7 June 2013 Lots of Poems Copyright Doug Stuber

2013 Poems all in one document

W. G. Stuber

He started so young, married
well, won awards, got
invited north, Louisville
had served to launch the strongest
Stuber. He

worked famous
twenty hour days,
raised one son to carry on,
bought a gas
station, closed it

for his own supply during
rationing, forced the
same alcohol concoction
on guests, remained on the board
until he

was over
ninety, fixed the whole
machines in France rather than
allow a
new one, and patents!

Prominence,
never his goal, achieved by
hard work, and
more hard work made us
the most well-known clan

in the town’s
history. Why? Because we
kept going,
just like he did, when
Strong Eastman lines died.

Wheel of Fate

Black always
suffices, even
on alpine floppy
hats in old
Gwangju. Complicated math

is required: figures
beyond earth
stroll, hypocrites preach
to children but they
know: strayed already

avoided early parenthood
by pure luck or smarts.
Some big mouth
goes down: broke domestic rules

so cunnilingus,
which was all
he had left, has been
taken away. The death
of intimacy

proves Karmic
payment is never really
complete, as
“it’s over” rings in
Ears, eyes tear, son laughs

No knowing
why a grown man would ever
be so full
of emotions. Ten
years down, where is up?

Global Can of Whoop-Ass Open for Business

Rebels yell to topple greed, are met with chopper bullets.
U.S. backs whoever will succumb to our whims and needs.
Begging babies balance the gated communities, but when
the war machines arrive and you are on your knees, remember
heaven’s not so bad, better than hell on earth. What makes
me sick is how the rich enslave, engulf, enrage, and how
the protest only changes the uniforms of the palace brigade.
So gather Quakers, Buddhists, environmentally concerned, and
keep your village quiet or it to will be among the burned.
If you’re lucky and your jobs affords a safe neighborhood,
your children might find learning fun, and play in rapt awe
of the creek or woods. But most scrape basketball knees
on concrete, stay home electronically, watch this or that
cop show on CBS, as if that’s what police do. It’s not. S.A.T.
scores flounder in the nine-hundred range, community college
recruiters land another private , or criminal willing to “play
cop” so as not to get caught. Upward money flow decimates
once-proud middle class so more become desperate, shoot school
children, parents, rival drug dealers, and the N.R.A. begs blacks
to join so they can shoot at their own government’s police.
Speakeasy

The steam age
takes a respite as
Bulmers cider flows, mini
dresses skip to meet old mates,
where the heat grows new skin.

Smoke, unshaved beanie
cap wearing hipsters
mingle with
newbies, freshly off
some flight to teach in

woebegone
Gwangju. Alcohol
lubes the stress of massive shock
delivered by an ancient
culture: boxes in

more boxes; Russian
multi-boxed life for
graduates
used to breaking the
rules. Many end up

jailed here as
they forgot to research their
new surrounds.
Others, used to free
love, find none or pay.

But all men
pay, long or short term
right? It’s the
disadvantage of
hormones far astray.
First Alleyways

Cente, the
breast-only
feeder, changes their
priorities. Worn
out parents still make the scene

but Danny’s trick knee
makes him the caregiver and
it’s changed his
personality
from wild to

subdued. He
smiles, always
has, and Jessica
talks, bartenders draw
Seoul’s Jirisan beer as cold

winter rebounds, blue
wind chills five layer attempt
to stay warm.
I blew hard at a
street Christian:

Jehovah’s
evangelist. Misplaced, but
a release
from a life in which
the glow of a young

child has been
replaced by domestic war.
Envy creeps,
desire to rewind
ten years hits again.
Division of Labor in Korea

Her heart ticks, his lungs push energy with the
excitement a third grader gets when paired
with the chosen mate. “But she chose me, so
I’m not sure I love her,” he says, at age nine:
primed to be the most popular, he was class
president last year. But isn’t being popular a
curse that leads to egomania, especially in Scorpio
males? The wind pushes elementary walk, three
hundred meters to paradise, then, fore me, on to
a different type of classroom full of students
whose every grades determines career path, marriage
eligibility: attractiveness measured by diligence in
class, looks once out the door. Just like the apex
of suitability, the college entrance exam, one’s grade
point average makes or breaks job interview status.
Forget football star, chess club, five thousand hours
Of community service, it’s all about grades here, so
the East/West cultural divide hits early, say age four.
The East, so good at mimicking and selling products,
the west at developing new ones. Global but unequal.
You Know the Face

He’s eleven, lived on the streets of this city his whole
life. No one knows how he made it to age five, but from
then on, he’ll tell you, he’s been hustling change, doing small
favors, cleaning shoes or out-elbowing competitors to clean wind
screens, with or without a tip. He has shoes now, knows where
to go to get craft supplies to make trinkets to sell, but there’s
a big hole in his heart. He’s not sure what he’s missing, doesn’t
know how limited his vocabulary is, yet most days as happy as any
other child. Well, as satisfied as those around him are on five
hundred calories of begged food per day, on average. His global
contemporaries are mastering division, or the left hand of piano
music, or working the farm, or playing baseball, or glued to TV,
or rescuing some PC-game princess, or solving puzzles, or riding
bicycles, or teasing their younger sister, or signing up for gangs, or
swimming, or losing a fight to the school bully, or Skyping friends
during class, or traveling through Europe with their families (boring
at that age, for sure) or parring their first par four. But not him, no he’s
working twenty hours, worn through his shoes, blistered by sun, frozen
in February. Searching to fill that hole, but with what? Some might
guess love, others safe shelter. He figures regular meals would suffice.
Lady Recruiter

She, again tires of her shield-boy, you know
the one who is the current boyfriend, in order to
shield her line of work. The workers are uniformly ladies,
the customers, men. So, our heroine must never be discovered
since she would have to leave the country. The way she
switches “cover” men is by making them very angry
in public. She might kiss another man, or have her
boyfriend continually buy dinner and drinks for an ever-
expanding group of her friends and co-workers. As his money
keeps flowing to her whole stable, the anger turns to
rage and they “break up.” The problem is, it isn’t just the
men she is “dating” who get mad, but the men she picks
randomly to use as a wedge. Fights break out as five
men buy her drinks at the same bar, none of them her
“boyfriend,” who arrives later, into a trap of many men
Expecting something from her, to the dismay of the man who
Is only minutes away from seeing the aforementioned kiss.
Modus Operandi maximus cum stupido. So she plies her
trade in three different cities, oh, such a sad fate.
Ross and Ferdi

She stood with two-year-
Old child, one
Guilder to her name,
so Dad took
her in, watched as she ate raw

buttered radishes.
Being Dutch, she reveled in
child’s play, so
Ross and I did just
that, on bicycles, in the

water, at soccer
putting on
toweling off shows
as we danced
through Bushnell’s Basin to points

far gone. Twenty five
years later a reunion
near Blackies-
by-the-Sea in warm
Costa Mesa provided

a chance to
know his wife, eat with his Mom,
camp out, while
caddying on the L
PGA tour. I

heard mother
and son moved back to Holland
as his Grand
parents aged. Orgies
of fun all around.
A.S.

How can a
kid not love a man
who gives out gifts on
his own birthday? He
also read history

a trick my
father uses to
prolong his
hold on earth. Gramp was
also busy, but got to

be a great
golfer, a sport whose
torch skipped to Margot
and Mike. We visited him
in Naples twice a year and

his son got
married at sunset
in his house
so he could attend.
Mr. Stuber, a Cornell

Graduate,
no one ever saw him sad.
He was too
Busy boating with
Doyle, chasing skirts as

bachelor
men do, toasting life, nudging
children to
do better via
carrot on a stick.
W.J. Stuber

Then came Dad, the soft
spoken hero who
had more trials than Salem
and Assisi put
together. How did

you do it?
Trust me, most of the
hells your children went through are
still hidden
from you, yet you’ve seen

enough to make one
thousand moving films,
the ones your Dad helped
Edison refine.
The Greeks never came

up with such
sad tales, but here you
are still smiling, maybe thanks
to your love,
Lori, or stubborn

Desire to
Make sure the three boys survive
Without a
Whisper of hassles
From within. Houses

And guns have
been your collections. Who would
deny you
any pass-time that
could keep your heart free?
Mom

Bridge hostess, she loved
Tanqueray, fast cars,
a good laugh, since years of sad
yet dedicated
nursing of her sons

drained the life
from her as surely
as forty
cigarettes per day.
Five years in the hospital

is what saved her third,
and she almost gained
as much post-marriage life as
she had fighting it
out with eternal

opposite
(Dad). The fights ended
when others
were around, so he
saw to it they were. Damage

of all kinds
ensued: collateral, trite,
physical,
emotional too,
but we all survived

except Tad.
When he died she said “my job
is done,” as
Eastman had. One last
wheelchair-smoke, sunset.
Catherine Faulkner Spellman

“Gosh all hemlock” she’d
say, taking us kids
back a generation or
two. “Wait ‘til the Moon
Shines Nellie,” she’d hum

the way Harry James played horn.
Her husband played too,
and mellophone and
knew the notch was on his door
so hobos would stop in to

feast on her stretched meals.
If you failed to say
“hello,” she’d be offended,
Say “you could at least
Tell me to drop dead.”

Her children, often sad, as
their father died young,
had interesting
lives: wild yet so human, and
grandkids wilder yet, untamed

by normal
corporate constraints, living their
own way, led
by the power she
conveyed, the power

to trust our
instincts, know nature, bake a
great pie, cry
when you had to, but
hum the blues away.
MM

Only one friend saw me run
off then waited to buy Dad’s
H and O set, you
knew I would be back for Mom’s
meal. Only one made sure I

walked off the
altar, part of the number
two wedding in Rochester
history,
alone, but still a

member, one knee bent among
Oak Hill’s finest, singing to
the new bride: “you lost
that loving feeling: without
knowing the words, waiting to

clip the tail
off some pompous hired
gun, but no…your eighth ace, at
the Monroe
Invitational,

Tad was there,
and you came seeking growth stocks
to a land
where big swallows small
before growth happens,

said either
one was worth ten times the fee
as manure
course got in the way
of conversation.
W.C. Stuber

Billy, the elder,
eldest man to have
a child I
ever knew, proves man
hood is more than just taking

any job to keep
the family fed.
Indeed, you
cut your own path and
taught me how

to follow my heart.
You were right!, as the
Creator
nurtures those who use
their god-given skills to solve

their own problems, no
need for church, just
prayer, and
hard work. Yes, our clan
knows how to

work, suffers
the loss of children better
than most due
to diligence and
brain power to spare.

I never
Beat you in chess. I’ll settle
For a draw
In love though. How is
Irene? And the kids?
Nancy

She survived
hepatitis C
for twenty one years,
she mentored hundreds off of
alcohol and drugs.

She wrote long letters
when I was stressed out,
she loved all
she met, thus taken
advantage

of in schemes,
love, even death. Her
happiness was a
neat house, pet dogs, holocaust
memorial at

Monroe C.C., where
public relations
men also
tried to warp her words.
she never

stopped giving
so people took, yet her smile
stayed alive
long after she knew
she’d been scammed because

she knew the
needs of others, having been
through every
type of misery.
Love was all she sought.
Bev

Boat hoist diverted what could
have been a strong
career as concert
pianist, but quick
change to church

keyboardist,
hymn composer and
super-mom,
along with major
caretaker

for mother, husband, sister
med Bev “family
angel-in-times-of-
need.” Don’t worry aunt,
we knew and

remember
them all: the worst
day bloody
Korea offered
is wiped clean

just with a
thought of how good you are. How
is Tracy?
Bike rider, vocal
Coach and professor.

How could my
family be so different
than yours? I
learned a lot in “Spring”
seventy six. Smile.
Tracy

Another day without an
email from me, the ingrate.
If not for you, would
I have activated or
advocated for earth, peace,

common sense;
or walk to work, bus
downtown? No. Golf would have been
my time-wasting salvation.
Please know your beliefs

spread to students here where the
worst forms of feudal systems
remain: dependent
on nuclear energy
more than any other “land.”

I’m split here
in Korea, as
activism loses while
navy bases flourish. Be
calm, this too shall pass.

I hate that
weeks full of weltschmertz still hold
me back, that
I am ineffective
at most things except

writing and
loving. Love burns again but
I am with
you, honestly changed
by your strong actions.
Delmar Spellman

Delmar, the
tall, handsome one,
not the Coen brothers
character, would walk
from Pittsford to Webster, eight

miles, to earn a low
wage, return
home, and play and laugh
as if all was well in the
world. In his

world it was.
His carpentry earned
three houses, boats, and
an airplane! Good luck
doing that with a labor

job now. His
children were pressed
into adulthood
and my Mom took her chance on
a divorced

man, kind at
first, she had a musician
and Kodak
man, so Delmar, all
you need know now is

that they all
did well, laughed when they could, broke
bread at the
lake, carried on through
horrific trials.
Amy

Moss, hair flying due
to rear perch on motorbike
going seventy two miles
per hour
on route four ninety.

