Two New Poems, Two Old Poems, April 7, 2013, Copyright Doug Stuber



Dominated by

those around me, I

am free of life’s burden:

making decisions.

In the past I struck

out, playing

music, flinging paint,

screaming for peace, teaching less

educated how

to read when

their governments’ failed

to:  fought all aspects

of corrupt authority

with every ounce of

my troubled soul.  Then

in a fit

of “true love” I gave

it all up for years just to

attain domestic

calm, but there

has not been

enough calm, the barter was

a bad deal

for everyone, my

rage boileth over,

and the whole

neighborhood knows.  Can love win

again?  Why

am I no good in

your eyes?  Why me?





Karma bit

my ass the way a

Pit Bull bites, holds on, shakes at

the bull’s neck until

a huge hunk

of flesh drops him and

the bull.  You were too nice for

me, I, like before

and since, turned

love into daily

battles to

the point when damage

exceeded positive tries

by you and your smart


to mend, heal, care, love.

Ten years away from final

goodbye and the slide

downward has

only had the joy

of my son,

my job, and those formerly

bright spots of

real love, before I

yet again turned a

once happy

home into a slow-motion

reply of

my childhood.  Thanks for

trying to save me.



121 Curves to Happiness*


Dad’s open-air, safety strapless fire engine

hauls seven kids, two adults to Roseland on a

mid-June circa sixty eight birthday afternoon.

Skee-ball champ trades high-score stubs

for a ticket to the moon.


Sunfish sailors return refreshed after a tacky

morning.  Lisa and Gigi got what they wanted

in a boat gliding through lily pads.

Here* our bond grows playing monopoly:

two Moms, one Son and two Dads.


Dry your tears, rejoin friends, value time,

honor your blessings, follow your dreams.

Young spirit meets old, walls tumble, no

man can distinguish celestial streams

in time to reverse economic collapse.


James lights up the room laughing,

deep in schadenfreud, joined by Dad

and Mom in bankruptcy court, destroyed

by money-bags, the infamous

railroad tycoon, locomotives deployed.


*There are 121 curves on Route 64 from Brevard to Back Nine Lane near Cashiers.

The Christmas monopoly game (2010) was held at 345 Back Nine Lane causing memories

of Canandaigua, fire engines and old friends.



Her heart, while sticking tongue out,

leads a sheltered life,

doesn’t drink, nor dance,

Norfolk, it’s in her dreams.


Shocked by lack of fidelity,

still pure, as she has never…

though the thought comes:

Now free, pretty and young.


Brother nudges open eyes,

Confucian box blown open.

Evident culture gap,

yet she jumps his way.


Cosmic bonding creates a further

life, tantric self-love springs to

relaxed life, freedom to be, to

elongate burdensome boundaries.


Will she head back to marry,

deny uncoiling life, to prove

obedience?  Dry flowers yield,

break mid-air as she walks.

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