27 April 2013 One New Poem,One Old, Copyright Doug Stuber


Kyle, you man
among men,
your musical taste
changed with the L.A. scene, sun
setting on strip clubs,

but your guitars soar,
the best at what you
do is collaborate with
lyricists, punch up
would-be dull tunes with

rhythm and
lead riffs. You
break into some of
the most unexpected lines
since Zappa, so don’t do

in music what you’ve
done in love. Find the
driving beat that sets you free.
Free to explore your
gift, free to achieve

what some god
of music must have wanted:
notes many will not
ever forget. Push

your own ass,
or I will come there, wallet
in hand, to
ensure your best shot
is taken. Gadflies?


Dunhwa gets
water-heating pot,
slips on orange hand-
knit or crocheted
slipper socks, rattles
cups behind drawn shade, then she

reappears, uncurls
new rice paper paintings for
to see. He wants them
all, picks one.

Her kindness
comes from magic heart
connected to roots
sunk in old markets:
men without eyes, Eve creates,

men think, women birth,
are attached to earth. First woman
means new life
but paint dries in so
many ways:

over and
over to find the right flow.
Dunhwa hides
nothing, moves forward,
discovers her path

as she goes,
creates as a woman should,
as one who
is directed by
universal tug.


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