Athletic,
charming, caring, wild,
but not around the
girls, she picked
Roanoke,

relieving me of
a duty I did not want
to relinquish, so Tad got
double love,
which he deserved, due

to running
battle with our Mom.
Amy can
achieve wealth
quickly which

leaves time to
be a great parent: she learned
from the best.
Some people are born
to give. She never

tires because
she taps deep energy to
make sure
everyone else is
OK. Thanks Amy.
Jim Heriot

His Beemer twelve hundred bike
tipped off road
strangers and
second cousins alike that
his life would be

on his terms,
take it or leave it.
His wild child bride could
hardly keep pace, but he once
approved a hitch-hike

for a wayward fifteen-year-
old who was
psychotic from his
adolescent shrink’s
office around the

corner from Canon’s, meaning the
vodka lunch was a
bit too convenient. So I
hitched three rides to make

it to the chosen place, Canandaigua.
What now James?
Can’t get your signal
man, are you alive

out, up and
away there, or, has release
from this realm
allowed enough peace
to soberly rest?
Mike

Brother Mike,
fell for the old trap
and bait. Guns and sleds, clubs and
women, one life to live, one
head to head collide

away from
eternal
bliss, but nothing as
the Talking Heads proved, for
sure, nothing ever happens

in heaven.
So here we are still
Stressed by the past, relieving
It every way we can, and
Now I spend all day

At the range
so caddies won’t laugh at the twelve
who’s really a full
twenty four, so your group (?) is

not plagued by
an anchor who clobbers the
outward fours
on the large greens. But
there is more to golf

than golf. More
to life than we dare say, as
to mention
anything is a
sure buzz kill. Ace it!
Jack Spellman

Able to talk the coat off
An Eskimo, Jack had
every right
to his rage:
the V.A. treated

him to countless cuts
and experiments
in trade for the drugs
they had addicted
him to. Similar to

his homeless comrades he could
see on the
news, Jack could
also land
the ladies, fish in

Florida, crack wise
or flabbergast with
sarcasm refined
in the heat of World
War II. Once said I’d make a

restaurant
owner a lot of money
due to thin
layer of peanut butter
on a sandwich I’d

made him. How
about his super-spicy
spaghetti?
Touch lamps? Lincolns? Death,
surrounded by blacks?
Chink

She works hard,
manages to keep
the hard truth at bay, but, in
the process
loses a son’s love

while faithfully, in
pure love, following
the wishes
of her dying James
request. She could not

prevent this
eternal tear. So
retires, and
waits for a call she

may never get. The
superior brains
can devise
such realities,
leaving broken hearts

to bleed, torn
emotions to heal. But white
blood cells can’t
get at these types of
open wounds, so Chink

puts her best
face on the past. We all know
she’s got the
moxie, at five twelve
to endure and thrive.
Mek

Open, Meki, which
is the word
for October in the land,
(Ethiopia)
of his birth.

Large, yet as
gentleman go, he’s
gentle. Dar got the
royal home-
made reception,

and a few years down
the road they
moved back to Yellow Springs to
find Antioch close
to closed down.

Bands, Ha-Ha
pizza and the News
keep retired air force
generals at
bay, even if they

seek local
office to impose “order”
on the last
bastion of logic,
compassion and an

inherent
respect for diversity,
earth, wild spare
grass, Horace Mann and
self-propelled movement.
Ron

Vermont-bound,
truck, bike, and one
strong will to survive, Ron
fades away, but we
all want him back. He’s

supremely helpful and kind,
works harder than most,
but who knows
what he’s up
to these days. A born

loner, he can
easily be with
or without female,
so it’s down to his
job, and fulfillment

from within. The Spellman
split, notorious
for being
young and a
touch permanent

also seen
in your cousins Cathy,
Brett, Doug, makes
us all sad at times.
Nothing like a home

cooked meal to
soothe life’s trials, make fun of
obstacles
both physical and
self-imposed. Come back!
Lori

We played cards
at your Beach Club meal,
a hint of major ups and
downs to come.
But one child, who knows

Just a touch about
life never waivered.
Never fell
for the bait, always
stuck by what must be

as hard a
life as ever lived.
Amazing how souls unite,
overlap
expand with time and

similarities
pop up in aspects
expected
only by novels,
Faulknerian or

even from
Leipzig, by Goethe, twisted,
unreal, yet
soothing, as your life
proves it can all be

absorbed, lived
through, toughed out, tolerated,
yet with a
smile, a warm hug and
love intact…love wins.
LK

Chicago art star,
Savannah M.F.
A., he blew into Gwangju
the same time
I did. We waddled

through culture shock but
remained this six years
because we
saw how well this place
works for its own people, while

constricting many
individual
freedoms on the surface, while
tolerant
of any affair,

political or
personal, as long as its
kept secret.
This mirrors our
beloved U.S. exactly.

So when he
couldn’t find a Korean
lady friend
he ventured to Thai
mountains and may yet
marry an
Asian, because, like some do,
he got tired
of thinking about
Western man’s bullshit.
SJ

Not many run off
to become a monk
at the age
of twenty. Found, and
forced back into the

flow due to
brothers who wouldn’t
take care of their Mom, she made
the most of
it: philosophy

major, out to save
the world, she also
possessed the
type of beauty you
can’t shape down at your

local nip
and tuck surgery
center. She posed for
a wayward professor, at lunch

when he could
not find a mate, told of her
woes in a
swap meet, and, until
her child came, stayed glued

to a rare
friendship in Korea, one
between a
student and this long
lost alien man.
TM

His stylish dismount,
balancing
bicycle, swinging
one leg over then stepping
off lower

pedal, always on
the left side bespoke
athletic
prowess in
all sports. Trevor Court

had its share of jocks,
but only
one gained style points. A
lady catcher, pen doctor,

hockey star, he taught
his younger brother well.
We last met
at the club,
appropriate, yes,

though my verse
was not. Few get such a free
childhood, and
he made the most of
it. Maybe we all

did, but none
with the knowledge-base so
capable
of discerning and
acquiring life’s joys.

KM

I chased you
not just because you
were pretty and lived
next door, but because I was
the pervert who stood upstairs on

my private roof to
read from all
the hot sex books Mom
had around the house.
Libidinous by

birth, there you
weren’t, so I punted
to Nat Zartman once
sure I had no chance at all.
We’d stalk your babysitting,

Streak, at least for a
few seconds,
play strip tag in the
basement at Hitchcock’s
or Preston’s, and so

Many years
later still years for what was
never to
be. (was) I wonder
hot it all came out:

whether your
eternal smile is aflame
or buried?
Pure intentions were
Never meant to harm.
KDB

She stops, bright-eyed, yells
Doug! Long days
after Ju Hee joined her in
“interesting” English class
she still has what seems

to be a crush for
knowledge, lust
for life, desire to
try to squeeze any
encounter

into another
learning niche.
“What do you want to learn now?”
I think as we stand outside
International

Center’s aura by
only a
few meters, yet far
enough away to
safely smile,

talk about
the matters of the world: war
greed, the
usual lies and
hypocrisies. This

is why I
won’t forget you: your
quest to know
more plus natural
kindness, searching eyes.
CB

Never, and
I mean never, has such
a beauty graced the eyes, dreams
of young men
at Allendale or

even the women
of Columbia School.
I bet she
never knew Joe and
I cross country skied through back

lots to hole
ten at C.C.R.
to watch you work out. It was
as good as
it gets for teenaged

“men” who had
yet to, but wanted
to prove all
on your (in your?) quite
amazing grounds. Come spring an

outside thought
would creep in. Could we ever
birdie ten
again if the green
itself had taken

our break? What
if either one of us had
the nerve to
ask? We all envied
those who gained your trust.
JM

Every heart beats hard
first and foremost, but
that girl may
not be the one who
yields. So there you were

not the chased
one, but the loved one,
the attic dream come true but
interrupted by the man,
my second father,

who offered a ride
to the lake, but I
hitched out of
huge embarrassment.
Decades later, with

Your child there,
we ran across each
other at Wegman’s and you
were kind enough to
describe me as the
basketball
player from outside your lit
window, still
bouncing by streetlight,
yearning so hard, for

what I did
not know, only guessed about.
What a dream
You made. Don’t worry
I’ll be fine, Love, Doug.
LT

Your husky alto
served notice
that though three were in
the Boston
Whaler, orgy was

available.
those firm fifteen-year-
old D-cup breasts now spring forth
to titillate entire
bodies, not just the

erogenous zones. The
third that day,
young “ant bites,” made the
optimum
middle-man, a cross

of stunning
beauty and carnal
knowledge due to an older
sister and her beau Rob, who
used to paddle out

in a small
inflatable raft to the
exact place
the telescope, placed
on the patio,

could zoom in
on the “action” that often
led to one
or both in the water
cold enough to calm, quench.

BS

An apple doesn’t
fall far from
the tree. Nor does a
rough start come
close to ensuring

a smooth-assed
finish, yet, between a
scoff-law and addict or
the reverse side of
emotion

wanders this father,
lover of
many, ne’er once pinned
down, returns
to Alabama

to avoid
detention, or big
law multiplied by fortune
to add up to more
trouble he

knows how to
deal with. Genuine rebel
aligned with
good astrology,
his path winds out long.

His children
now grown, surely not stress
causers, nor
marginal, two men
removed from past hells.
YL

She poses again,
dances across the entire
floor, sees men
come then leave her, so
hurt, yet happy, able to

support her fours kids,
their father was so
unlucky he went and lost
her too! A
lawyer, a

mover, a shaker
but too often the loosing
end of
heart breaker. What can
you do to quench both heart and

body, soul and mind?
Now on year sic, up,
away and teary-eyed as
your children grow into

adults. No
way to afford his school and
then he drops
out anyway! Now
the girls are ready,

meaning you
must sweat your every choice, be
they dates, types
of fun, clothing or
if you will marry.
PYS

Ewha plus
Cambridge equals part-
time instructor in this place
maybe for
two reasons: mostly

your husband
is tenured,
and then how to teach
towers over what
to teach, fair enough, but not

in this type
department, which prides
itself on black suits, proper
schooling in
ideas over

basics. How
unfair is
that? So we strike up
a pro-labor friendship
that also produces an

Auden piece,
thus saving my tenuous
career, as
poetry, you knew,
would never count as

achievement,
though literature still rules
our great school,
your light inspires all
persistent teacher.
TBS

Mister one track mind
also can’t prevent from
meddling in every affair
that appears
to be working. Why?

His don’t here
in Gwangju. Why? The
poor man comes on like
New York meets
L.A.; problem is, he’s in

rules-box Korea
still with no clue as
to how to soft-shoe ladies
the way they
expect. So he floors

all others
chances by putting
his spin on their lives.
Lucky me,
I can relate to abject

loneliness,
so we commiserate, eat,
drink and be
miserable in
small, yet smaller town

due to its
infatuation with both
grapevine and
gossip. He can’t find
a like-thinking heart.
SGG

Diligent,
and willing to test
yours if you expect to have
a high position.
Most wilt,

and change schools
if they even want
to stay here. Ah but
others rise to the
challenge:

learn to be

discreet, keep
up and surpass all
expectations. His diverse
International
Center leads

culture tours,
guides aliens to
some degree of peace
outside the normal
alcohol-soaked once-

a-week fun
that passes for relief from
eight hour school
instruction days or
marriage: abusive

Koreans
and their hapless mates rescued,
sent to a
support center. God
bless you sir. Rest now.
GMR

Natural,
complete, curious,
in and out of love
but staying firm, she
camped out in the triangle

at Reiksmuseum
where it meets
Van Gogh, needing a
cash infusion, so
she avoids asking her Dad

and finds a
friend to lend his help,
fair dinkum as she
had turned him on to
translated country female

poets from the rice
growing lands
west of Suncheon. How
can he ever forget you?
The red sweater dress, those eyes,

well hidden
breasts, soft boyfriend, gypsy tales
three Czech beer
imbibes, career dream
come true via two

years slave to
the music world now doing
just what you
wanted. You followed
your dreams: few here do.
KSS

Allen Gray
is correct, you have
movie-star looks, loyalty
to a cause so hard to grasp,
ability to

make things work even
when so many
mess-up around you.
OK, I
was one, but what a

laugh when Ho’s
motel photos were
captioned better than you or
I could, and flew past the censors!
Of course, being an

original type
feminist
in a land time left
behind, you
favored the message:

“Yo men, get
over yourselves, be faithful
like your wives’
have been in order
to better raise and

know your own
children, you idiots!” Then
there I was
torn to pieces in
your husband’s calm bar.
SHJ

Sexy and
in full control of
she would and would
not do, she
caused so many to

fall in love, so few to find
what they were looking
for, but what
a blast we had on
the dance floor!

Blonde wigs, jock
girl is with huge laughs,
major draw, but with
on shield-man in tow builds
wall that could test not

just climbing ability
but also sheer balls
of those so
brave as to try the
steep ascent.

