept as he told his ladies that he had to leave
them for a few months, in order to go and guard
his treasure from a wicked dwarf wizard.

They missed their big bruin friend, of course.
One summer day while walking in the woods,
the girls came upon a dwarf who had his long
beard stuck in a thorn bush. Rose-Red used her
flower shears, and cut him loose. Rather than
being thankful, he was outraged; how dare
they cut off his magnificent beard. 

Seven times that summer they came upon the
dwarf again, and each time he was in some kind
of peril. Each time they saved him, and every
time he became angry rather than grateful. 

In early Fall, while out picking mushrooms, 
the girls heard a terrible commotion, and
they came upon the bear preparing to slay
the dwarf. 

He begged the bear to kill the girls rather 
than him, the bear became angry
and slew the evil wizard with one
swipe of his huge lethal paw. 

Instantly the bear turned into a handsome prince,
and he thanked the girls for helping him through
the frozen winter. The dwarf had stolen precious
gems from the prince, and then placed a curse
on him, turning him into a bear. 

The prince understood what he needed to do next.
The two young girls, and their mother, were moved
into the palace, and on Christmas Day, the prince
married Snow-White, who believed in such things,
and Rose-Red married the prince’s brother. 

Sometimes if we believe enough in something,
the Universe pays attention, and obstacles
are eliminated, and we get what we wish for;

too bad that is too often not enough for some,
and even fairy tales end up in divorce courts,
or as beheading spectacles. 

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?

Friday, August 23, 2013


painting by rick mobbs


Milla had two friends,
but more than friends they really
were; Ginger, her red
pony, whom she strolled with
rather than rode, & Jo-Jo,

her phantom brother;
imaginary he was,
but also loving;
both staying by her night &
day, inside and out, faithful.

The three of them played together,
thus keeping loneliness at bay. 

Glenn Buttkus

August 2013

Posted over on Flash Friday 55

For G-Man & Brian Miller, two tankas, and a couplet for fun. 

Thursday, August 22, 2013


image borrowed from bing


“It’s not complicated. It’s not a neurosis. It is
a genetic mix-up, a birth defect like many others.”
--Chaz Bono

PFC Bradley Manning,
one day after being sentenced
to 35 years in prison,

announced on the
Today show that she identifies
as female, and wants

to be known
as Chelsea Manning, & that
he/she suffers with

“gender identity disorder”.
Manning requests that
we pay for some

sex-change surgery.
Good luck with that,

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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Saturday, August 17, 2013

The New World

image borrowed from bing

The New World

“Ignore death until the last moment, and as it approaches,
cheat it by shuffling off into a coma.”--Aldous Huxley

Dearest Brother:

The view from my hospital window has become
adventure, like one of our childhood imaginary
journeys into undiscovered landscapes, and I find
once-familiar events suddenly becoming fresh,
shiny-new, with factory-folds & wire tie-downs extant. 

They tell me that I was in a coma for over a week,
& that my traumatic brain injury will eat up months
more with its healing;

all I can say is that outside--the world appears to be
sprinkled with fairy dust, and everything has
a new clarity, as if I am seeing it for the first time;

like those feathered flocks of pious pigeons who now
gather gregariously on rooftops, on wires, on old
TV antennas, on parapets, on gargoyles, where
no yellow finches are allowed, always on alert,
watching for intruder hawks & crows,

as our city’s buildings standing skyscraper tall,
shoulder to concrete shoulder, like steel toadstools
in a giant’s garden now look like the castles of
Grimm, arm in arm battlements, green flags waving

above the wide city park below, peopled with the characters
from books--clowns, dancers, percussionists, mimes, buskers
and a red-robed Magi performing slight-of-hand for pennies,
as the many apple-box orators dispense their gloom & doom
& conspiracy theories, spewing out on the passers-by their
vitriolic take on the Truth, sprinkling it like apple spice on
their tiny slice of the great puzzle,

as three jesters joyfully jingling their tiny silver belles, dancing
& prancing, hand out heart-shaped balloons of every color,
and it seems that one curious little girl had tied her dolly up into
several dyed balloon strings and dozens of hot air receptacles

had lifted the Barbie high above the throng, soaring over the
tired dusty park maples & oaks, mostly unnoticed by
the busy crowd except for a barefooted fat woman
on the corner of Broadway & 3rd, who was pushing
a bright orange wheelbarrow with her crippled 

Jack Russell terrier named Edward riding proudly
in it--both staring up at the giddy Barbie babe, now
plastic naked, her popsicle-stick legs entangled

in countless red-white-& blue balloon strings,
rising, rising, & I think I could hear her giggling,
with one free arm flapping, waving, a flying princess

sailing straight up into God’s awaiting hands, deep
into the labyrinth of love, never to be seen again,
gone--like you, Michael, no longer in this world.

Hey, perhaps you could catch her in your strong arms
there high above the stratosphere, and untangle her
small feet, and hold her gently, and calm her

by telling her the story of our drunken drive home
from O’Malley’s in the rain, with you at the wheel
when that damn dog ran out in front of us, & how
you swerved to miss it & how that brick wall 
rushed forward to make our acquaintance.

Yes, they told me today that you were DOA
when we arrived at Saint Joseph’s, and that
I had gone halfway with you before turning back.

So little brother, you got to solve all those mysteries
we pondered without me. Tell me the answers when
next we meet; and hey, say hi to Mother & Pop
for me. I will probably join you in a cosmic blink, or two.
Oh, and don’t catch all the big fish before I show up. 

Glenn Buttkus

Auguest 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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