Stuber Poems first batch for 2013

2013 Poems all in one document

W. G. Stuber

He started so young, married
well, won awards, got
invited north, Louisville
had served to launch the strongest
Stuber. He

worked famous
twenty hour days,
raised one son to carry on,
bought a gas
station, closed it

for his own supply during
rationing, forced the
same alcohol concoction
on guests, remained on the board
until he

was over
ninety, fixed the whole
machines in France rather than
allow a
new one, and patents!

never his goal, achieved by
hard work, and
more hard work made us
the most well-known clan

in the town’s
history. Why? Because we
kept going,
just like he did, when
Strong Eastman lines died.

Wheel of Fate

Black always
suffices, even
on alpine floppy
hats in old
Gwangju. Complicated math

is required: figures
beyond earth
stroll, hypocrites preach
to children but they
know: strayed already

avoided early parenthood
by pure luck or smarts.
Some big mouth
goes down: broke domestic rules

so cunnilingus,
which was all
he had left, has been
taken away. The death
of intimacy

proves Karmic
payment is never really
complete, as
“it’s over” rings in
Ears, eyes tear, son laughs

No knowing
why a grown man would ever
be so full
of emotions. Ten
years down, where is up?

Global Can of Whoop-Ass Open for Business

Rebels yell to topple greed, are met with chopper bullets.
U.S. backs whoever will succumb to our whims and needs.
Begging babies balance the gated communities, but when
the war machines arrive and you are on your knees, remember
heaven’s not so bad, better than hell on earth. What makes
me sick is how the rich enslave, engulf, enrage, and how
the protest only changes the uniforms of the palace brigade.
So gather Quakers, Buddhists, environmentally concerned, and
keep your village quiet or it to will be among the burned.
If you’re lucky and your jobs affords a safe neighborhood,
your children might find learning fun, and play in rapt awe
of the creek or woods. But most scrape basketball knees
on concrete, stay home electronically, watch this or that
cop show on CBS, as if that’s what police do. It’s not. S.A.T.
scores flounder in the nine-hundred range, community college
recruiters land another private , or criminal willing to “play
cop” so as not to get caught. Upward money flow decimates
once-proud middle class so more become desperate, shoot school
children, parents, rival drug dealers, and the N.R.A. begs blacks
to join so they can shoot at their own government’s police.


The steam age
takes a respite as
Bulmers cider flows, mini
dresses skip to meet old mates,
where the heat grows new skin.

Smoke, unshaved beanie
cap wearing hipsters
mingle with
newbies, freshly off
some flight to teach in

Gwangju. Alcohol
lubes the stress of massive shock
delivered by an ancient
culture: boxes in

more boxes; Russian
multi-boxed life for
used to breaking the
rules. Many end up

jailed here as
they forgot to research their
new surrounds.
Others, used to free
love, find none or pay.

But all men
pay, long or short term
right? It’s the
disadvantage of
hormones far astray.

First Alleyways

Cente, the
feeder, changes their
priorities. Worn
out parents still make the scene

but Danny’s trick knee
makes him the caregiver and
it’s changed his
from wild to

subdued. He
smiles, always
has, and Jessica
talks, bartenders draw
Seoul’s Jirisan beer as cold

winter rebounds, blue
wind chills five layer attempt
to stay warm.
I blew hard at a
street Christian:

evangelist. Misplaced, but
a release
from a life in which
the glow of a young

child has been
replaced by domestic war.
Envy creeps,
desire to rewind
ten years hits again.