Did they get
full satisfaction? Oh I
guess “yes” they
did, but other than
one Heineken on

the benches,
I avoided your giant lure
and mighty
glad I did, as you
showed up in my class.
AJO

Makoli
consumed experience
until all bike trips to see
prisoners
wrongfully jailed paled:

environmental
causes, brilliantly
led, “evolved”
to studio in
Dae-In mMarket, then

amazing
switch from Honnam to
Busan and in-laws I’m sure
relieved you’d
dried out, might a right

proper woman of
their precious girl. It’s
a demanding place
and we went
it together at

what became
the most left-leaning journal
Gwangju will
see. Small differences,
semantics, really,

sometimes slowed
our otherwise equally
enlightened
world view unsullied
by the nightly news.
Lee D.

She acts like
a boy, spells her name
like a boy, runs like
a boy, but
is all woman when

it comes to honest
caring about her
friends, hip gyrations on the
dance floor, and that deep
laugh that men here do

not know how
to accomplish. She
was part of the “group of six” on
the hunt for western

men, relaxed in her
new job answering
the phone for an organic
food cooperative
while not exactly

looking to
get married, deal with the sad
contempt bred
by knowing too much
truth about him, so

“him” changes,
sadness sets in, out-muscled
by gym time,
diligence on the
job, quiet yearning.
BCS

Backgammon, a game
you got about one
thousand points ahead in, served
to pass stress
away, since McGeorge

and smoke house were not
always available at
Holderness School. The
Marblehead crowd had
their own sources of

entertainment, which
consisted of car
rides home and pussy-drenched
ladies in
waiting. For the rest

of us, sports, dreams, and
illusions of summer had
to do. So curfew
was broken with bridge
until Burke or Mark

the Narc broke
it up just for something to
do. Almost
forty years later
and the visits live

on, each of
us with one son to dote on,
scold, pray has
the type of life we
were afforded: great.

PCS

His love, to mountain
climb, mixes with a
fine sense of painting, knowledge
poetry
brings to his life. He

pulled out a
bag of “anti-salt:”
anti-soju, which I had
downed seven bottles and two
beers, believing the

cute red ovals to
be plum juice. As each
table went up to speak, I’d
rifle their
supply and down it

without a
ceremonial
pour. I barfed for a half hour
right next to the waiting bus,
thus delaying high

members of
the Southwest Development
Council, and
embarrassing my
brother-in-law for

the very
first time, two weeks into
stay. Thanks Park
for your art, moons and
mountains, curing salt.
Nude Joo

She moves sand,
paints the sides of wood
blocks to make fake libraries
to discover a
child’s inner

beliefs and
emotional score,
tuning their engines
via creative projects
that do not

even hint at
accurate measure
of what should be done to calm
these TV, PC
deluded

stars who now
have to struggle to
learn in a place that
demands only test scores and
eighteen-hour

study days.
They have a singular chance
to follow
their dreams, since no one
will employ them at

higher than
taxi driver. “Art on” young
heroes of this
high-stress culture. Help
her to feel better.
Harabojay

He reads in
a room full of wild
generational flux, thus
avoiding
the fray caused by some

disagreements that
occur in a boy,
girl, boy, girl,
boy household. When first
we met he built the fences for

our kitchen
garden out of small
branches, nails and string. Oh your
silence was
a lesson for a

loud mouth like me. A
loud mouth gets himself
and his kin
in trouble here, while
the calm man lessens problems.

When will I
learn? Quiet means less chance of
being a
hypocrite, more time
for writing, way less

big huge fights
as long as I can, like you
did, agree
to others’ plans for
me: forever loved.

Thomas A. Stuber

Each day we try to
tap your magic, kindness, your
tolerance and fulfillment
because you got the most out
of life, never got

in your own
way, put up with all
kinds of struggle to persist,
you turned life
into a whole new

adventure for friends
and unknowns lugs alike. How
bands did I know
thanks to you? By “know” I mean
quaffing ales back stage.

Roanoke
days cannot return,
life moved me to this edge of
the planet,
torn, not by what we

had, but by
my inability to
capture life
as well. So I write,
do you blame me, bro?

I have two
friends so strong and true to see
me through it:
young James Hyuntay, and
your inspiration.

PR

Some tennis
coach teamed us up so
the year before, when
she chased me,
and I pulled a chair

down behind me, it was
sixth grade, and she tripped hard on
it, had to
be forgiven if
not forgotten. Priscilla

had grown so
large during the short
intervening June
she became
an instant “hit” with

her male classmates. But
I had the inside track at
Harley, that
is, until Durbin
and I published our newspaper.

Dad was so
impressed he ran off copies,
but the school
didn’t want to know
who was screwing whom,

who smoked pot,
or how angry she got when
I snapped her
bra strap; or how Chris
fingered Kim in class!
DM

The tracks for
our absurd pen-race
car game were drawn in a style
Pollack or
Kandinsky might have

learned from. The winner
predicted
I would never get
laid. Right, but it was
a far-reaching bit

of Tarot
guess, as it hit long
after expected, further
away, and with a
life-changing set of

consequences, not
pimples: a
domestic war. You
drew cartoons all day,
then the time I said

the French had
two exes and no Y and
got kicked out
of class, or played “it’s
a buzzard” while

drop-kicking
lockers, or being asked to
leave when sir
douche hated my hole
ridden jeans. Strike one!
KDW

Gray day turns
to black-out night as
the money ran out long, long
ago. At
least it afforded

Hoon a brief four years
of merriment as
evidenced by his
banner grades, string, nay rope, of
girl conquests.

Oh! The weird
way you got treated
by your own school, a major
researcher,
still too pure to buy

an election. Pure
spelled poor because the
guaranteed job in
honor of your achievements
was denied on the

theory that
the other guy had bought a lot
of votes for
the eventual
winner. Retreat, sir,

Eunheungsa
beckons, each spring offering
solitude,
away from the lies
that rule mainstream life.
JDS

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?
JCL

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
family

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.
CeeB
By Dooty Burber

He plays drums,
skates on the pond at
the side of the house,
cooks on a giant
grill with fieldstone chimney, and

eats unusual
items like
home-made donuts and
shares all games
from blind man’s bluff to pick-up

sticks. One day
out on the sail boat
maybe even too
too large for the smallest
finger lake, but a strong wind

blew and sunk this ship
so the whole
family fought
white caps and
swam ashore in the storm, not

the only
storm you faced, and still persist
through summer
log splits, house full of
children, long commutes

electric
connection keeps forward thoughts
alive though
both know trials
in each other’s past.
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.
KH

Lottery
winner, Dillard’s wife,
purple scarf
for Allan
Chuse, you gave me the

nudge needed to keep
it going, never quit, go
out with a bang, ponder
life’s small and large questions
while also

harboring
multifaceted
lust angles
dreamt right in
class, satisfied at

night with others or
myself. Your prose poems proved
the two can meld; I never
believed it before your pen
out-whittled

us all. Your
hooded lips appeared, but
you did not
get the reference
be it ever so

juicy. Your
image, words, luck remain a
blast: a way
to bring the entire
experience back.
JL

It’s never good to get a
student’s name wrong when
so progressive, but
blurt out the
name of the “other” sophomore

who is also proud ,
and an African
American, the same way
you and I are white,
stark raving whiteys.

Henry was smart to launch your
stories, your well-versed
first-hand knowledge on
display, and,
in a sea of books, impact

that resonates in
this scattered mind that
can’t remember what its mouth
ate for lunch. You looked

forward to
having an adjunct Doug as
I cleared out.
that one line meant more
than you imagined

as solid
ink-flow continues to save
the same lost
soul, woeful, lonely-
heart, eat-at-desk man.
MC

The Senator, the
famous art building
that dropped Lee
Hansley, gallerist
now, curator then, yes you

whose friend said
I had done so much
for you, and, with that hint laid
the place we united as
the painter waited.

Muse of the Dinner
Party, having picked
half the wild
known characters for
the novella, as of now

still not quite
published. It’s your eyes,
soccer legs, real auburn hair
and gentle touch that beats down
thick skull, sends sparks from

who knows where.
Cyberspace has yet to yield
your married
name, so this haiku
represents all the

times I came
back to your room, a surprise,
but shoved off:
“you can’t just show up
and expect more love.”
April 7, 8, 9, 2013

Gramp was
born the seventh, and
the lunar one-year toast was
April eighth for the
strong man who

shook Dad’s hand as James
Hyuntay was held out
by Kwang Suk. The ninth is the
birthday of
our patriarch, the

man who would
have made little of
this coincidence. These fine
men mixed hard work with
simple joys

to give offspring all
the chance to achieve
anything they could think of:
large and small
dreams nurtured by such

diligence:
Harabojay, the first from
Jido to
matriculate at
Yonsei, Gramp, on top

of the ads
and marketing world, friend to
all, William
made photography
a household must-have.
LHE

The one who
exudes such
natural kindness
first introduces
her boyfriend, and then because

I sit alone, buys
chocolate-covered almonds at
Angel-in
us on Uchiro.
We met twice by luck

Inside a
Two week stretch.
She can’t help but help.
“You are lucky,” I say
to the man, also

skinny, who went for
the one who could never get
angry, laughs
genuinely and
has the fortitude

to allow
others to be themselves with
no demands,
expectations or
pushes to annoy.

I can’t be
sure of any of this, but
look at her:
the only trick would
be to stay as kind.
LAJ

Your real tears first shocked
then attracted one
more feeling
creature. He’s complex,
you are not.

He’s old, you are not. But that
square walk. The one in
which you told
of visiting-for
all-hours “cousin” who was

the other woman
even if he was
Islamic,
Even if your heart
Was shredded.

You reached, exposed, but did not
dream. A realist,
all you asked
was that he come to
you. Geography, the test,

a small one,
the only one he had to
pass. He told
me you will press his
heart, pet his arm, take

care of him
when he gets old. He fears you
are trapped and
knows time is running
out. Are you still there?
GW, M.D.

Family
Doctor, a blast form
the past, so concerned,
in touch with
all his patients’ needs. He found

love, he know so much
more than medicine. He, the
unlikely
muse of the memoir
I don’t have the courage to
Write. You know,

the book whose truths would
be better written
as novel
or drama: a six hour play
resembling Sartre

or Wagner, full of self-hate,
huge errors
from my own hand. Yes,
those P.T./I.N.R. checks

also serve
to remind how short life is,
thus, equal
inspiration, a
touch above home life,

a full ledge to peer
back from. Not enough
general
practitioners spread
the love like you do.
SA

You danced your way through
Bald Head with
No Boundaries, either in
art or wild
personal life. You

kept it fun,
invited Dick to
retire in your
special village, put the
painting I got on every

catalogue cover
because you
knew how broken I was, and
observed the
tear widen at times.

Without friends
like you this light would
have faded by now,
maybe not extinguished, nor
distinguished, just turned off by

disinterest.
We blew the Sea Frolic down
the beach a
mile before it got
demolished so a

new owner
could build a mausoleum,
the kind you
live out life in. We
will never “retire.”
LM

Big-smiling
Luc, so Swiss in the
charming sense, obsessed
by orange
on blue and tangled

figures. Are
they dancing, mating,
running from
war, or an extension of
Matisse? You once sent your full

pile of art,
via catalogue,
so I could show your
stuff to the
curator of the

latest big
Biennale, but
Gwangju was
unable to grasp your smart
version of love as you’ve known

it. We try
and try to snaek a living
out of our
passion, but hearts get
broken in many

ways when laid
bare on the wall, exposed to
critics
and nincompoops,, then
adored, brought to life.
PWT

Pamela started
it for all of us. If not
for you, where would we
be? What would we have

done with our art? How
much would we
have been able to
squeeze from brush
strokes, love hugs,

drab studio time
still wondering why?
But we didn’t have to dream
any more, the dream
had come true, the beach,

ever welcoming,
led offshore
to explore new lands,
invited
by your friends

to partake
of their culture, influenced
in ways we
didn’t expect. Flow
now Pam, keep the dance

alive, be
proud to have given so much
to all us
souls tethered by art
to your better world.
RJ

Acquainted by
marriage, friends via
art, always on the
move, but at wildly
different levels.

Your theory works: only show
in world capitals,
only teach
at the top
schools, only draw or

paint what is
in your heart, only
live a pristine life,
even if, at age
eleven your job

is to crawl under cars to
check for bombs as the
son of an
American
Diplomat. I want

To find the
Pottery you made back in
Baltimore
Days, or talk to Glass
Again to gain a
New angle
On an admirable life.
Performance,
install, web, draw, sculpt,
drift diary, drift.
GT

You battled through the
self-made traps with panache. This
led to explorations in
color, form,
media and love.

