29 June 2013 One New Poem One Old One, Copyright Doug Stuber 2013


You’re on a
roll, writing major
diatribes, epic
essays on Pierre, pushing
legalization of all

things fun, stomping snow,
continuing your affair
with Laurie, a catalyst.
Poems ring Keene as
a wagon

train: defense,
though minimal from
government strong arms.
Your brother set you free, so
you learned how to survive on

what is left of our
country’s benevolence toward
those wrongfully left behind
by the sickening
money grab

at the top.
Kindred radical street muse
lit fires long
ago, made us fast
friends, sporadic loud

of the horrors going on.
Your niche, carved
with aesthetics, burns
truth when lies prevail.


New One Above, Old One Below


The Shining Path

Plant technicians spray
Untold zillions of hanging and or
Boxed flora. Oxygen-producing takes on new
Importance in buildings where windows
Only open text.

That someone might need
Fresh air, never occurred to design
Teams hired to assist architects who sealed us in.
So a whole generation gathers,
Squirts, fertilizes.

Job-production, an
Old game with a new twist, keeps just
Enough folks working to avoid revolution.
The illuminati keep us all
In place ’til needed.

One day the flower
Box jobs may disappear. The meek may
Inherit what is left after the enlightened
Have gobbled all the rest. For now:
Dig, spray, replace, dig.


Things to be aware of #1 June 27 2013

We have enough going on here to swamp most dingies, and occasional naval vessels. The previous dictator, uh, I mean President, Lee Myung Bak was far worse than his conservative follower Park Gun Hye. Park has re-started shipments of 40 million tons of rice per year to North Korea, and unlike Lee, would never have allowed, nay demanded, nay informed the legislature that a new navy re-fueling base was to be built on Jejudo (mostly for the US Navy – surprised?) This base, beyond being an eyesore, waste of money, continuing to keep the burner up and tensions high, also allows ships floating between Taiwan, Korea and China to refuel without going around the eastern (Japanese) side of our peninsula to Pusan. That’s a 14-hour at-sea savings, which keeps 55% of the US Navy afloat over here. With India packing its new nuclear weapons (George Bush and Condoleeza Rice not only gave them the technology to build near-MX sized warheads (to one of the least stable “democracies in the world mind you) but sent 280 scientists to train them how to build the things – at taxpayer expense.

It’s akin to Monsanto VP Charles Taylor’s not-so-new job as US Agriculture Secretary. What did Obama charge him to do? Uh, to spread Monsanto seeds throughout Africa, again, on the Taxpayer “dime.” Ah, but over 45,000 Indian farmers have already COMMITTED SUICIDE over having to try to buy seeds every year now that Monsanto GMOs have taken over the sub-continent. Oh? 45,000 losses of know-how in agriculture in India? Think this iwl have a ripple effect on starvation? These days it’s not that there isn’t enough food, actually, it’s that so many people of the earth CAN’T AFFORD IT. They starve to death for being poor.

“Enjoy” this very old video and how RIGHT ON it is especially today, and with the advent of crops that do NOT generate plantable seeds:

In Solidarity,

PS: Now two full books of my poems will be translated into Russian, and with the 2012 Book -of-the-Year award in Hand for “Modern Russian History” (I pick it up in Sochi, Russia in Mid-September). My new philosophical home?

Perks for ex-military ,and other capitalist schemes, with counter-measures

From GFN Radio’s Saturday Brunch, Gwangju ,South Korea:  August 3rd show will be about ‘Extra Credits for Military Service Completion in Job Recruitment Procedure in South Korea’. Please leave comments if you have any questions or ideas that you think should be mentioned in the show!


This favors men, at least at first glance, as military service is mandatory in South Korea (ROK)…. but wait, shouldn’t men get some type of societal credit for their years of service?  These years are not easy for most.  By Credits I am sure you mean on exams and in interviews for corporations and civil service jobs.  The much bigger culprit is the Chaebol system. The largest 8 Chaebol companies generate 60% of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) in the ROK while hiring less than five (5%) percent of the population.  It’s more than a rumor that the same families that helped Japan during its horrific occupation of Korea in the 39 years prior to the end of World War II, also ended up splitting up a lot of the farmland that was without Deed after Japan left.  The selling of this land partially funded the beginning of the “Miracle on the Han,” but it’s simple math that South Korea could and should have a much larger middle class than it has.  For sure per-family income rising from less than $1000 per year to now over $30,000 proves the ROK is fully developed.


