4 May 2013 Three New Poems and Three Old Ones, Copyright Doug Stuber


One day after a
loss to Seymour I failed to
return the plastic-piece chess
set to the lady
behind the library desk.

rarely if ever
sees a fist fight so you hit
and I bowed
and agreed, as you

had signed it out. Since
then I’m sure Cincinnati
has treated you well but I
always wonder what
your memories, so diverse,

are of the
spoiled fat guy who at
least tried to play ball.
What must it
have been like to be

the star at
such a foreign-local school?
probably felt a
lot more like home. The

to William, baritone plus
awe of your real take
on life flows on here.


You also
played bass guitar, and
once shared a
Hondo right
on Ambassador. Not the

first house, the second
after Blair
had gone off, Liza
her way to solid

life, Harper
three the D.A. in
Greece, of course,
and you, whisked
to Barcelona just at

the right time. Where are
you, how are
you now, radical
friend? The news
we spread at Harley

was so true,
so much fun, I’ve been writing
journal and
newspaper, Blog and
poems ever since.

Jockey Club,
Ocean Reef, Pelican Bay:
have you trashed
putting greens or just
mellowed easily?

Stop Driving Cars!

This planet is unequal and getting more so by the day.
Those at the top sucked up all the money and have now
secured all the resources. Globalization assures the value
of labor will continue to drop while Monsanto, dastardly
GMO mongers have already caused forty thousand Indian
farmers to commit suicide. Defining hard-labor poor there’s
no way they could afford to buy seeds every year, and no
way to reverse the damage done by the “sensamilla-ization”
of soy beans to rice to wheat to corn. Us grass-seed eaters
have ingested enough of their shit without knowing what
mutations may occur. One day we might have to buy sperm
and ova from those fucks! Maybe they’ll patent them too!
Patented food!? Do the exclusive rights to kill the world
this way run out in seven years like pharmaceuticals or light
bulbs; or is there already a self-written law passed by owned
stooges that extends food patents to forever? Warm-hearted
NGO workers, social workers, frazzled teachers and quiet
laborers, who don’t have the nerve to strike or scream as
their jobs could move from a buck an hour to a fifty cents an
hour locale any time are not enough to balance the obnoxious
investor class and their underlings in government. This too is
a globalized phenomenon, like square miles worth of plastic
islands killing sea mammals, ice melting to the effect of a sea-
cocktail, cooled so that smack dab in the middle of global
warming northern and southern sea cities are freezing their
asses in the winter while tectonic plates, like the extra water
above, move, making earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes and
tornadoes, typhoons, volcanoes, flooding and droughts regular.
Huddle close kids, this unstoppable tide could swell. Greed
towers over saving the planet. Got any ideas that will work?


New Ones above, Old Ones below


Wonderment #1

Water rushes, tickling feet with sand.
Gilgamesh relaxes by the sea.
Purple Echinacea sends a cone into rain.
Chopin laughs and strokes his polonaise.
A beetle digs the desert, over oil.
Chang sung-up daubs a mystery in ink.

Water trickles down a granite wall.
Lao-Tsu hikes through summer’s offerings.
Yeloow lilies waver in the wind.
Tasman lacquers the last board of his keel.
Crystals mingle with Icelandic ash.
Lodi licks his chops, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

Water batters barns from red to gray.
Burck paints Freda as Leipzig hums along.
Canandaigua feels the White Snake’s breath.
Handsome Lake enjoys a drive-in movie.
Sesame rice lands in a wooden bowl.
Africa snaps a twig and starts to think.

Wake Up Call

Slide into this life with me for a line or two:
Songs work magic, keep me awake remembering
Carefree times when we were all stars,
When nothing could stop us, when ample
Friendships supported decisions, right or wrong.

We strode through new cities, confident
That our cause was the right cause,
That hard work could yield peace, or
Brotherhood, or higher wages, or more
Organic food, or at least higher gas mileage.

But our lives are just as hypocritical as my
Preacher’s. No way to inspire when
I can’t even find a job. No smiles
Once the alarm clock goes off and I
Realize my country is the capital of terrorism.

One only gets a free ride for so long,
Then you have to choose a path.
We trade laughs from across world
Views shaped by such wildly disparate
Experience that it’s amazing we can sit together.

You take your stand, I take mine. Only
Those early bonds keep us humored.
Just for one day, take a look at the
Struggle for life and peace and justice
That is waged against greed. Can you stand it?

Communal Land

Hydrated winter
sleet taps, rabbit has no dog
pursuing. Calm rain
soaks chicken
feathers, firewood tarped in blue.

Edible grape leaves
infuse light-spiced rice, rolled out
mini Ho-ho style.
Ladies, two
stark, one open, dig tree holes.

Over cubic foot
of stones go in to deter
moles. Young roots grow right
through them. Ten
years hence pecans sprout protein.

My three closest friends
all lost work. Jane Tyndall closed,
meaning art is dead.
Gather nuts,
consolidate, work the land.

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