Canandaigua plus
birthday match
keeps you on my brain,
always wondering
if sailboats

or kilns, parties or
nature walks carry you to
the next paradise, this one,
the latest,
the one that earns your

time, heart, devotion.
In case your
wondering why I
didn’t model for
you, so am

I, a decade past
the chance. Youth exudes as water,
dripping off
from within, as if
your entire body

offered fresh
nutrients of joy, happy
times, a dance
with no end. The best
unrequited ream.
DR

Though your bass
could out-rebound you
in a pick-up game out back,
off one of those baskets seen
above grass

courts, with rusted hoop,
no net…but wait, this
is not the
dream you’ve lived. Hard work

at the state
aquarium that
allowed time to practice and
perfect abstractions, classic
rock, blues, and

multicultural
love. Not an easy
path all the
time, but such a tight
bond. Tina, I pray

found things to
do by or in beloved
Ochrid: trout
Sizzling after long
Marinade, cuisine

An added
Art. We’re waiting for your next
Tangential
Leap. Stay strong young friend,
And show us the way.
WAH

Now you’ve done it: put
your brain functions into you
official Curricula
Vitae. I hope this
works, because for me, the more

people know,
the more they back off.
It’s bullshit,
unbeatable
that people fear those

who, like us, have one
or more imperfections. Sure
it worked, post-facto, for Van
Gogh, but short-lived friends
were his sanctuary when

not writing
letters. Luckily
your happy
life has brought
such great art. Your large

fan base may
hide during economic
malaise, but
your music smarts, broad
conversations, draw

creative
salons, too infrequent, but
Internet
assistance connects
far-flung lunatics.
EL

Lasagna
from Argentina,
enthusiastic
student of Filer,
former Doc,

a research doctor
who took to smeared abstraction
like a “wuck”
to daughter, or a
master artist-singer

able, as
a lawyer might, to
create illusions
of alternate space
away from

today’s troubles long
enough to trade wallpaper
for cold hard
cash, but void any
emotion that might scare them

away. First
comes business, then wine, food and
merriment,
not stricken by pain
or affliction, but

rising to
meet slowing markets
with even
better work, a real
mastery of gold.
DP

Triple Dee
collaboration,
an early light on
dark South Glendale until jazz,
new-money

yuppies and taco-stands made
a complete street out of Lee
Hansley’s locale.
We glued, drew,
made work I never

would have thought
to do, except your
infectious verve, love
of colors, insistent push
to pull us

together for art. Does Boone
offer opportunities
so sinfully young?
Teenager
is what I love, so

I stayed, and
you played along, not many
do. Your luck
is the same as your
children’s: youth need not

be left, dumped
or forsaken if you find
a “young” job:
youthful tuning in
sixteen, C-Major.
AN

Back in Japan, where
he must pace himself
or face the certain aging
of a man fully
drained, depleted each

night by fun-
seeking art fans, or
mere passersby, he
just got a
write-up in an art

magazine based in
Osaka, city
of culture, which means we all
want an entrée under
his umbrella now.

Your women,
your self-taught art, your
Duke-level thinking
pushes late
conversations that

stay frontal
in a world overflowing
with stupid
“philosophers,” rank
hate-mongers. Thus friends

get bonus,
ladies learn more than body’s
responses,
viewers take in more
than strong images.
LC

Bunch the usual
ne’er-do-wells into
an alternative
Franklin Street, Chapel
Hill art café, and

presto! For
that brief period
she brought/gave
us the chance to let
it fly, hang it out in the

breeze for all to see,
some to comment on,
few, very few, to
purchase. That marble
effect you gave me

lingers, though
myself far flung to
just under
missile range on this
mountainous peninsula.

Natural
Carolina life seems so
happy, yet
only pictures tell
a story that must be

as complex
as you always were back when
we had time
to wander free, be
ourselves, love each other.

AS II

Leaf man, branch
collector, and rock
dangler, your feather
network flew to Florida
leaving us

to fend for ourselves.
Carved conceptual
art into
a scene both rigid
and experimental at

the edges.
You are one of the
few who deserves to
“make it,” whatever standard
That means. What

Now mailbox greeter?
Experimenter
delivers
ideas to a
once-stale coastline. If nothing

exciting
happens here again, we won’t
forget the
fast years you blew through
and tweaked the nose of

once-smug wives
of creepy bankers and land
deal con men.
Now surrounded, are
you at peace, in love?
JC

In the most
outdated
cravat he blows in
to his least
famous solo show

to date. Four super
paintings, sized
for major rooms in homes and
then an entire wall
not matching

character,
tone, even
aesthetics pops my
eyes out as
it stunk out

loud. This self-made man
of the arts
has it going on in all
Atlanta-style scenes,
on his way

to New York
of L.A., but God please do
nor record
or document that
Carrboro wall in

Any way
dude. Maybe it was your way
to show off
the prowess of those
vertical gem works?
DG

She will dart you into dust,
she was thrown at me by Joe
Wabe, she has a
Real need for closeness
Yet tires and bores easily.

Salwa, the
love of her life, gets
easily attached to all
new house friends;
she goes it alone,

sometimes appearing late
night in that loose-fitting top,
or bowling. Lately
serving sexy meals,
Egyptian morsels to fund

last-minute
matriculation
into a program that is
rapidly
changing to the post

Shin era.
Among a growing throng who
have settled
here, so far from home,
but safer: safer

than war torn,
rebellious, terrorists camps,
or millions
of refugees. Kim
Jung Eun is a joke.
WCSS

You dropped young Jule
into unknown Roosevelt
apartment, took off with Lee
to scope the Rochester gay
scene, or dance, or to…

She woke up
and cried, fell back to
sleep, woke up an cried, so I
hugged her and in my
mind I cried.

Back then I thought you
could replace the giant hole
in my heart; then two others
tried, but I cannot be changed
so they tired, as you

saw again
in beloved Hamburg;
even Brahms neighborhood
could not smooth over
the fact that

you were with
the new right man, and I had
stayed past the
expiration date
of the plastic key

in the nice
inexpensive place you found
us. You knew,
better than I, how time
flies, makes bad moves worse.

BC

On lead guitar is
Bradley Carr, adding “Midnight
Hour” to the
long list of covers
sprinkled with original

gems like “Out the Door
and Down the Road.” We
opened for all,
from Bobby Blue Bland to Roy
Buchanan, Toy Caldwell, back

when the Iroquois
rocked, and Roanoke
offered rogues
a way to scrape by
on very little: not that

we knew any! It
must have shocked you to
find Andrey
forced in, but right then we were
as good as any band had

to be to
continue the tour, pay for
small pay, enjoy
camaraderie and
each other’s antics.

Even I
have a child now, and often
wonder what’s
going on up there.
How are you old friend?
TW

Other than being
the creatively inclined
power in the rhythm group
that drove nails into shit shops
and songs into the

hearts and feet
on nice days to be
doing something. You
also went,
by old green Volvo

to count cigarettes
for Mary Ann. We were damned
spies cutting into some poor
sap’s meager extra wages
earned form smuggled tax

free boxes.
My favorite moment
was not on stage, but
when, to her
surprise, you lifted

the covers
on naked Penny. Exposed,
and tasty
one might add,
all she could do was

blush when you
asked if I was going to
join in the
fun. The best times of
my life still ring clear.
CM

You cranked us
up, stole band members,
pulled practice together, and
even bought
a van. By God we

were going to be
rock stars, ,or at least
regional favorites. ‘Shrooms for
the first show at the
Cave at Roanoke College.

Then a run
to Harrisonburg,
opening for Boyd Tinsley:
Charlottesville
in the pre-Dave days.

The Coffee Pot break
was as solid as
the glue you used to found us.
Your speed was full tilt
in a group of laid

back. Never
to forget the glory days,
now so far
away, but you found
a niche in music,

while some of
us hung it up completely.
For you the
motivation runs
deep. Rock on young man.
JB

How many
bags did you drop off
for Gitsies? When you lost the
love of your
life, broke your Les Paul and dove

into one
bottle after the
next, who failed to tell
you a better girl
would be along? Who

forgot to
force you into your
rightful slot as a full-time
band member?
I guess I screwed this hidden

assignment
too. Even morning
sober your guitar
made Dogwoods bloom and
sad men cry. You were

the great one,
but never cut yourself some
slack, some space
from which to re-grow,
as the bean sprouts in

the dead black
cabinet, or down a well.
Recall, please, your own
Kindness, simple times
Down by the river.
DN

You stayed a
friend when most just up
and disappeared. You
are surrounded by
complete, low

uncultured fools with nothing
better to do than
shoot up the neighborhood. Your
patriot glory
was short lived,

but you keep
smiling in the face
of adversity,
a lesson we could
all learn from

if we were in the mood to
actually lend
an \ear to such a hard fought
life. But who takes the
time to sit

and talk when
keyboards, pads and unmet “friends”
take us from
real banter, real needs,
real community?

Techno beat
our ass with screens long ago:
settled for
TV characters,
let’s gather again.
JZ

One day, while flying
Solo at Occoneechee
Golf Course, I
paired-up with someone
who would become my best friend.

It’s the best
Moment golf ever
Brought me, and that, up
Until then,
Included: ESPN

sending my brother
and I on the Concorde full
of major
stars, to the British
open, a handful of sand

blasts, putts and
six-irons for eye-
opening eagles
and growing
up on CCR, with scratch

golfers as
friends. Still, that day, maybe in
’02 or
so ranks as golf’s large
contribution to

this small life.
because this upstate man is
so kind, raised
great daughters, always
is happy, loves well.
KE

Songwriter of the
highest order, you also
reminded me to
keep playing.
one story turned the

regular
Roanoke days to
The Gadflies, and your
CDs kept coming
even after children blessed

your home, and the ups
and downs of life stretched your time:
creativity
squeezed into
precious spare moments.

You did it
your way, married for
love, gave your knowledge
and true kindness to
everyone in your path, so

lucky we
have been know natural
human love
expressed without thought:
a daily practice.

You must have
Achieved more than most, since your
Self-made pure
Karma remains near
its peak: nirvana?
TD

Chris Craft in
boat house: a touch of
history.
Ticonderoga,
as solid as your winter

summer eight iron
chips that save five or
ten strokes per
round. “Consistent” must
be a trait that helped

our forebears
to flourish: allows
us to play
on weekends, teach and
read or write during the week.

I don’t take lightly
those who witness golf’s
miracles.
Mine? One twenty five
over water for

eagle. Yours? An
ace at Tobacco Road. So
you saw some
serious hacking
too, but always cheered

even small
luck, the constant supporter
of friends and
family, being
human, do mess up.
AM

Soaring guitar, melodic
symphonies cranked via new
midi you
saved up for working
as nanny, tailor, unpaid

music star.
Your struggles were matched
by success,
until finally
you wound up

in Miami twenty years
later. So you stopped by my house,
found Kwang Suk,
and the next winter
I was slammed domestically

so our long
awaited meeting
waits in the
corner, another dance
to be a

wallflower,
growing a life of its own
despite your
best efforts, and my
book on Russia. I

hung up all
three bass guitars to make a
better life,
but Roanoke was
“better life,” and you?
JMK

This man who
I met three times comes
back down from
Seoul in a timed way he
could not hide

by saying he comes
in spring to climb Meudungsan,
even though he is
Japanese.
He is a

consultant
and multi-lingual,
disciplined
in four or five fields.
Pertinent

this visit is his
psychology degree as
everyone in town
now asks if
I am sad,

or feeling
OK, and one exposed that
she heard I
was not happy at
all, but how did they

know? Who called
him in? What will come of my
life this time,
now, good doctor, that
I succumbed for keeps?
SD

You are too young to
know these are
my love poems to
those who may have a large
or small chance of tears

if ever
they heard of the demise
of fat flame
left many
wondering why. As

in WI dance or darts
or other
ways to fend off the
confusion losing union
can bring. It’s good you

know your Dad
again but your Mom
needs you more,
fought for you,
stayed in desolate

surroundings
until she fit in, but with
nothing like
the life she knew. You
get to make any

life you want.
So go out and grab it, do
not be tied
nor bound to follow
anyone but you.

CH

Yours was the
first I felt after
a four year layoff.
It was in the hall
at Anclote,

you expected a
whole lot more
so we retired to a
bathroom in
the back of the hot

kitchen I
washed dishes in to
complete what had been
started with a kiss,
a finger,

a smile, and this strange
longing for
human contact where it was
banned for odd
reasons none of us

could get a
handle on. A Florida
sub-group as
small as sequestered
grand juries, yet, though

love starved to
the point of insanity,
were thereby
restricted from love.
They closed that fucker.
PB

There have been billions
of crossroads, but none meant more
than the time, up on
Leslie Lane, smoke in hand, when
your roommate was in

laughing full
romp, and I failed to
grab a left turn, stayed
straight, and twisted in the wind
of bad stars,

my own poor life that
turned good to bad, and simple
bad matches. Oh you had
a huge heart for me, and a
compost pile, and the

exact same
outlook, but I had
not grasped the hint your
mother threw, nor did I know
I could be

so lucky.
Your art, your humanity
Must be a
Great mother by now.
I checked out of the

co-op, not
knowing I would never see
you again,
but never has come
and gone. I fucked up.
AL

You got quite a ride
the day the cat flipped
over and I wasn’t yet
adept at righting
a capsized sail boat.