Foreign investment aimed to prove that capitalism towers of communism, and Korea made a great example for the world to witness.  It is why Korea rebounded from its war so well, and Vietnam never has.  By the time plastics and other industries used Vietnam for cheap labor, globalization and the GATT II treaty had made sure factory labor there would never be enough to enlarge a middle class.


Thus, the credits and perks ex-military get in the ROK are a small part of a giant puzzle that finds governments throughout the world beholden to big business, globalized trade and banks, rather than looking after the problems of those who work so hard for so little, and the ENVIRONMENT, which continues to get hammered by the moving of goods, spreading of pollution, and the ill effects of the lowering of the value of labor EVERYWHERE, notably the USA, my country, where the middle class has been decimated, and Asia, South America and Mexico, where  tiny wages keep revolutions from happening, but only by the thinnest of margins.  The solid governments of the world are:  Ecuador, Bolivia and Venezuela and arguably Cuba, but at a very meager economic level, who are taking care of their people and the earth.  The credits military get toward jobs in South Korea show us one more example of how the REST of the planet operates these days.  Scary isn’t it?


In fact, the most efficient way to save the planet would be world-wide economic collapse.  This would force a return to agriculture, lower the amount of money people have with which to ruin the earth, and possibly even remove corporations from controlling the planet’s resources for their gains, while allowing those who work the fields to at least survive.  As it is now, and dozens of well-known journalists have pointed this out, mass starvation is occurring not because there isn’t enough food, but because people can’t afford it anymore.  This is in many large ways the result of agri-business taking over for family farms.  Most of us do not want to be farmers, and that’s fine, but wouldn’t it be wise to teach our children to grow their own food?  How about the ROK and other countries setting up former military men with two acres of farm land donated by agribusiness out of their respect for having the peace in which to rape the land with GMO “foods” that also sterilize men?  It would be their way of saying “we’re sick of our own business and what it might mean for humans down the line. Ah, but this would expect people in corporations to act and think like HUMANS rather than greedy pigs.  Wow that would be a miracle on the Han, Mississippi, Volga, Yellow, Nile, Amazon, Thames, Seine, Danube, Po, etc.

Single Currency Theory

Single Currency Theory


The racial flow, still imperfect, puts most on edge here

in L.A.  Jews and Gentiles huddle in “richville,” but

Bloomingdales and Macy’s crowd with a four-way mix

of Koreans, rap stars, Spanish speakers and stressed out

white folks  who either don’t have the nerve to be kind

to strangers, or shop the big tickets, knowing collapse is

on trade-day away (but which day?). The economic divide

could collide if rich turn poor, grocery trucks hijacked

and guns replace compassion in the latter-day depression.

So sing while you can, scare viewers into the tip jar of

street performers who remind you that by break-dancing

they are not robbing your home.  Come crash time the wine

sippers will hustle dollars too, but how?  Food delivery is

my guess.  Safe, clean food delivered to your gated palace

in a time when even growing food may require armed guards

should be a valuable service for those with money to spare.

If there were only a benevolent  group that could be trusted to

switch us to a one-currency world with one minimum wage,

say twelve bucks and hour, and a Chavez style reprioritization

of both crops and housing.  If implemented, this might prevent

the crash of 2015.  Gulls dance on garbage heaps.  Open lots

in East Los Angeles harbor rats and desperados, scream a

warning no one hears.  Look, there’s a rotting book: “Canary

Row,” now sporting touristas unprepared for upcoming disaster.


2013 25 June Four New Poems, Four old ones. THE LAST ENTRY for the book “Open Secrets” Copyright 2013, Doug Stuber


You started
work at fourteen and
knew the way
to charm romance, but
this runs in your family,

and being
youngest, normal rates
of absorption plus
very strong genetic lines
for handsome

made you both
the wild child and the
one with a
true responsible
streak that delivered a great

life once the
typical Naples
teen years had been leapt
over. Too many events
kept pulling

you back down
to earth, but here you are, a
man able
to stand on his own,
even if fighting

to surmount
mountains never seen at beach
parks, filling
stations, embraced
with love that comforts.