Division of Labor in Korea

Her heart ticks, his lungs push energy with the
excitement a third grader gets when paired
with the chosen mate. “But she chose me, so
I’m not sure I love her,” he says, at age nine:
primed to be the most popular, he was class
president last year. But isn’t being popular a
curse that leads to egomania, especially in Scorpio
males? The wind pushes elementary walk, three
hundred meters to paradise, then, fore me, on to
a different type of classroom full of students
whose every grades determines career path, marriage
eligibility: attractiveness measured by diligence in
class, looks once out the door. Just like the apex
of suitability, the college entrance exam, one’s grade
point average makes or breaks job interview status.
Forget football star, chess club, five thousand hours
Of community service, it’s all about grades here, so
the East/West cultural divide hits early, say age four.
The East, so good at mimicking and selling products,
the west at developing new ones. Global but unequal.
You Know the Face

He’s eleven, lived on the streets of this city his whole
life. No one knows how he made it to age five, but from
then on, he’ll tell you, he’s been hustling change, doing small
favors, cleaning shoes or out-elbowing competitors to clean wind
screens, with or without a tip. He has shoes now, knows where
to go to get craft supplies to make trinkets to sell, but there’s
a big hole in his heart. He’s not sure what he’s missing, doesn’t
know how limited his vocabulary is, yet most days as happy as any
other child. Well, as satisfied as those around him are on five
hundred calories of begged food per day, on average. His global
contemporaries are mastering division, or the left hand of piano
music, or working the farm, or playing baseball, or glued to TV,
or rescuing some PC-game princess, or solving puzzles, or riding
bicycles, or teasing their younger sister, or signing up for gangs, or
swimming, or losing a fight to the school bully, or Skyping friends
during class, or traveling through Europe with their families (boring
at that age, for sure) or parring their first par four. But not him, no he’s
working twenty hours, worn through his shoes, blistered by sun, frozen
in February. Searching to fill that hole, but with what? Some might
guess love, others safe shelter. He figures regular meals would suffice.
Lady Recruiter

She, again tires of her shield-boy, you know
the one who is the current boyfriend, in order to
shield her line of work. The workers are uniformly ladies,
the customers, men. So, our heroine must never be discovered
since she would have to leave the country. The way she
switches “cover” men is by making them very angry
in public. She might kiss another man, or have her
boyfriend continually buy dinner and drinks for an ever-
expanding group of her friends and co-workers. As his money
keeps flowing to her whole stable, the anger turns to
rage and they “break up.” The problem is, it isn’t just the
men she is “dating” who get mad, but the men she picks
randomly to use as a wedge. Fights break out as five
men buy her drinks at the same bar, none of them her
“boyfriend,” who arrives later, into a trap of many men
Expecting something from her, to the dismay of the man who
Is only minutes away from seeing the aforementioned kiss.
Modus Operandi maximus cum stupido. So she plies her
trade in three different cities, oh, such a sad fate.

Ross and Ferdi

She stood with two-year-
Old child, one
Guilder to her name,
so Dad took
her in, watched as she ate raw

buttered radishes.
Being Dutch, she reveled in
child’s play, so
Ross and I did just
that, on bicycles, in the

water, at soccer
putting on
toweling off shows
as we danced
through Bushnell’s Basin to points

far gone. Twenty five
years later a reunion
near Blackies-
by-the-Sea in warm
Costa Mesa provided

a chance to
know his wife, eat with his Mom,
camp out, while
caddying on the L
PGA tour. I

heard mother
and son moved back to Holland
as his Grand
parents aged. Orgies
of fun all around.


How can a
kid not love a man
who gives out gifts on
his own birthday? He
also read history

a trick my
father uses to
prolong his
hold on earth. Gramp was
also busy, but got to

be a great
golfer, a sport whose
torch skipped to Margot
and Mike. We visited him
in Naples twice a year and

his son got
married at sunset
in his house
so he could attend.
Mr. Stuber, a Cornell

no one ever saw him sad.
He was too
Busy boating with
Doyle, chasing skirts as

men do, toasting life, nudging
children to
do better via
carrot on a stick.

W.J. Stuber

Then came Dad, the soft
spoken hero who
had more trials than Salem
and Assisi put
together. How did

you do it?
Trust me, most of the
hells your children went through are
still hidden
from you, yet you’ve seen

enough to make one
thousand moving films,
the ones your Dad helped
Edison refine.
The Greeks never came

up with such
sad tales, but here you
are still smiling, maybe thanks
to your love,
Lori, or stubborn

Desire to
Make sure the three boys survive
Without a
Whisper of hassles
From within. Houses

And guns have
been your collections. Who would
deny you
any pass-time that
could keep your heart free?