You, the first
in a long series
of “could-have-beens” have been the
hardest to clear from
oft-addled

brain. Canandaigua
remains your home, and
if, as they say, heart dictates
where our homes are then
this is another

choice not made,
strike two, if you will.
This heart first throbbed for you; yet
I never moved the
Way you had

To have me
move, even uttering that
“family
jewels” line. Legend
has it another

trumpet man
entered, but I still have the
letters you
sent to Holderness.
All’s well, good to hear.
TKW

Described by Janz as
“eternal
adolescent,” but art is
an adult sphere for
those who end

being in
among the swarms of
color-flingers, bright
bulb idea guys,
women with

a brush to grind, you
still wear the
fedora, still hang, Weaver
Street itself knows your
foot beat, smell

laugh. The Louvre
Shack was an art piece
in itself, socked-assed
puppets, some nudist
handed his

camera
to sophomoric coeds who
snapped away
anyway. Your stash
of music was one

of many
lures ladies young and old could
rely on.
Dennis Oppenheim
never had this life.

AB

He organizes
volunteers for Sung Bin, the
orphanage
for girls, young women
here in Gwangju. Former man
with “wheels to the stars,”
everyone feels his
presence when
he enters a room.
Often a room to
raise money for yet
another cause, or quaffing
water at
Alleyways, he’s a
miracle in shades, glad to
be here. He caught the
Gwangju spirit and
volunteers
as both thank you and
diligence, thus a
carrying-
card Gwangjuvian, is one
of two I
know who lost daughters.
Such unexpected
sadness was
debilitating only
a short time,
smoothly he returned
to cheer us all up.

SRC
Her mane, that
of a Chow Chow, and
DSL beauty
that defines
modern Korea,
walks into Kino
on her birthday, no less, to
celebrate via
videos
of old music stars
she hardly
knows. If the place had
been full she
and her friend
may have stayed longer,
but she’s on to you
and that’s unusual in
a place where square has
a quantum
definition, the
layers of
which can be hidden by light
blue mini
skirt, open
philosophy, then
exposed first
by nondrinking status, then
confirmed as
banter meant to spark
a push out the door.

JAP, II

You bought in
to the principle (al)
that profit is king, and this
was noble
thinking, considering

what the market has
done for you (and me?) but long
ago, after your
brother and I met square-on
in a chicken match

over on
the west side of the
chosen lake, Canandaigua,
Jack put his
foot down on any

association
with Stuber, except maybe
as client, from a
distance, “managed” once a year
regardless of trite

order to
sell. So we met once again
floating your
fortieth birthday,
but I let you have

your day, skipped
Thirstys, it being your joint
not ever
mine. I’ve done well for
labor, planet earth.
JP

Snow flies through closing
door, bark peels
away from fire log
placed on embers, entices
old friend to new play.

Cross country
ski, or boat purchase,
defense on Navy’s
hockey club,
barefoot skiing on

the lake where your Dad
bought the house
my Dad built with his
own hands. Luck eh? And down
to Rake’s to fill-up,
overnight
camp out on Squaw, the
small island in such
shallow green
in lake of deep blue.

Smoke stacks for
the environment, roller
blades for hot
weather exercise,
children mostly grown,

and the joy
of being a unit for
as long as’
possible in the
human realm. Peaches.
DH

Soccer star,
hoop magician, stunned
when A/C gave you all you
could handle
since I was on the

victorious team.
Ah, but I the bench
warmer, was
not you, star center.
What’s new in the lab or out

in the field?
Far astray from our
Barnard Track days, away from
wedgies to
Goldberg, chasing Kim,

Screwing up party
plans by calling on
the day of
the gathering, I
still remember between- the-

leg passes,
wicked slap shots, your first time
stories, as
they were first in a
neighborhood full of

latter-day
playboys, but none worked harder
to attain
sports fame. Long lost, it
could take time to know…
DH, II

Commissioner, how
did that chance
to save your family land
work out? Lewis and
Clark sure did

not steal land
as they went, and our
friend Jefferson ended up
millions in debt back when a
dollar was a good

week’s pay. So what of
these bailed out
bankers while austerity
rules the land? Got a
new plan that

can save a
town, village, household?
That’s it! Stay local, make a
place that works outside the damned
globalized, profit,

fascist hold
on the planet. True, people
everywhere
would have to form new
cooperative farms,

urban style
communes,
and barter, to stay
clear of tax-
as-war-support, or
we’re all culpable.
SH

You, thespian, moved
not just into my building,
but down the hall. Showed
up at a party in a
gold Lemay mini that gave

Lee a run for his
money, yet
his hip-high
banana-sticking-
out-cake did ice the fact

Ben preferred to break
down his own door than
to risk a couch sleep
among such company. Then
the novel-length text message

we had about the
confusion
you caused to
yourself when first struck
then annoyed, then let loose by

dreamy one,
only to make eyes at an
Irish soft-
eyed wonder, only
to lose out again,

just in time
for Ben to re-enter, so
to speak, whisk
you from Brooklyn to
Boston. Stay young Q.
CD

The Red Lion Inn,
no matter
who owned it, or ran
Country Curtains,
or who tended bar

in the basement tin-
ceilinged, red velvet, Stormin’
Norman and
Susie-styled stage size,
could never equal

the pure New England
touch of its
ultimate man-of-
the-house, Church
Davis. His navy

blue blazer always
welcoming guests from the porch
to the round
tables-for-ten served
family style. Old

Fitzpatrick
briefly lost then regained your
finesse in
dealing with things
like the stolen glass

collection
in some alcoholic’s small
apartment.
Stockbridge was/is a
Rockwell/Davis thing.
Lorant Forizs

Your wife wrote
a response to a Christmas
card to let me know you had
died. You, the swimmer, the one
who escaped

Andropov, leaving
Budapest,
eating out of a
can, if at all, and
making it to the

USA.
Already wise, before “The
Loops and Interfaces of
Man” appeared: you managed to
convince an

inveterate, cheap
liar that
my main goal in life
was to seek the truth.
Not once did you blurt

obvious
stuff, like it was myself I’d
have to fool
to become a truth
sayer. I’m less off,

less rattled,
less depressed, more able to
love, thanks to
you. And you liked my
paintings, no kidding.
LI, M.D.

You punted me to
George, not so much due
to your retirement,
but out of sheer nods
and sleeping through an

incessant repetition
of incurable
bullshit. Still,
it was the upper
overdose, brought on by an

hysterical, yet
incorrect home nurse
that allowed a huge
relapse, plus complete
permanent loss of

friendship with my favorite
cousin, so get thee
to tennis
or some other pass
time surrounded by unsold

pottery.
You are nice, full of good will,
work hard, and
never quit, none of
which proves your prowess

as healer.
How could you know that I had
resolved my
brother’s death many
years before he died?
AB II

You kept swimming, though
long since blind. You stunned memoir
writers with
your amazing tale:
you ran with brother, away

from Warsaw Ghetto.
Lost him and
every single aunt
sister, family but
survived, only to succumb

to the Russians, who
made you a soldier against
your own, then
survived the brutal
winters in a labor camp,

escaping on a
log that, though
frozen, floated far
enough to you
to Istanbul where you made

it over
to Eqgypt and fixed machines
for British
tank soldiers until
you made it to the

US troops
in Italy. Fought, repaired
with them all
the way, then married
a Dutch Catholic.
HY

Park So Young
invited me to
that fateful
dinner at the fancy place
where the art

lady hung color
square stuff and
the food was almost as good
as the new faces, none more
alluring than yours.

We’ve stayed in
and out of touch, yet
manage
small
rendez-vous, Kyoung Mi tagging
along, still

in quest of a mate,
but not you,
no, your face was not going
to be left alone. Age has
added luster, so

now you raise
your last child with a throng of
friends, mostly
women, as is the
norm. so the culture

here is in
good hands. Let’s travel far some
time, as this
is your goal and my
pleasure. Bon Apetite!
RE

Nurse by trade, who could
forget that we were
roommates in two completely
different places,
one good for nothing,

the other
your home town. And you
hung in there with Mike,
saw Eddie get a
five-gallon

wake-up call, did all
the normal Gainesville
activities, and became
an important link
from hard past to an

easy time,
relaxed study, and
conversations that
ranged form big toes
to Tracy

Spiegel: the
hot new band to “new music,”
the death
of rock to how Gators
everywhere know the

score, meet at
CJs, at least in their minds,
while you, who
thrive, do so with large
home field advantage.

PS

Pedigree
anthropologist,
learned from Ruth, who from Margaret
learned from Boaz at
the birthplace

of the discipline:
in northern
Manhattan, Columbia.
consummate hostess
with giant spider: insect

repellent
pet that shocked guests as
they munched on colorful twang:
flowers we once thought
reserved for

bouquets. They tasted
peppery
and this meal introduced me
to Jennifer, who
I lost to Mike, then found, but

made my worst
lifetime error with. Extend
my sincere
apologies to
your good taste in this

matter, now
ten years too late. Your garden
in Irvine
still blooms, your sincere
love still felt by all.

WL

You, so bright, so tight,
expected firm baked
poems, just
as The New Yorker
was printing.

You scored by twenty
nine, then had a great
job busting
the chops of
would-be poetry stars. So

I came back for more
after that little
degree from
Hollins. You were not
impressed, huddled

with Deborah, no
doubt around fabled
duck pond, the
scene of a
Robert Merrill visit. Aren’t

you glad I
suggested Donald Hall since
he became
poet laureate?
One day you will hold

this honor.
back then Eberhardt, Justice
Paddget and
Harry Crews roamed. How’s
it hangin’ William?
BD

Chamber Pop,
the music genre
named by you to describe your
post-Costello taste,
has no been

ascribed to
many stars
who have achieved at
least national bar tour fame.
It’s beyond unfair, yet a

typical
result in any
creative endeavor: luck plays
a role, and absurd
ass-kissing.

May the luck
prove out in
ol’ St. Louis, and,
with the support you’ve enjoyed
at home, the force is always

with you: rock
on. Sorry to have tried, but
failed to be
the type of bassist
you are, but not much

time wasted,
and the memories of such
delicious
songs ring in ears too
often polluted.
DS

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
“bikinied”
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?
RW

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

Allendale
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?
Wittenberg
probably felt a
lot more like home. The

connection
to William, baritone plus
continued
awe of your real take
on life flows on here.
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?
NZ

Paisley flop
hat as urinal
put me in my place,
solidified my spot at
the bottom of the

social food
chain, though as a large
minnow. You helped me learn how
to fend for myself.
Later I

hoisted Kim
as an attempted to
gain further favor in the
hip crowd, but it came when you
and I parted schools.

Holderness
gave a chance to be
tight, but Macy and the jock
Marblehead clique ruled
so we slunk

to far ends,
opposite sides, and made peace
via herbs
and log cabins, self
generated food,

organic
existence, or continued
battles fought
on behalf of friends
and strangers in need
Roy Buchanan

First you invited us to
have a beer in your
van, then you
offered back stage fun
by the lake in Syracuse.

The DBs,
then you, Little Feat:
a legendary
show because it changed
my life. Oh, but I still cry

about yours. What the hell made
it impossible
for you to
resist whatever
recreational was in

front of you,
or bar fights? You home
town of Reston police
finally had enough, too
much, but how did this lead such

a gifted
guitarist to end it all?
Or did you
have it ended for
you? I switched the guilt

I felt to
a story in my favor.
I still pray
our short time as friends
was good for you too.
PRG

You dove in and swam
all the way to under the
raft under water. The same
raft that saw
water and adult

games. It had
a three-step ladder
to a platform you
jumped off, onto trampoline
then into cool clear

water back when out
beat in, before cell phones took
nature away from most kids.
You still go
camping, enjoy your

neighborhood
from over the hill.
On one night, with one
chance I decided not to
ask. Lucky for you,

Maybe not
for me. How could I resist
you? I knew
I’d never be the
mature one: not a church

goer. A
good match? Well I haven’t been
a good match
for anyone yet:
there’s your clue cute Pam.
R “H” R

You went with
Joy to the beat of
the Bedford/Lynchburg crowd and
asked if I had done
right by my

vote once. So close yet
so far. A one-hour
drive I made
one time before we
both knew philosophical

differences
made socializing
too hard to try. I hope those
nuclear fuels
for U.S.

submarines kept
your family in
good stead at
church, well fed, happy
and adept at change because

change will come.
Church-sponsored war is bound to
end at some
point, but, as a friend
I pray this happens

long after
our working days are over.
If this finds
you, let’s reunite,
cook out, talk sports, love.
Reality Drill, Spring 2013

Taurus comes around again to remind us that the
bulldog or bull types may have a fun life, but cause
a lot of misery along the way. For men the only sign
more insanely aggressive is the tricky, often purely
manipulative Scorpio group. They rise to the top as
Machiavelli prescribes, then take credit for other
people’s work, while always recruiting an expanding
power base. A capitalist’s dream birth month for
her number one son thus being November. So how
to infuse creative verve associated with Gemini?
Elementary school sirens blare a practice drill here
at the tip of the world war spear, so it all may be a
moot point if ever these drills are attached to real
bombs. Dust flies as children line up or run home
before being accounted for. Accounted for, ha!
None of the creeps above is accountable for anything
other than profit. Even if their own cloistered New
England boarding school brats seem safe, maybe the
Next school slaying will be revolutionary, in which a
Fed up impoverished man goes nuts all over rich kids.
4 November 2011, 7 May 2013

The most orange sun
ever sinks
under old stretched wire,
lower half fades out.
Dusty sunset in

autumn haze
defines harvest as
rice fields burn, sun eclipsed,
then gone as
brisk air aids breathing,

but spring style dust then
heat blares. So
single diners are
turned away for fear
they’d embarrass the

others, or
themselves: blossoms range
from muted cherry to the
absurd red-
pink azalea bush

smashes, a
juxtaposition more op-
art than those
thin-lined paintings by
Anuskiewicz. March

brought one more
round of U.S. war games, which
caused Kim Jung
Eun to launch missiles.
When will it end? How?
Activating Young Haves

Isn’t it the bomb when one of three decent food
joints opens a second helping right down the street?
Meeting get more accomplished when the food’s good. Up
here the music and atmosphere beat surrounding competitors,
so escaping the grind is possible as well. Lemon Table, a real
Gwangju original, has given in to witness a lot of love
bloom, even more friends laugh. This time Kang Dan Bi
and Ju Hee, next time Little Bear suggests his burger
heaven, and Big Bear easily agrees. We, the lucky ones,
earn enough to eat out, relax, not worry where our
next meal is going to come from. We salute those
who teach how to create local economies that provide
meager livings form micro-loans, like Peace Boat, or
the group that hands out livestock, mostly chickens and
goats. Isn’t it amazing the changes that occur for so little
for so many with so few coordinating the whole shebang?
It’s a drop in the globalized, for-profit, cheap labor bucket,
but how did we all give up natural instincts in favor of suburbia,
or urban wealth? City dwellers have outnumbered the
countryside humans since nineteen ninety four. Too bad.
Seoul, Oh; So Low; Solo

Drenched girls scope
Uchiro, a road
that defines
Chonnam from Humun,
scholars from hunters.