Dude, it’s my job to
be able to pluck the hard
moments, explain, extend some
relief, be
a best uncle. It

took this long
to face it, so how
dare I imagine how you
got through it? Onward
bench-press star,

to the loved-ones arms who must
be strong, who must be happy
to pull you
back, who, by now, no

matter her
name, is heroic.
Losing Tad was tough, but we
had years to practice
getting it

right. Your hard
time may be over, but in
those moments
when it flashes back,
that’s exactly when

leading your
strong life pays homage to those
who raised you.
Communicate, be
my friend again – Doug.


Do you now
what penultimate
means when a
project is seven
months long? In

this case, my pretty
friend, it means,
as I was telling Kurt, that
it took me
this long, (way over)

a year to
bravely step your way.
One heck of
a life we lead, and
one great job

you’ve done: sacrifice
is the word
smart people use to define
“mother” but
you got hit hard “post

facto,” thus
a one-two-three round punch-out
occurred. How
you survived this is less
important than what’s

new now. What’s
new now? Has all this loosened
once firm ties,
or encouraged more
love, stress-free bonding?


We met at sugar
Saudi owned (via Carlyle
Group) Dunkin
Donuts. You, a young

Gwangju Daehakyo
student, playing with
friends, me on
the last plot: a map
of the end of a

book. You’re it, Yu, Lim
Jeong, so here
is the short story I make
for you: in
high school, popular,

friendly, surrounded,
you majored (many
do) in love.
Being raised well, your
mother expected

great grades and
test scores to match excellent
and emotional
attributes. You failed,

but only
in that one way. Your “people
skills” will, and
have carried you. Light
the way for your friends.


New Ones Above, Old Ones Below


Pink Chang

Brave children, you don’t know how
Your starvation reflects unequal distribution
Of wealth. You don’t have the strength
To wonder how much your brothers have.
But now you have the town TV.

Brave parents, you know how much
We have; your experience says
The sardine boat trip is worth the risk.
Enslaved, but in the land of plenty,
Now you can see it for yourself.

Hard work yielded a living rain
Abided your ancient prayers. But
In this new place hard work can
Yield these luxuries if you have
The nerve to pull away from

Your enslaver. English helps.
Relatives in some far-off town
Help even more, so good
Luck in your American dream.
Welcome, as they say, to the machine.

10-Minute Break

After 30 years of following the wind,
Even one month of normal is too much.
How do people do the same thing every
Day for 30 years without going insane?

The same breakfast, coffee break, line work,
Betting pools, vacation, coffee break, typing,
Driving, dinner, TV, line work, breakfast.
How did you end up settling for this?

Regenerative adolescence never asked,
But also kept you out of the grave.
Your career track starts with filing and
Ends at data entry. An MBA is a waste of cash

When your TRW report still reads “radical.”
Just how many parameters must you comply
With to avoid being pigeon-holed?
You ought to be happy with any job.

That’s the problem: just because you
Do 60 hours of work in 40 doesn’t
Mean you’re dependable. You’re better off
Not thinking about it. Get to work. Get!


If there is a moment, when your sails of fortune luff
Remember that the warlords do not improve your life.
When your next payment outruns accounts received
Don’t cry down trod human, you will have enough.

Maybe not enough to stay where you are now, but more
Than those who tempted fate by building bigger bombs.
The children never stop to worry about their next meal,
But don’t cry down trod human, there is enough, and more.

Please crumple this philosophical pile of gibberish
The first chance you get. You work too hard to listen
To the ranting of the left. But when your choice to
Be free causes hunger in your gut, you will have enough.

Look, there are crying humans, and those who just don’t care,
And those who make themselves so rich from your efforts.
But then there are the bright-eyed kids, long hours tormented
By indecision followed by the warmth of an affair.

But don’t cry down trod human, the love you find is real.
You wouldn’t want to trade for cash your ability to feel.

Magnets Sonnet I

We sweat together like delicate chocolate.
The comfortable wrap of ancient money fails to
Freshen a purple Iris. “Would summer boil a
Luscious petal language?” “Only in Peru.”