Bridge hostess, she loved
Tanqueray, fast cars,
a good laugh, since years of sad
yet dedicated
nursing of her sons

drained the life
from her as surely
as forty
cigarettes per day.
Five years in the hospital

is what saved her third,
and she almost gained
as much post-marriage life as
she had fighting it
out with eternal

(Dad). The fights ended
when others
were around, so he
saw to it they were. Damage

of all kinds
ensued: collateral, trite,
emotional too,
but we all survived

except Tad.
When he died she said “my job
is done,” as
Eastman had. One last
wheelchair-smoke, sunset.

Catherine Faulkner Spellman

“Gosh all hemlock” she’d
say, taking us kids
back a generation or
two. “Wait ‘til the Moon
Shines Nellie,” she’d hum

the way Harry James played horn.
Her husband played too,
and mellophone and
knew the notch was on his door
so hobos would stop in to

feast on her stretched meals.
If you failed to say
“hello,” she’d be offended,
Say “you could at least
Tell me to drop dead.”

Her children, often sad, as
their father died young,
had interesting
lives: wild yet so human, and
grandkids wilder yet, untamed

by normal
corporate constraints, living their
own way, led
by the power she
conveyed, the power

to trust our
instincts, know nature, bake a
great pie, cry
when you had to, but
hum the blues away.


Only one friend saw me run
off then waited to buy Dad’s
H and O set, you
knew I would be back for Mom’s
meal. Only one made sure I

walked off the
altar, part of the number
two wedding in Rochester
alone, but still a

member, one knee bent among
Oak Hill’s finest, singing to
the new bride: “you lost
that loving feeling: without
knowing the words, waiting to

clip the tail
off some pompous hired
gun, but no…your eighth ace, at
the Monroe

Tad was there,
and you came seeking growth stocks
to a land
where big swallows small
before growth happens,

said either
one was worth ten times the fee
as manure
course got in the way
of conversation.

W.C. Stuber

Billy, the elder,
eldest man to have
a child I
ever knew, proves man
hood is more than just taking

any job to keep
the family fed.
Indeed, you
cut your own path and
taught me how

to follow my heart.
You were right!, as the
nurtures those who use
their god-given skills to solve

their own problems, no
need for church, just
prayer, and
hard work. Yes, our clan
knows how to

work, suffers
the loss of children better
than most due
to diligence and
brain power to spare.

I never
Beat you in chess. I’ll settle
For a draw
In love though. How is
Irene? And the kids?


She survived
hepatitis C
for twenty one years,
she mentored hundreds off of
alcohol and drugs.

She wrote long letters
when I was stressed out,
she loved all
she met, thus taken

of in schemes,
love, even death. Her
happiness was a
neat house, pet dogs, holocaust
memorial at

Monroe C.C., where
public relations
men also
tried to warp her words.
she never

stopped giving
so people took, yet her smile
stayed alive
long after she knew
she’d been scammed because

she knew the
needs of others, having been
through every
type of misery.
Love was all she sought.


Boat hoist diverted what could
have been a strong
career as concert
pianist, but quick
change to church

hymn composer and
along with major

for mother, husband, sister
med Bev “family
need.” Don’t worry aunt,
we knew and

them all: the worst
day bloody
Korea offered
is wiped clean

just with a
thought of how good you are. How
is Tracy?
Bike rider, vocal
Coach and professor.

How could my
family be so different
than yours? I
learned a lot in “Spring”
seventy six. Smile.


Another day without an
email from me, the ingrate.
If not for you, would
I have activated or
advocated for earth, peace,

common sense;
or walk to work, bus
downtown? No. Golf would have been
my time-wasting salvation.
Please know your beliefs

spread to students here where the
worst forms of feudal systems
remain: dependent
on nuclear energy
more than any other “land.”