Style points must
be made at all times:
now Burberry umbrellas,
to save hair,
high heeled rubber boots.

My love struts
Confidently rain
Or shine, her
New smile displays what
Her mouth cannot tell.

Happiness
spreads to all who know
her, making
this a spring she will
remember as love

unfolds, brings
new horizons into view.
She may be
only seeing them
in isolation,

but this is
when we need the breathing space
the most, is
it not? Go fourth in
peace without me now.
The Dating Game

Here in the land of lips, where hand-crafted faces
usually smile, and fashion, instilled by pop icons
creates consumer-crazy eye-candy at a seventy percent
clip: where even the boys don pork-pie hats and Buddy
Holly thick frames, or silver shiny suits to match chrome
speckled cars, the young have quantum leaped generation
gaps, creating sea, nay ocean between stunned Confucian
parents, who can’t bear to have the fun their children
are. Pairs, conceived by beauty likeness or wallet fatness
still give in to parental norms by playing hard to get, until
soju, the cheapest drunk-per-dollar available on planet
Earth, kicks in to free both body and mind. Ancient ties
still bind until marriage, but three levels of dating occur
on the peninsula: one-night romance, either with or without
wooing period, long-standing, in which some or all friends
know about it, or the guy who is invited to her house for
Thanksgiving dinner. Openly confident women wonder
when men will grow the nerve to come right out and ask,
so the classic “set-up” date where her best friend picks a boy,
or his best friend picks any girl adds quick sex to the mix.
RS

Albatross hangs on
another’s neck, the
smallest significant font,
self-printed
magic poetry

eco-write
has going for it.
Brilliant oft’ elusive scribe,
your mix of father
and full time

librarian has
brought great books and strong
poems to our attention.
Your sons made
a movie that grows,

migrates to
one festival then
another. Your TV is
boxed up, allowed small
time, thus you

saved brains for
creative work that exposed
the huge gap
between rich and poor:
U.S.—Mexican

divide aired
from labor’s point of view. Your
own poems
are worthy of the
postage, let them fly.

DTM

Style, humor,
unexpected twists,
your type of poetic verve
is understated
yet lasts in

brains you haven’t yet
met. When the girl in pink socks,
platform shoes and done
face glances three times, to you
it is a story, to us

not noticed.
You’ve kept the Friday
Noon poets going and the
service this provides
to aging

radicals and blessed
thinkers, those who listen and
those who write, makes our
town a better place. What of
cats, outer Cary, romance

of the kind
only California could
bring? Infused
nature sparks lines, but
your optimism

is what keeps
books sales as high as two or
three hundred:
the type of numbers
laureates deserve?
The Dream

I jumped in the car
with Leo, or was
it Bradley?
we motored I-Eighty One to
way west of Scranton to a

red fieldstone with
fancy peaked
entryway with arch,
keystone and
contrasting yellow

rocks scattered in. To
my surprise, we were
there to meet
Bob Dylan, played very well
by Dustin Hoffman. He was

put off by strangers,
protected
well by doting
younger blonde,
yet followed us to

jam with friends,
show us the surrounding hills
and mountains,
skip stones in flowing
Susquehanna, laugh

at our youths
and finally thank us for
stopping by
to spend time, eat, drink,
relive merry days.
McG S

Maybe my case helped
push you into shrink-hood in
Burlington, land of
Strung-out hippies, permanent
New Yorkers who need

advice like
cows need grass, Ben
needs Jerry. You listened well
when I needed you.
You made me

want to keep writing,
to teach, to snuggle up to
women I could have,
not just dreams. You hired Brian
to babysit; this

left me to
fantasize about
Stroud’s wife, and forever seek
redheads. Your knowledge
of hockey

was less than
mine, but you coached it out of
duty. It’s
been thirty seven
years: are you alive

old man? To
me you will always be, so
it matters
not. Our friendship kept
me alive. Thank you.
RHWD

Your pen, so
lively, your class notes
on Faulkner, Steinbeck
impeccable, your legend
among close

romantic circles
could last forever.
Mostly, devices like the
hit-or-miss hammer
and gong-o-meter

for would-be
poets, and the brains
to guide quietly.
No place has ever been thus
defined by a

single intellect.
Still, how can I skip
the time you got booted out
of the women’s dorm
(there are no men’s dorms

at Hollins)
after hours, asleep on
the couch, not
even in her arms,
thank God! The saving

grace being
you married this one, the one
who writes from
her heart: pure, feeling
original. Cheers!
MB

Your id, untainted
by such normal and
electric
chemical boundaries
as ego
or superego
flies around
asking all passing
females for a date, even
though you have a gal

just over half your
age waiting for you,
which is why
you want to hang out
somewhere else.

Even if it’s two
blocks away
in a very small
town, you’re willing to make a
“new friend” every hour.

You, sir, are
the walking definition
of a cad,
taking manhood to
a new low. You asked

if you could
sit in my class. Oh for God’s
sake you take
me for a fool or
are completely lost.

Blossom Picking

Spring means beauty, open and hidden rushes in and out.
Black top, fuchsia mini, stiletto heals, whining about dining
at a better spot, so she yanks her boy southward exposing
thigh tattoo, she’s the open type. Gray sweats, gray hat, pulled
low due to plastic surgery is even more alluring, but she doesn’t
even want friends to figure out who she is with until those
eyelids flatten out. They try so hard here because beauty is the
only sure-fire way to “marry up,” just like anywhere else.
Now even more spoiled than their American contemporaries
these Seoul university tarts, dressed Gangnam style, forty kilos
soaking wet, unable to complete even simple chores
their grandmothers still do with ease, they float from
one-nighters to two month attachments until finally
assured their men can keep them better off than Daddy
down in Gwangju did. Of course he’s in debt due
to all the private academies, plus Seoul tuition, so his
little girl better score the right man, or what was all
the investment good for? Love as a commodity is nothing
new, it’s damn near universal that people want to add
moving up economically to the list of what makes a good mate.
Onward Native Sons!

Life mimics sci-fi
doomsday flicks
as brain tumors grow
from our phones, leaders
plan attacks

with drones leading on
collateral damage charts
while eight types of drugs
mix with sports, sex and
talk to smooth war’s transgressions.

You hunker down, plant
protein trees,
pecans, persimmons,
peaches, figs knowing
what you teach

now could save him when
prices soar, bullets fly, jets
break silence, sonic
booms forever shake
neighbor’s cattle, rattle dogs,

deer, rabbits,
but these details never
amount to
peace movement, or was
our occupation

a passing
fad, easily dismissed and
completely
futile? Stand rebels,
go forth until death!
L aka BH

What must it
have been like to be
led around Hamburg, in full
regalia
by Wiebke, as it

were, “introduced” to
the fair city’s most
and least notorious? But
it was that first show,
Genesee

mud flowing
aside that blew our
minds. Had I been a
prophet I’d
have had them all, but,

alas, stuck in poor
yet humorous trades,
I still feel happy to know
the grown up artist,
as our loose

connection
via ADTEC: your father,
my second
cousin, never would
have kept us in touch.

To art then,
not for art’s sake but for the
binds it ties.
be more productive
my friend: exhibit.
JM

Our June day
so similar, and
perverse (?) desire to
mate with new
friends, granted, from different

points of view, angles
if you will.
How magic for you
to offer so much
to those trapped

or propelled
by art, those whose true
talent doubles as
refuge in
a world long lost to profit

and war. Isn’t it
natural
that more would flow to
break into a world
that doesn’t

resemble
reality in any
way? But you
could color your dreams
like few ever, thus

making a
formidable mentor, so
rare among
the “truly gifted
artist” group. Good job!
JC

Piano brings in
the Do-Re-Mi here
where it is
of concern, but I like your
art the most. Not too

many can
be as supportive,
stir such a lemon
ice cream, smile, laugh learn
while teaching humanity

as if a course was
needed, but in this
age it sure
is. You help make foundations
for those to follow

their dreams in,
go further with their
art than they ever
thought, like France, Raleigh,
Macedonia. Simple

Connections
rarely turn commonplace or last
on a face
to face basis no
less artistic

level love.
Your shine spreads in ways we all
understand;
a shine that makes our
quick lives more joyous.
BB

How did we
lose touch? What are you
doing? When is your next show
in Cologne?
Is Frida still in

your house, or has she,
like most loves
or people, moved on?
No one ever spent
so much time with her art, or

deserved a
major break the way
you do. Investigating
color smash
combinations, the

way you pile it up
until the
surface is imbued,
multiple subjects
come and go, but obvious

lens effect
games are not your style. Express
those rough
lines my friend, German-
style while pushing art

your way, as
your heart alone is the one
that beats new
meaning out of an
old form, unique star.
CT

She runs through
the minds of every
boy or man who ever knew
her in the
eighties. Palm Harbor’s

finest: blonde red hair,
freckles, a
touch darker than forever
tan, sported
for all to admire,

dream about,
sprout about, and one
of my friends got to date you
for a while.
Us men don’t forget

the names or face of
a beauty
like you. It must be a big
burden to
have to dust off so

many men
all the time. So what did you
do with your
choice? Maybe you are
still single, that would

be a hoot.
My last viewing was as you
walked in from
your car. We trailed you
but got no invite.
DF

You asked me to lunch
then went straight to the
shower. I took that
hint, and we
stayed friends, then loose friends until

finally I missed Panthers
hockey, and, though just
one beach up
we lost what
may have been our last

chance to meet face-to-
face. Here May’s wind moves
Buddha’s birthday signs,
Doctor Seuss
looking furry needled pine,

or conifer of some type.
I brought my son to
the border
of insane
in South Korea.

I hope you
read that this life finally
settled down
to domestic bliss.
Raising one son has

given me
something more than watching you
play tennis
or eating tuna
together: new life.
PM

You drew those
incredible fun
characters, adding
life to regular
poems in the Obelisk.

Your Italian style
tennis was nearly
flawless. Your
face, physique, almost
Michelangelo

beautiful.
So I got you to
join me off the court
in as many ways
as I could devise without

scaring you away.
Just to be with you,
laugh, gave such
pleasure at a time
when motoring to

school on a
moped was embarrassing.
Your prompt pushed
me to four visits,
mostly Tuscany,

and my own
art, perhaps improved, goes on
all over,
like Bulgaria,
Korea, your heart.
DT

You heard bass
guitar coming out
of stereo rig
in Brandywine. Being a
player we made Lewis and

Clark, went to
Seattle, tried to
record, stayed with Bill,
Marilyn,
Charlie. David was

just born, life
was merry, but we
could not sing, lobster
dinners were the best part. You
allowed my friend to park her

van many
years later. After
Amy Grant, country
tour, practice
with budding bud, some

kid whose Dad
paid you to practice. That’s how
good you are,
and your wife, children
band mates all prosper

due to your
positive vibe. Brazil is
in your blood,
magic guitar, you
kept me playing hard.

