Five new ones and Five Old Ones, April 8, 2013, Copyright Doug Stuber
KS
She owed to
every artist who
ever showed at Sizl, but
it was a joy to
support her attempts
to survive
in a world only
partly in
tune with the
work she did to raise
her son, all
on the chance that some
homeowner would decorate
with the art she picked,
or made herself. No,
the final
struggle was not at
all about
making low
cash flow work, it was
about years
of being alone. Then home
among those
whose lives were exact
opposites of her
best clients.
Her last email? “all is well,
new boyfriend, moving
to better quarters.”
DCD
We can never let
loose of the time we
saved each other: me from pure
loneliness,
you from a drug-baked
user who
wouldn’t let go, so
finally you rid yourself
of the best sex you
ever had.
Mornings meant wheelbarrow
chores. Knowing my work
could only attain friendship,
which was all
we both needed. Yes
paintings flowed,
teahouse madness with
the Eileens and Phils of the
world, and mutual
wonder of
plants growing,
simple tea or coffee, beer
and sinful
lustful thoughts denied
for so long, one now
suspects it’s
too late, too much a part of
the best true
lover lady I
ever didn’t have.
ED’E
She danced
around, could draw the
anatomy of
animals,
humans, heartache and
even cows
made of fiberglass.
Where now sister? Remember
The fourth of
July when you came with bags
of laundry
to do, or the art
colony you backed
out of? And
Paul, the picky dumb
ass, what was
he thinking? Your large
emotional spectrum was
a touch hard
to handle, except for those
with equal
experience; such lovers
burn out so
dramatically
in short or long bursts.
Nothing could
ever fully grab you like
art, but your
blues singing, meld in
to Georgia, came close.
AMC
Carol and Tad set you up
with me, and we played
a reverse game of
lovers by
sleeping together,
causing all
to believe, while not
doing the deed, for a short
time at least, thus your
dignity and natural
propensity to be quite
sure before
commitment was quenched
completely.
Then what? Eleven
years flushed as
as soon as you got a
Beemer, your name on a house
and a reconnect
with Nick, step-brother, Oh West
Virginia
came to roost on my head when
he called me
weak to my face as
he stole you away.
Honestly,
I hope he’s been good to you,
but the large
damage you put on
still infests you too.
CDH
Queen of Hope
jumps park benches behind
the Inn in Stockbridge. You got
great joy from
drawing me near, but
more from keeping me
at bay. So pool balls flew and
windows broke, ambulance took
me from an
open setting to
closed. Closed for
five more years, yet I
still can’t call you heartless, as
I was the
fool; on the heels of
major sucker-hood
it brought back paranoia,
the fear that no one would
even have
me, and no one did
for oh so
long. But there you were up the
valley from
Roanoke, still on
the farm, weed bags full,
horses fed,
allowing nude rope swing, but
again, just
a tease, me another
man to not dream on.
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Spring 2011, Gwangju, South Korea
Splotchy white-barked sycamore pushes to surpass pines
atop Chosun University mountain. To reach this bench,
three hundred ninety seven staircase steps and fifty one drops
of sweat are spent. Pretty rich girls stroll on Saturday, but
this empty campus lets spring roll by unadmired by soccer
kickers and potential mates. Chirping birds are more likely to
feel naturally sated after planting egg fertilization, eating
grass seed, flying in the Gobi’s polluted yellow dust. Invasion
comes to mountain peninsula not just from the west, but
this spring from post-tsunami Sendai and its blowing-up
reactors. Disaster only slows the drums that demand we build
more radioactive electricity. Post-modern deconstruction should
be applied to decommission these ogres rather than ascribe
meaning to writing based on an assumed idiosyncrasy acquired
during the author’s adolescence. Human activity, which has brought
us both to productive heights and the epitome of the gap between
rich and poor, will slow to urgent needs and war now that
demand outstrips supply nearly universally. The young will
have and the old will keep trying to have sex in order to keep
economic realities at bay, but the very richest will not yield
legislation to help the poor this time, thus assuring mega-disaster.
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Live Strong
Peripheral sunrise elongates table shadows, initiates morning calm
five days before the trip. This mixed-race neighborhood
finds curious children stepping toward friendship while parents
remain closed in busy lives with no time for old friends no less
a new batch. Small dose of warm leads to ping pong, kickball
and lacrosse. Fifteen Korean kids experience the U.S., try new
sports, speak English to strangers, love nightly contests, yet
bored by Disneyworld. Orange rays turn yellow, cause
dew-sparkle as a clank of dish-washing jolts early work-day
to life. This heart, shredded, strewn like superfluous jet fuel,
scatters onto February snow so remote no living thing can
detect the agony caused by having to choose between family
and friends or prime faculty position in a culture that routinely
rejects emotional outsiders and is built on hundreds of rules
that strictly judge behavior in order to instill “maturity” at the
price of spontaneity . No natural omens, like a darting cardinal
that prefigures any sound move have appeared. Aspirations change,
fulfillment occurs when newfound silence replaces blabbermouth
stupidity and yard play warms frozen tears as well as crowd cheers
ever did in the days before finding redemption in family and work.
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Cactus Mints
“Don’t cry because it’s over, be happy that it happened.”
(Be happy that is was once good, or that it ended?)
If pushed, or by your own courageous design, you take
a month off and find stress level relieved by fifty
percent or more, the trick is to keep that level when
she returns. Tip: keep your mouth shut, attend to
every detail even if your mate won’t notice: the clean
tile grout in the upper reaches of the shower stall.
Resist looking at, or introducing yourself to the Asian
Claire Danes-alike when she walks slowly into and
out of view. Allow cold concrete to freeze your ass
and smile as her lateness becomes an absence. This
fleeting annoyance provides the impetus to continue your
series of lecture/inspiration poems; though not as polished
as Beop Jeong, they may one day be read by a kindred bereft
lonely-heart. One clot or another passes through your left
lung while dancing at Bubble Bar. This causes a momentary
scrunched face look that some wild woman in a Budweiser shirt
actually notices. Then your shoulder’s tapped by JY, the long
lost gift-giving friend. She’s happy now. Hey wait, so are you!
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Ambient heat warms
left elbow
twenty feet above mossy
rocks, soggy
leaf-carpet forest.
Tin roof dries
quickly in the first
of three thaw days. Geese
now prepare
to change directions.
Mid-continental
winter hops,
this hotbed of nutrition
being the
closest oasis.
Library beeps
and mechanical
noises interrupt
deep nature
meditation dream.
This Cedar
having worked twenty years, is
about to
lose it all at the
thoughtless whim of one
capable of thought.
Majesty
of warmth plus sharp dark shadows
invites lone
walker deeper in
to sanctuary.
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Eunheungsa Two: 8 November 2011
This ancient
temple village gives
refuge to
city dwellers as
two monks do fall chores.
Five buildings
are reconstructed
already, but this place once
had thirty. Armies
stayed and burned.
Fifteen years
of dedication
yields modern
comforts, new paint, an
enlarged plan to show.
She sweeps leaves
with a branch found near
riverbed, clearing a way
through yellow to fruit
so healthy.
Gutteral
chicken clucks echo off walls
as the day’s
mating dance starts on
the yard. Two roosters
thrust necks at
each other, then chase five hens.
A chopper
disrupts natural
flow, soon disappears.
Copyright, Doug Stuber
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