Glenn Buttkus writes again

Ada at two, standing in front of a jumble of scenes pulled from a full life, just like with Glenn’s Poem I posted below. Now she’s two and a half and painting. A firecracker, born on the 4th of July. The picture caught my attention when I was looking for an image to accompany Glen’s writing.

How They Found Me

steinbeck lost dog
women red roaring
skin bukowski cream
tour bra-flinging pow-wow
drake headstone nicholas tilt
moon mountain gods foot
old field school bus
weeping blood soldier
winged dance ballet laces
naked cat sonata
crazy cornflakes
gleason sleep number
aging mirror twin wrinkles
salmon toss trash talking
sphincter blues tacoma pier
bear lips bledsoe
broadsword bare nipples
whistle train sadness
byrd leg panties paso
egypt fist square sun
burroughs bath house break
zone creek serling owl
zelda doll cancer flowers
police poem handcuffed words
saxophone harjo tattoo tulsa
cd funsterville motorcycle lyrics
fidelo butt rash ride
pine violin ferrari bus
hilo bacon bungalow bobbing
picasso pears franco figs
fringed custer flight goggles
raven ranch poe park
eagle drive-in talon fort
poetics joyous morning meal.

Glenn Buttkus

February 2011

Glen’s blog is bibliosity. Check it out to see many more examples of his work and the work of his friends. You can also listen to him read his work there, and visit his marvelous image collections. And I have to say check out hisĀ On Patrol for a mind-blowing piece of writing. No soft or happy pictures there.

“What do I see? I see a barefoot angel looking at me. Also a snake. Where did that snake come from? And these red shoes? I would like one final blessing before heading out to cross that Supernatural Bridge, please.”

 

This entry was posted in "...where danger is there arises salvation also...", ada corinna, bibliosity, dinky-dau, glenn buttkus, image collections, memory, On Patrol, storybook collaborative, supernatural bridges, Vietnam War. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Glenn Buttkus writes again

  1. Thank you so much for the tribute, tip of the Stetson, and reposting, Rick. Thought you might have used SALT DRAGONS, my rewrite of DRAGONS DESCENDING, the poem I wrote in response to one of your paintings. I think it is included in your storybook collaborative; which I still love the notion of, by the way. Some of your stalwart blog followers and friends have visited my cyber spot over the years, and they certainly are welcome. It is like a treasure hunt to track them back to their lair pages and get a glimpse of them too. I friended youngest son on FB; that’s cool too.

  2. Caption: the great wrapped snail of wisdom hovers over the golden hair and wings of the twelfth cherub of lork protecting little dot who still talks to the gods and sees affection and wonder in the chaos, wrapped tightly in her cloak of woven ferns after facing down the whirling dervish snake that appeared after breakfast, who whispered incessantly to beware of the fishes of the air, for hurricanes are attracted to the rainbow scales on their sides, readying her tiny self to emerge from the temple entrance, to run and jump and work off the bread fruit in her tummy, picked from the hothouse trees within, to rush outside onto the narrow ridge and dally at the arch of love, the Mobbsian Gate, clicking her ruby slippers, making the high pitched clucking sound in her throat, calling to the muliti-colored amphibians to cavort and play with her.

  3. Poetics emerging from the Caption:

    Little Dot

    the great
    coiled snail of
    wisdom hovers over the
    golden hair and wings of the
    twelfth cherub of lork busily protecting
    little dot who still converses with the gods
    and finds wonder in the chaos, wrapped
    tightly in her cloak of woven ferns after
    facing down the whirling dervish
    snake that appeared after
    breakfast, who hissed
    incessantly to beware
    of the bright fishes
    of the air, for
    hurricanes
    and tornadoes
    are attracted to the
    rainbow scales on their
    sides, now readying herself
    to emerge anxiously from the
    temple entrance to run and jump
    and work off the bread fruit in her
    tummy, picked from the hothouse trees
    within, wanting to rush headlong on the sheer edge
    of the narrow ridge top so as to dally beneath
    the mobbsian gate, the arch of love, clicking
    her ruby slippers and making that high-
    pitched clucking sound in her throat,
    calling to the multi-colored
    amphibians, cajoling them
    from hiding so that they
    might cavort and play
    with her before the
    tiny third sun would
    drop from the sky
    and she would
    have to go in.

    Glenn Buttkus

    March 2011

    This is a response and homage to the stunning painting
    above, created by Rick Mobbs.

  4. nanda says:

    that is a beautiful homage Glenn.

  5. Pingback: Broken Angel (Last Call) | mine enemy grows older

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