RB

Roberto,
are you still selling
cars? Is your strong will
still alive?
Personality

goes a long way when
the family name does not
apply due
to being so far
from Manila, yet your friend

count was so
high back when we roamed
for used cars, and I
settled for
a seventy three

Volvo one sixty
four. You advised for either
a better
car, or a lower
price, but “the Boss” went on and

on, maybe
still floating around Gainesville,
who knows. Did
you ever pick just
one woman, or has

your career
bachelor status remained
past middle
age? Memories crank
back. Pinay rule here.
MR

The loop box,
a rewinding and
playback effects was
alluring,
but it was the jams

at the power lines
acquiring
electricity
illegally that drew big
crowds: second

round of youth
hippies started soon
in Florida where
babies came
naturally in

teen years. So nineteen
seventy
eight was the age when
everyone’s parents were hip,
large doses

of fun were
not scolded bur applauded.
Before you
my days had been trapped

inside walls,
plexiglass, miasma of
my making.
Music, salvation
in four strings, strong beats.
CU

You cared for me and
know escape would be
hard because my family
could keep me
in forever. We

hugged, an allowed contact on
the patio, the
scene of past
writing, none better
than when you were on my mind.

Your tongue protrudes in
a small square photo
tucked away in the second
drawer of
my sister’s old set

in a storage room rarely
visited, except
to see old
pictures. Most are hung,
but I slide the drawer to see

you more than
you’d expect. That was back when
love was love,
money came easy,
sun baked us to tan

not red. I
bet your life, due to looks
and youthful
personality
must be great by now.
LDG

Your genuine smile,
hidden Ingrid Bergman style,
with scarf, dark
sun glasses
shows the depth of emotion

to be natural,
nor method,
on stage, in life; yet
some are allowed
to interrupt your

life’s pursuits. Some, like
me, are children, sincere and
seeking hard
answers to
seemingly easy questions.

You act, but it is
Not acting.
Every, any part
Becomes you. You are
Every part. Not a

tear nor drop
of sweat out of place, as if
you and the
playwright conceived not
just this drama but

your entire
lives together somehow. You
walk on the
way others refresh
their lives, friend to all.
PDB

Rouge cheeks and
Bright eyes over the
Same loose-fitting hippy dress
And gray T-shirt.
I wonder

how precious time is spent when
not reading, and guess
she works and plays and uses
make-up to try to
cover exhaustion.

Straight As, and
a team player, she makes
new friends, most do not. Once she
sat in on class long
enough to

know it was too hard. She said
she would be back, so
here she is, shining not to
be known as best, but
happy anyway.

Too many
students never get involved;
they waltz through
classes as if their
looks or family

name should be
enough to score a grade, as
if Chonnam
were Harvard: then come
the fresh real learners.
T-50

Every noon they take
flight over Gwangju,
not just as a check,
nor reminder of
air force glory from

the nineteen
fifties, but these days
because noon is not
enough. Continual guard,
vigilant patrol

in case Kim Jung Eun
is not “Kid”-ing, but
truly will goad
a reaction, a step

up ladder
to ramp the creeping
world war three that, as
historians will recall,
began on August
thirty first
nineteen ninety seven when
Diana
and Dodi died “by
accident.” Then nine

eleven,
now and evermore battle
for oil and
resources that can
make the rich richer.
JP

Snow flies through closing
door, bark peels
away from fire log
placed on embers, entices
old friend to new play.

Cross country
ski, or boat purchase,
defense on Navy’s
hockey club,
barefoot skiing on

the lake where your Dad
bought the house
my Dad built with his
own hands. Luck eh? And down
to Rake’s to fill-up,
overnight
camp out on Squaw, the
small island in such
shallow green
in lake of deep blue.

Smoke stacks for
the environment, roller
blades for hot
weather exercise,
children mostly grown,

and the joy
of being a unit for
as long as’
possible in the
human realm. Peaches.

Merritt A. Cleveland
Tennis may
have been the first glance
grabber, but your squash,
hunting, fishing just as
strong. Rumor has it you let
loose those last three weeks,
thus pushing
for some type of tie
when we all
knew none was ever
possible.
Why it took until
the final hour is
explainable by the way
you measured each shot down to
dram level so as
to keep the
bar bountiful, and
not incur
what must have been a
major load
of wrath if over serving
family
and friends. You were
the sunny side of
Whitney Lane,
never saw you mad. Each
putt you left
short meant one whisky
poured straight from the bag.

DA
Saint Pete Jay Cee had
a few lunatics. Some were
certified, out on
good behavior, others dropped
not far from their fathers, and
made perfect
roommates for, among
other things, Gator
bikini girl shoots,
and we watched the changing room
openly, or three-
times-the-speed-limit races
home from the parking
lot. Tops was “Recovery
Eighty Five,” in which huge jugs,
allotments
of fifteen hundred
per nostrum were spent
on bending nights in
places like Cedar Key, with
Amy, or
whoever, ruined for five
days or so.
And we drove back! What
Of Guppie or Miss
Bonfield, known
as Bon-Bon? Media Blast
was all ours:
the best J-School drunk:
over three hundred!

DS
When dungeons
re-emerge, not in
Guantanamo, but
F.E.M.A camps, will some players
be able
to conquer the beasts
save crying
princess, beat
concrete gas lines and
train “depots” that lead straight to
hell, not for
passengers, but for
all humanity?
you sir, have the power to
change lives, live
large, due to lucky
combo of
brains, nerve and
creativity.
What will it be, strawberry-
blonde lover,
or public crusader, beach
lounge, or at
every meeting, all
marches, screaming for
love, kindness,
mercy in the face of such
evil as
no comic has yet
devised. Come join man.

MMK
You were the first real one, and
I went off to caddy like
a dumb ass.
Your smarts for
psychology is only
surpassed by the care
you give to
diverse and
crazy patients. Six
years after you snuck through
the window at Brandywine
I dropped back down for a year
and called, but
your full life
had no time for the past. I
never would have known
my own good
side if not
for you. Every car
seat conversation is clear,
and the month
you let me crash, pushing back on
my attempts
to re-ignite taught
me how to let go
without blues
dominating in a way
that preserves
precious memories.
Your charm caused real growth.

LW
You were three
years or so younger in the
French class we sat in.
both bored but you more
so because
at least I
had you to look at.
Columbia
had the plaid
blue, yellow, white skirts,
so the big
challenge was the color of
panties. Male lunch talk
had to include a
report of
who was in
which color, otherwise
you could get
ridiculed.
But I want you to
know I took
all the ribbings failure can
offer, and
never once gave up
your secret, though I
always knew.
I held out, hoping that to
do so would
not, we never talked.

NKS
Did you love or hate
the black Ford
Fairlane, circa nineteen and
sixty five?
My tolerance was
matched by your
need for fun
and mischief. As a
roommate you’d
rank a fun one. So what if
it took a while to
iron it
all out? You hung tough then got
hit with the
worst possible scene.
A few times
I tried to
crack into your heart
just after,
then realized it was not
wise, backed off
until you recovered. Now
then Nancy,
how is “positive
life”: these days? You made
it, cleared all
tests. Here’s to smooth sailing and
real love, to
genuine friends, peace,
real autonomy.

ET
Swiss beauty, if it
flows through New
Jersey, spreads legs, accepts one
or two who
do not last, just for
the fun of
it. How you
ended up a strong District
Attorney I will
never know.
Yet, I doubt you’ve found
a way to
forget the wild romps, escape
from frozen
rules, or bullshit that
flew. Maybe
it was your
inadvertent exposure
to conniving lies
that helped you
beat both those
arrested and their slimy
lawyers. Come,
hold my hand again
in the dark,, attack
the way you
used to. Memories smash in
to dreams; are
you still in Tampa?
Who got you for good?

KK

Your beauty comes from
giving so
much back to the earth, to those
who labor so hard
for such a

meager wage.
Don’t get me wrong, you
Also got you Mom’s
natural beauty
with body to spare.

So fix your brain by
“Will” power.
You’ve done so much not to hang out
and do more. Beat
brain cancer,

rejoin the
love of life you have.
You photos on face
book alone speak of
your magic, pure life.

So when this
phase passes I can’t believe
how you will
produce…talking each
day to make a life

focused on
benefitting everyone
around you
Shine on, come out and
Laugh with us again.

EB

It started
at the Beach Club, white
sand dusted
the board. Cube
mystery solved late:

double sixes cleared your home,
I smiled at the blue-
eyed twinkle
over swimmer’s breasts,
firm, even for eighteen: your

Montclair roots
augmented by strict
upbringing
easily
surpassed by passion.

Watkins conceded romance.
We never got caught,
cabanas
wide open to the
night, three beach loungers placed to

shield young love.
Learning the lexicon of
your long legs,
tongue patrol over
muscle terrain, two

weeks of lust,
a few months of letters, then
the fade back
to lives unshared yet
forever enriched.

Margot Cleveland

Forty seven days
after your twenty
second birthday a rare, mad
human tragedy
struck, and took with it

an artists,
near-pro golfer, wild
lover. We
lost a close friend who
wasn’t shy.

Called us out on our
bullshit, laughed in the
afternoon sun, but couldn’t
always get past the
immediate shifts,

opinion
blasts, head games, guilt trips,
controlling
Mom, consoling Dad
that must have

made each day
unpredictable, each night
a search for
independence no
matter the risks. You

feigned interest
in younger kin, remained a
mystery
then tragic lesson.
I feared for my life.

Charles Stuber

Wide-eyed player, your
parents soft joy; raised watching
your father
build two houses on
Taylor Cut-off Road after

A start in town surrounded by
Korean porch kites,
four-way cars
with no stop signs, Seattle
before the clog of

California came
to convert beauty into
suburbs. Your
spirit directs great
action to this day. Though none

fully recovered, new ties
added smiles, your
mother made
it through,
continues to be
both worried about

the future
and working hard in the now;
the gift you
gave was simple: “do
not live in the past.”

We all still
pray and wonder what you would
have given
to humanity;
something large for sure.
DS II

You kept asking “where’s
Charlie?” It
still causes throat swell, tear drop
but at the same time
imposes

a new edict to live by
between seize the day
and be productive. You beat
every one
of life’s challenges

with aplomb, ended
up as good
a parent as any this
family has seen,
scored major

work assignments and reveled
in your children as
you did your brother. Living
proof that hard
work yields a good life,

you are a
prime example for the young
ladies to learn
from. Your glow exudes,
spreads happiness earned

not given.
If they would admit it, your
elders would
announce how much they’ve
Learned from your success.

SS

No camper
ever came to play,
paddle, hike
at Reiner’s
Adirondack Swim and Trip

Camp with the vigor
you threw at
us. Armed with one hundred points
you always
made it past the guards,

your team won
by using your for
defense then
scoring the
century at the end. Your

Dad is a “good stick”
but rock and
roll, then movie keyboards made
you mister
Hollywood. Not all

maniacs
that roamed the Barnard Tract hit
their stride, or
even survived teen
car accidents. The

aptly named
planetarium lasers
tie-dyed Park
Avenue heads, smell
the magic, rock on!

Marjorie S. Cleveland

When the time came “God
Bless America” played an
hour after
the planes hit
on nine eleven

two thousand
one. Your example
gave Margot a head start on
the links, but sadness
ensued, so

we never saw your
youth reappear except on
warm summer
or close days,
family only.

What had we
missed, I will never
know. You gave all of us a
lot of class, which we
should have known

from birth, but
from birth the party was on.
So what? You
have to live while you
are alive. The long

walks, soul-filled
searches, avec Lara, or
alone…how
you went on without
flinching: real life lived.

EW

Your parents had seats
I could find
with ease on
the fifty yard line of the
blue side of orange

and blue. The last time
we met, you
said I had
not changed, and I said
“well was I

supposed to?” You shrugged,
informed me
you had been
running a tanning booth in
Gainesville for years. There

Was the time we hung out:
pajama
party
at Thyrza’s, your soft eyes,
thin body

quietly
beckoning the select few,
nevermore
than two-a-month in
order to give each

his chance to
qualify for inclusion
on your list
of potential life
mates. Still bachelorette?
MC II

Your strong blue top, magic eyes
interest in the
stories that
made up our lives kept
us close long after the

media
blast parties. The Saint
Petersburg Times is
now the last
major left daily

and whether Gallagher’s great
vanishing nature
pieces or
world-class scrutiny
of the power elite, your

family’s
heritage, may, if
ever moved to the
history
column, mean the death

not just of
real news, but American
democracy.
My Columbia
deposit may not

have achieved
its original purpose
but you will
never fade, blonde hair
above joyous smile.

Paul Heiner

First I took all Dad’s
shirt cardboards that came every
week from the dry cleaners, then
painted them
and proposed and art

booth to be parked in
front of our
garden-club level
neighborhood house. Mom,
irate, said “no” so I stormed

up brought them down and
tore them up hysterically.
Next thing I knew I’m enrolled
in art class
at Memorial

Art Gallery with
the immense
German master who
spent every class mad
at me, saying I stunk. He’d

set up still
lifes, I painted abstractions.
Only me.
Years later Dad took me to
see one of your shows.

Your large abstract
bombs exploding in contrast
from above
lured me into art,
where I have stayed since.