We conglomerate with threads forgetting friends.
The furniture designer conspired with unknown
Budding chiropractors. “Does singing
Interrupt suburban plight? “Only in Italy.”

Let my moment whisper through the raw heaves.
The guard allows no images of love beyond
Revolving doors, demented. “Would Sitler
Score in time to save our fate?” “Only in Toronto.”

We conspire against the grind, inspiring unseen art.
The joker who still wears hats all year round
Inspires another line: no hate. “Does smelling
Take the place like food of touch?” “Only in Peru.”

We sweat together like delicate chocolate.
“Would summer boil a luscious petal language?”

June 21, 2013 8 New Poems, 8 Old Ones, Copyright 2013 Doug Stuber


“I’m trouble” you say
in case I,
who have known you five years did
not know by now that
you, the one

who went from public
to private after
died, then came
back with a flourish of such

perfect motion it
stunned me to
just watch; who dyed hair, became
closer to Mom, while

inspecting, knowing
many hearts, found one
had stopped, cried
again in
a town that remains tearless

except for
apocalyptic events:
was trouble?
You love only one,
so those who love you

had better
not cross you in the process.
Love yourself
first:. the rest of love
is easy Mila.


One more traumatic
winter survived. You
want “Novo” land of retired
and the Black Sea I

already love, in
person and dancing with my
former student Kaminsky:
Varna, now Novo?

You will make me a
star, you will be a
pure angel if this works, so
it is time
to shine. I’m not sure

what I can do to
respond to such support, but
to be a good boy, meet James’
needs, look for
that beating heart and

bravely reach
to get it. Just when we were
both beyond
our last fling at love
here you came, here I

was, there you
go, and what next? You aim
for and get
immediate blast
from what you love….of?


No matter how close
I ever got, there was
always room for more time
in the halo of
baked goods, old

style thinking
with a large
twist none could ever
guess. Hills, valleys, rivers come
into, go out of

view, but it’s been so
long since I knew a
couple who both came form good
upbringings. Your

can rely
on solid
consistency, thus
I envy Jeff, who wouldn’t?
Your life has touched so

many through
music, so I wonder, what
will you stride
into to fulfill
your creative side

once time is
on your side? Maybe throwing
pots, writing
arrangements, breaking
ninety, new love style?

J “L” V

You joined on
hand drum right
away at Green Fest, stayed in
our circle
when it was not so

easy to do. You think
of so many ways
to save us,
but you should join with
a lady and smile

first, save us
later. I don’t
know anyone as blocked by
own false
image of themselves.

You run the valleys
up and down fifteen
and eighty
one… you invent with
precise results, yet

don’t measure
your needs or factor in the
of love. Oh it weighs
on you for sure. Yet

hasn’t stopped
your penchant for recording,
hauling full
sets hundreds of miles
for a jam session.


Black, Museum
School in black.
Your lines, both mystical and
fought for resound to

ports, while your
friends often wonder
where the hell you are.
You rank in
the top three ever

known in the
“Suffered most for their art.” If
I had stayed you’d be
cranking more

stretch jobs while
cursing how lucky
I was to have one
of your huge
talent reduced to

making my
day easier than it is
I’m sitting across
From one pretty face,

But days in
Pittsboro were productive.
Come out and
play again, let those
art works shine somewhere.


You beat the rap the
hard way, had a good
serve, were hard to beat
when on. What now my
friend who was friend to

Clapton, The
Who, and God knows who
else? Your legend is thus: you
were able
to prove complete love

act with a woman,
when dared, who was with
her parents shopping,
by producing her
panties, collecting

fifty each
from four of us. You
explained that you went right
to her as
if you had known her,

though older,
and asked how she had been, and
inched her out
to the hall where you
seduced her to the

point that you
met later the same evening
for romping,
Florida style on
a deserted beach.


horny, alone and
mine just one
time, behind the courts,
on a grounds pass allowed to

only those
who worked years to walk
around alone. You signed out
a half hour before me. I
had not thought

you were out
lying in wait for
the likes of
me, but on that day
you beckoned, pounced, found response

as I too
was cross-eyed: massive
sperm build-up had caused my back
to go out, so I was just

in that way,
but learned more than Cricket could
teach about
the importance of
the strongest human

muscle: tongue.
This has served me well, so thank
you my small
frisky friend. I know
I was good that day.