I’m split here
in Korea, as
activism loses while
navy bases flourish. Be
calm, this too shall pass.

I hate that
weeks full of weltschmertz still hold
me back, that
I am ineffective
at most things except

writing and
loving. Love burns again but
I am with
you, honestly changed
by your strong actions.

Delmar Spellman

Delmar, the
tall, handsome one,
not the Coen brothers
character, would walk
from Pittsford to Webster, eight

miles, to earn a low
wage, return
home, and play and laugh
as if all was well in the
world. In his

world it was.
His carpentry earned
three houses, boats, and
an airplane! Good luck
doing that with a labor

job now. His
children were pressed
into adulthood
and my Mom took her chance on
a divorced

man, kind at
first, she had a musician
and Kodak
man, so Delmar, all
you need know now is

that they all
did well, laughed when they could, broke
bread at the
lake, carried on through
horrific trials.


Moss, hair flying due
to rear perch on motorbike
going seventy two miles
per hour
on route four ninety.

charming, caring, wild,
but not around the
girls, she picked

relieving me of
a duty I did not want
to relinquish, so Tad got
double love,
which he deserved, due

to running
battle with our Mom.
Amy can
achieve wealth
quickly which

leaves time to
be a great parent: she learned
from the best.
Some people are born
to give. She never

tires because
she taps deep energy to
make sure
everyone else is
OK. Thanks Amy.

Jim Heriot

His Beemer twelve hundred bike
tipped off road
strangers and
second cousins alike that
his life would be

on his terms,
take it or leave it.
His wild child bride could
hardly keep pace, but he once
approved a hitch-hike

for a wayward fifteen-year-
old who was
psychotic from his
adolescent shrink’s
office around the

corner from Canon’s, meaning the
vodka lunch was a
bit too convenient. So I
hitched three rides to make

it to the chosen place, Canandaigua.
What now James?
Can’t get your signal
man, are you alive

out, up and
away there, or, has release
from this realm
allowed enough peace
to soberly rest?


Brother Mike,
fell for the old trap
and bait. Guns and sleds, clubs and
women, one life to live, one
head to head collide

away from
bliss, but nothing as
the Talking Heads proved, for
sure, nothing ever happens

in heaven.
So here we are still
Stressed by the past, relieving
It every way we can, and
Now I spend all day

At the range
so caddies won’t laugh at the twelve
who’s really a full
twenty four, so your group (?) is

not plagued by
an anchor who clobbers the
outward fours
on the large greens. But
there is more to golf

than golf. More
to life than we dare say, as
to mention
anything is a
sure buzz kill. Ace it!

Jack Spellman

Able to talk the coat off
An Eskimo, Jack had
every right
to his rage:
the V.A. treated

him to countless cuts
and experiments
in trade for the drugs
they had addicted
him to. Similar to

his homeless comrades he could
see on the
news, Jack could
also land
the ladies, fish in

Florida, crack wise
or flabbergast with
sarcasm refined
in the heat of World
War II. Once said I’d make a

owner a lot of money
due to thin
layer of peanut butter
on a sandwich I’d

made him. How
about his super-spicy
Touch lamps? Lincolns? Death,
surrounded by blacks?


She works hard,
manages to keep
the hard truth at bay, but, in
the process
loses a son’s love

while faithfully, in
pure love, following
the wishes
of her dying James
request. She could not

prevent this
eternal tear. So
retires, and
waits for a call she

may never get. The
superior brains
can devise
such realities,
leaving broken hearts

to bleed, torn
emotions to heal. But white
blood cells can’t
get at these types of
open wounds, so Chink

puts her best
face on the past. We all know
she’s got the
moxie, at five twelve
to endure and thrive.


Open, Meki, which
is the word
for October in the land,
of his birth.

Large, yet as
gentleman go, he’s
gentle. Dar got the
royal home-
made reception,

and a few years down
the road they
moved back to Yellow Springs to
find Antioch close
to closed down.

Bands, Ha-Ha
pizza and the News
keep retired air force
generals at
bay, even if they

seek local
office to impose “order”
on the last
bastion of logic,
compassion and an

respect for diversity,
earth, wild spare
grass, Horace Mann and
self-propelled movement.


truck, bike, and one
strong will to survive, Ron
fades away, but we
all want him back. He’s

supremely helpful and kind,
works harder than most,
but who knows
what he’s up
to these days. A born

loner, he can
easily be with
or without female,
so it’s down to his
job, and fulfillment

from within. The Spellman
split, notorious
for being
young and a
touch permanent

also seen
in your cousins Cathy,
Brett, Doug, makes
us all sad at times.
Nothing like a home

cooked meal to
soothe life’s trials, make fun of
both physical and
self-imposed. Come back!


We played cards
at your Beach Club meal,
a hint of major ups and
downs to come.
But one child, who knows

Just a touch about
life never waivered.
Never fell
for the bait, always
stuck by what must be

as hard a
life as ever lived.
Amazing how souls unite,
expand with time and

pop up in aspects
only by novels,
Faulknerian or

even from
Leipzig, by Goethe, twisted,
unreal, yet
soothing, as your life
proves it can all be

absorbed, lived
through, toughed out, tolerated,
yet with a
smile, a warm hug and
love intact…love wins.


Chicago art star,
Savannah M.F.
A., he blew into Gwangju
the same time
I did. We waddled

through culture shock but
remained this six years
because we
saw how well this place
works for its own people, while

constricting many
freedoms on the surface, while
of any affair,

political or
personal, as long as its
kept secret.
This mirrors our
beloved U.S. exactly.

So when he
couldn’t find a Korean
lady friend
he ventured to Thai
mountains and may yet
marry an
Asian, because, like some do,
he got tired
of thinking about
Western man’s bullshit.


Not many run off
to become a monk
at the age
of twenty. Found, and
forced back into the

flow due to
brothers who wouldn’t
take care of their Mom, she made
the most of
it: philosophy

major, out to save
the world, she also
possessed the
type of beauty you
can’t shape down at your

local nip
and tuck surgery
center. She posed for
a wayward professor, at lunch

when he could
not find a mate, told of her
woes in a
swap meet, and, until
her child came, stayed glued

to a rare
friendship in Korea, one
between a
student and this long
lost alien man.


His stylish dismount,
bicycle, swinging
one leg over then stepping
off lower

pedal, always on
the left side bespoke
prowess in
all sports. Trevor Court

had its share of jocks,
but only
one gained style points. A
lady catcher, pen doctor,

hockey star, he taught
his younger brother well.
We last met
at the club,
appropriate, yes,

though my verse
was not. Few get such a free
childhood, and
he made the most of
it. Maybe we all

did, but none
with the knowledge-base so
of discerning and
acquiring life’s joys.


I chased you
not just because you
were pretty and lived
next door, but because I was
the pervert who stood upstairs on

my private roof to
read from all
the hot sex books Mom
had around the house.
Libidinous by

birth, there you
weren’t, so I punted
to Nat Zartman once
sure I had no chance at all.
We’d stalk your babysitting,

Streak, at least for a
few seconds,
play strip tag in the
basement at Hitchcock’s
or Preston’s, and so

Many years
later still years for what was
never to
be. (was) I wonder
hot it all came out:

whether your
eternal smile is aflame
or buried?
Pure intentions were
Never meant to harm.


She stops, bright-eyed, yells
Doug! Long days
after Joo Hee joined her in
“interesting” English class
she still has what seems

to be a crush for
knowledge, lust
for life, desire to
try to squeeze any

into another
learning niche.
“What do you want to learn now?”
I think as we stand outside

Center’s aura by
only a
few meters, yet far
enough away to
safely smile,

talk about
the matters of the world: war
greed, the
usual lies and
hypocrisies. This

is why I
won’t forget you: your
quest to know
more plus natural
kindness, searching eyes.

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