You said something, plus
the timing made it
more plausible that our was
a set up. “What, this is
more than one night?” you

said, and of
course it was.
You spoke of special
basketball squeezing
exercises, your father

invited me to
join the local lodge,
you’d had an eastern star look
back at you, yet I
declined, we drifted

then a car
drove off at
Christmas and that was
that. You found your love
in men who needed you, and

you made each one,
if there ever was more
than one, a
star in your eyes, thus
assuring a good

life for you, your son,
and a bewildered look on
the face of
Bill, who got foot played
at dinner one night.


New Ones Above, Old Ones Below


The sun sinks.
A pumping heron
Chases dreams into the night,
Resting momentarily
In a life of constant motion.

The wind shakes.
Trees stretch out,
Anticipating winter.
Orange floods
Mangroves and the pines.

The cold turns.
Clouds gather
Over murky surroundings,
Drifting slowly inland
To dump a fresh-new load.

The tears run.
A skipping child
Delivers momentary reprieve.
Gloom infests
The evening of a lonely-hearted man.

War Sonnet

Bombs float gently, flaking off occasionally
In the wind, disrupting well-planned patterns.
Mountains (being less populated)
Miss the worst attacks.

Snow is far too soft to bear the brunt
Of ugly metal. Generals forget this,
But soldiers seldom do. Red on white
Creates a gloomy contrast.

Frozen memories never thaw,
They stay cold until reality has changed.
Forgotten joy is hapless against the night,
Unrecognizably split into microscopic pieces.

Tracks lead in but never out:
Angry men cuss their lonely lot.

Red To Go

Cardinals don’t visit often, but a proud male
Perched, inquiring about the weather, so I implied,
Through body movement, that this was a suitable
Winter retreat. It’s not Miami, and highs
Are in the 60s in January. So he stayed.

He caught us on a clear day: third in a row.
The reflections of a manmade pond (called jacuzzi)
Must have drawn him. The chow-chows were inside,
The rumbling of distant showers hit the walls
While wind chimes hung dormant in the still.

Cardinals signify a change in my life.
The last one I saw came by to tell me it
Was time to walk away from snowy winters.
This time I knew the new stuff was coming,
And the red-bird came to relax my nerves.

Sharp shadows move slightly with the leaves.
Our cardinal darts a foot above the rail,
Cutting the water with a flame. A ringing phone
Beckons: two weeks before I walk away, two
Weeks to wrap, tie, hug, make peace then leave.

Life Sans La Mode

A leaf dropped straight down, slowly
As we whizzed by, 58 MPH. It didn’t
Twirl or flutter, the last leaf down
In North Carolina this autumn.

It’s been eight years since winter. In
Gainesville or Tarpon Springs we didn’t
Notice leaves. We didn’t have to
Explain to anyone. Uninhibited.

Then Christmas trapped us. A week
To joke about upon returning. It didn’t
Mean to force such cynical remarks:
Pondering, floundering, repackaging gifts.

It’s been a year since the creative mode.
Apart from it, life’s progressed: sour to vile.
It didn’t mean to leave me in the cold:
Creative forces have no bad intentions.

We broke up at my request. Intentions
Were to lead a normal life. I didn’t
Look back, cry or wallow very long,
But life without it hasn’t been the best.

Fish Window Number Four

Old Harry the heron walked right up
And put his beak on the plexiglass and looked in.
We’ve got special plexiglass here,
It’d take a bull to break through this stuff.
Harry’s been poking his neck around Lake Lorraine
A couple of weeks now. He seems depressed.
They wouldn’t want us to get out, or hurt somebody
To hurt “ourselves.” That’s what the codes are for
Harry looks like he lost a friend.
Wish I could Tell him everything will be all right come summer.
These codes are “A,” “E,” and “S”: Assault, Escape
Or Suicidal. If you get a code you’re in but good.
Harry’s working his way toward “S” code now
Stumblin’ around like that. He better not let ‘em see him.
Down here’s the ICU, intensive therapy, no privacy.
We’re in a circle: beds in little slices of a pie.
Once in a while harry will come by or the tree frogs will
Yelp all night making the natural nuts go off.
The nurses can sit doing their books and see
All of us at the same time. You don’t dare beat it.
If they knew Harry felt the way he does, they’d lock him in,
Restrict him from minnows and make him express his loss.
Just the other day, I got me a big “B” code.
Now I can use the bathroom alone. You know what that means.
Harry better stay away from the lake. It’s so tempting though.
He’s got to grow up and tough it out a few months, then summer.
Big John lets you shower as long as you want, so I wait for
The 4 to 12 shift before I go in. Big John Laughs.
From my slice you can see Harry out on Lake Lorraine.
I stole some foil to try to catch his eye, but I missed him.
Lake Lorraine is a horseshoe pond made when they dug up some land
To use as fill when they built C-2 and C-3. If you’re a good boy
You get to move up to C-2 where, once-a-week you leave the
Grounds to go shopping. They wouldn’t want you to lose your
Knack for shopping. Guess they figure $70,00 a year means
You’ve got to re-learn how to shop. Shows you how much
Freud knows. But for the natural nuts it’s a big deal.
Leaving the grounds means giving up security they tell me.
I don’t believe them. I piss and moan, when asked, about
How long you can lock someone up behind fish windows,
Legally, without that person having done so much as spit.
They say I’ve got to stay until I’m well. Well, anyway, I’m stuck
Behind fish windows for life. I’m stuck, but look, here’s Harry,
Strolling along, wagging his neck, tapping fish window number four.

The Armadillo Migration of 1952

When times are tough in Mexico
Inhabitants start a northward flow.
Usually there is a reason,
Money’s gone or fruit’s in season.

But human problems can’t explain
A mid-century Armadillo train.
So gather kiddies and listen here:
These helpless critters moved from fear:

They sensed a greater concentration
Of the human population.
Gathering their once-lost nerve
They headed north on an eastward curve.

No one wanted to leave home
(Paranoid critters shouldn’t roam)
But they traveled straight through Texas
And came to Florida where the sex is.

They had escaped the dusty bars,
But ran right into moving cars.
Now you see them on the roads
Buried under heavy loads.

They don’t want to bite your face,
They just need a little space.
But they can’t beg or scream or shout
And it looks like space is running out.

Now humans like it where it’s hot,
They come down to grow their pot
And bask beneath the blaring sun
And spend their money on having fun.

The Armadillos knew this would happen,
(Not the type to get caught nappin’)
But now there’s no place left to go
Certainly not north to snow.

If they could swim they might make Cuba,
Puerto Rico or Aruba.
This time their fear is justified,
No place left for them to ride.

That is all enough is said,
It’s time for you to go to bed.
Seek comfort in your sheets and pillow,
Splat there goes an Armadillo.

Oxford Commons Remain

Ten years later, it hasn’t changed:
A few small cafes with hippy sippers.
Punks have added youthful spirit,
But their unwashed brothers
“Fight for peace” then smash bike riders,
Not keeping the spirit once conceived.

Belinda carries special feelings,
Treat her well, but expect great things.
Do not let her off so lightly,
Keep her moving in the green.
Keep in her path and learn to listen,
She is aware, her path is clean.

Be all you can be, work for peace,
But brothers don’t go smashing heads.
Sit on cemented blocks, rousted nightly
By the city’s finest: blue patrol
With walking sticks. Belinda ducks
Such foolish swings, not smiling.

Listen to the drunken minstrel,
Laugh when selfish people enter.
Gather, but don’t stay too long.
Grab a hunk of what is needed
Then spread the word amongst the young.
Knowledge kept is shameless greed.

Settle for no less than perfect,
Develop space that is your own.
Keep that which puts asunder
Violent trends within your group.
Let the mean boys wander off,
Become the village of your dreams.


Swaying grass
In a new field
Discovered bushwhacking
Toward Enfield, New Hampshire

For this one hiker,
The memory of
A green hill,

Down from wood,
Well sheeped,
Years ago.
Swaying grass,

Like waiting words,
Without direction,
Without lips.