Leo Garel

You came to the Lavender
Door on Tuesdays, the
same day as my sessions, so
I skipped one form, pushed beyond
what Heiner taught me

ten years earlier.
It was your turn to
inadvertently save my
life. Nothing
anyone else gave

or took matched the peace acquired
splashing colors on
wood, canvas. You presented
slide shows, taught us when our work
was done, kept the mean

ogres and
real demons at bay
productively, what the pros
called late-bloom
sublimation. But

there were no
labels at the studio
other than
next to exhibit
paintings. Our art was

cutting edge,
pure, pushy, fun, a release,
and even
accepted during
our lifetimes. Tears now.
MS

Your Grandad
hit “worm burners” as
far as any amateur
ever has, managed
to card low

scores via
short game, the best way.
After years seeing
photos come and go
you switched to

camper. It’s
a rare and idea;
job: how has nature given
you what curating
could not? What

if you are
among the handful
to still boondoggle,
portage lakes and ponds,
teach sailing,

swimming and
mountain climbing? The fine art:
natural
living, is so far
out, abstract by now.

All we can
do is pray our children’s lives
will be half
what ours have been.
What of grandchildren?
JM II

You loved me with
talk of diaphragms, stories
so good for
The Yellow Springs News, back when
everyone knew each

other, and the strict Quaker
laughed with the polar Christian
Baptists down
at the ladies’ school.
I was not scared, took what was

offered, thought back to
Lexi before I had left
for boarding
school. You tripled my female
knowledge base in less

than five visits. Mentor
of the intimate realm, we
faded to
other places then
reconnoitered over wine.

Jacksonville
Beach, where your son asked the next
morning if
we had slept in the
same bed. Wise for eight,

but a truth
seeker should be wise. Your days,
medical
recruiter, lover,
easier than mine.

Bud Shaw

You came back to Rochester
to die. Many of
us were gone.
Some, like me, had no
idea

how precious
short, yet fulfilled life
could be, then
we heard the
how and when of yours

and cried. We cried when Trudy
told it four months past
due. Life was
complicated by
tragedy,

yet some learned
enough, grabbed and ran,
compared and
drew a sigh
We seize all with zest,

flamboyant
in our quest for just a touch
of someone’s
memory twenty
two years down the road.

Immortal
applies to sports and music
stars, not true
friends; except special
ones we hardly knew.
EC “S” C

It started
when you approached me
on behalf, I found out soon,
my bosses domestic and
volunteer.

But what must be the
reason you disappeared goes
beyond your knowledge
base, and cultural norms, as
you get me to put

out there the
exact stuff they thought
impossible yet had big
suspicions about. There I
was feeding to

you until even
your role as spy was too much
to fulfill. Hence I
wonder, to this day, whether
to remember you

as foe, faux,
confidant, advisor, ping
pong mentor,
beggar, artist, self-
absorbed beauty queen,

teenager
forever, sufferer of
Han, absent
daughter, loving Mom
or my best friend.
ZXX

Torn between tying
in to the system or to
make a life
of your own in some
far off land, you even have

what it takes
to lead a charge for
the workers, or to
save planet
earth, or to make a

farm and save friends when
the money system collapse
occurs. What
will it be then? The
“safety” of party cocoon

in China,
seeking know-how and
romance abroad, or
working to
save what is left of

arable
land for s GMO-free
grocery chain,
new generation
of healthy babies

rather than
sterilized men, Viagra
needed at
age twenty? Make a
full play. Accomplish.

PYS

We sat down
for dinner, and it
had been ages. You moved to
Mokpo and
came up on weekends

but this time in a
new circle. Our friend
Inoeye
dropped by twice since last
we met. Your resolve

to persist,
impeccable taste
and zest for life bless tables
and dance floors.
What pleasure to see

you back in the swing.
You genuinely
took to the
abstract art I fling,
are a great friend though

I once wronged
you. Let summer bring romance,
fulfillment
and an even more
positive charge. When

will you write
the book you have inside you?
We need to
know navigation
secrets. Write girl, write.

MB II

Music man
and Xerox
bean counter, chief add
and subtract man:
songs like Pink Floyd meets Tom Waits

for a night of beer and hot
tubs in L.A. with
the finest
women, the
hottest hotties a

man could find,
but you had
them, not in dreams, but
in rebuilt attic
with mini-bar, toaster, coffee

maker. So, as night drifted
into Sunday you
were ready
to recharge
and keep going. Oh

she must have
loved your zest. Continual
prodding for
more. How’s your knee
holding up? Still on

Westminster?
Those glory days when
Tad was still
strong enough to drum.
You still playing out?

BS

Following
in the footsteps of
Canandaigua stars who stayed
a single
summer, like Clapton

is McCartney who
hid on a
Cheshire farm
in summer, nineteen
seventy one; hydroplane

star Campbell
or Todd Brewer the
lake’s least fortunate devil
who dared to
climb sixty-foot trees

as a kid, then kept
pushing bikes,
cigarette
boats and life until
struck by lightning. You, on the

other hand,
played hard, but then, convinced
we were past
our era, too old
to catch on. You must

still record
in your room. I miss the chance
we had, just
as I have other bands.
Don’t quit you butthead.

Fish Window Number One

Pug-nose penguins between rushes,
Flapper follows, a peach mistake.
Peachtree glistens, horrendous Hyatt.

Mother cut a daughter’s throat,
Proceeded to a marriage though.
Police suspect her to have acted

Without the knowledge given most.
Pug-nose wonders between bites,
If smug alumnae of rich schools

Attract the fiery undulations
Blue-blood families are noted for.
Flapper squirts a piss that freezes.

Flapper doesn’t care who knows,
Squats on quad in cold December.
Pug-nose worries about future.

Father’s stocks all disappeared,
The condo isn’t selling well,
Blood-stained pearls coagulate.

Fish Windows Number Two

This view of frosted Tinker,
Fabled mountain, accentuates
Streams of winter clouds floating
In the season’s lightest blue.

Drooping, thinning, browning pine
Initiates surprised walkers
With the season’s final droppings:
Clumps of snow, impotent cones.

Eighteen leaves and forty-five pods
Shimmy, unwilling to take
Wind’s frozen ride on ice.
Hanging on to life too long.

This view, barren foreground trees
Towering over frozen cliffs
Terrorizing passing clouds
With piercing arms, is winter.

Fish Window Number Three

Nothing moves fast in two-degree weather.
Snow stops, grass browns, trees creak.
A dangling pod denies an entire generation.
Five-step cloud lingers a quarter hour.

Fish window isn’t wide enough to see,
Isn’t Tall enough to breathe, isn’t old
Enough to feel it in its joints. But, a
Camouflaged manhole cover steams.

Two yonder trees make visible
Ten thick branches, contrasting light blue
Frozen sky. A silver tag twitches.
The active agent is two degrees.

One (it will be dead for three months) bush
Absorbs the manhole’s offerings quietly.

2013 Poems all in one document

W. G. Stuber

He started so young, married
well, won awards, got
invited north, Louisville
had served to launch the strongest
Stuber. He

worked famous
twenty hour days,
raised one son to carry on,
bought a gas
station, closed it

for his own supply during
rationing, forced the
same alcohol concoction
on guests, remained on the board
until he

was over
ninety, fixed the whole
machines in France rather than
allow a
new one, and patents!

Prominence,
never his goal, achieved by
hard work, and
more hard work made us
the most well-known clan

in the town’s
history. Why? Because we
kept going,
just like he did, when
Strong Eastman lines died.

Wheel of Fate

Black always
suffices, even
on alpine floppy
hats in old
Gwangju. Complicated math

is required: figures
beyond earth
stroll, hypocrites preach
to children but they
know: strayed already

avoided early parenthood
by pure luck or smarts.
Some big mouth
goes down: broke domestic rules

so cunnilingus,
which was all
he had left, has been
taken away. The death
of intimacy

proves Karmic
payment is never really
complete, as
“it’s over” rings in
Ears, eyes tear, son laughs

No knowing
why a grown man would ever
be so full
of emotions. Ten
years down, where is up?

Global Can of Whoop-Ass Open for Business

Rebels yell to topple greed, are met with chopper bullets.
U.S. backs whoever will succumb to our whims and needs.
Begging babies balance the gated communities, but when
the war machines arrive and you are on your knees, remember
heaven’s not so bad, better than hell on earth. What makes
me sick is how the rich enslave, engulf, enrage, and how
the protest only changes the uniforms of the palace brigade.
So gather Quakers, Buddhists, environmentally concerned, and
keep your village quiet or it to will be among the burned.
If you’re lucky and your jobs affords a safe neighborhood,
your children might find learning fun, and play in rapt awe
of the creek or woods. But most scrape basketball knees
on concrete, stay home electronically, watch this or that
cop show on CBS, as if that’s what police do. It’s not. S.A.T.
scores flounder in the nine-hundred range, community college
recruiters land another private , or criminal willing to “play
cop” so as not to get caught. Upward money flow decimates
once-proud middle class so more become desperate, shoot school
children, parents, rival drug dealers, and the N.R.A. begs blacks
to join so they can shoot at their own government’s police.
Speakeasy

The steam age
takes a respite as
Bulmers cider flows, mini
dresses skip to meet old mates,
where the heat grows new skin.

Smoke, unshaved beanie
cap wearing hipsters
mingle with
newbies, freshly off
some flight to teach in

woebegone
Gwangju. Alcohol
lubes the stress of massive shock
delivered by an ancient
culture: boxes in

more boxes; Russian
multi-boxed life for
graduates
used to breaking the
rules. Many end up

jailed here as
they forgot to research their
new surrounds.
Others, used to free
love, find none or pay.

But all men
pay, long or short term
right? It’s the
disadvantage of
hormones far astray.
First Alleyways

Cente, the
breast-only
feeder, changes their
priorities. Worn
out parents still make the scene

but Danny’s trick knee
makes him the caregiver and
it’s changed his
personality
from wild to

subdued. He
smiles, always
has, and Jessica
talks, bartenders draw
Seoul’s Jirisan beer as cold

winter rebounds, blue
wind chills five layer attempt
to stay warm.
I blew hard at a
street Christian:

Jehovah’s
evangelist. Misplaced, but
a release
from a life in which
the glow of a young

child has been
replaced by domestic war.
Envy creeps,
desire to rewind
ten years hits again.
Division of Labor in Korea

Her heart ticks, his lungs push energy with the
excitement a third grader gets when paired
with the chosen mate. “But she chose me, so
I’m not sure I love her,” he says, at age nine:
primed to be the most popular, he was class
president last year. But isn’t being popular a
curse that leads to egomania, especially in Scorpio
males? The wind pushes elementary walk, three
hundred meters to paradise, then, fore me, on to
a different type of classroom full of students
whose every grades determines career path, marriage
eligibility: attractiveness measured by diligence in
class, looks once out the door. Just like the apex
of suitability, the college entrance exam, one’s grade
point average makes or breaks job interview status.
Forget football star, chess club, five thousand hours
Of community service, it’s all about grades here, so
the East/West cultural divide hits early, say age four.
The East, so good at mimicking and selling products,
the west at developing new ones. Global but unequal.
You Know the Face

He’s eleven, lived on the streets of this city his whole
life. No one knows how he made it to age five, but from
then on, he’ll tell you, he’s been hustling change, doing small
favors, cleaning shoes or out-elbowing competitors to clean wind
screens, with or without a tip. He has shoes now, knows where
to go to get craft supplies to make trinkets to sell, but there’s
a big hole in his heart. He’s not sure what he’s missing, doesn’t
know how limited his vocabulary is, yet most days as happy as any
other child. Well, as satisfied as those around him are on five
hundred calories of begged food per day, on average. His global
contemporaries are mastering division, or the left hand of piano
music, or working the farm, or playing baseball, or glued to TV,
or rescuing some PC-game princess, or solving puzzles, or riding
bicycles, or teasing their younger sister, or signing up for gangs, or
swimming, or losing a fight to the school bully, or Skyping friends
during class, or traveling through Europe with their families (boring
at that age, for sure) or parring their first par four. But not him, no he’s
working twenty hours, worn through his shoes, blistered by sun, frozen
in February. Searching to fill that hole, but with what? Some might
guess love, others safe shelter. He figures regular meals would suffice.
Lady Recruiter

She, again tires of her shield-boy, you know
the one who is the current boyfriend, in order to
shield her line of work. The workers are uniformly ladies,
the customers, men. So, our heroine must never be discovered
since she would have to leave the country. The way she
switches “cover” men is by making them very angry
in public. She might kiss another man, or have her
boyfriend continually buy dinner and drinks for an ever-
expanding group of her friends and co-workers. As his money
keeps flowing to her whole stable, the anger turns to
rage and they “break up.” The problem is, it isn’t just the
men she is “dating” who get mad, but the men she picks
randomly to use as a wedge. Fights break out as five
men buy her drinks at the same bar, none of them her
“boyfriend,” who arrives later, into a trap of many men
Expecting something from her, to the dismay of the man who
Is only minutes away from seeing the aforementioned kiss.
Modus Operandi maximus cum stupido. So she plies her
trade in three different cities, oh, such a sad fate.
Ross and Ferdi

She stood with two-year-
Old child, one
Guilder to her name,
so Dad took
her in, watched as she ate raw

buttered radishes.
Being Dutch, she reveled in
child’s play, so
Ross and I did just
that, on bicycles, in the

water, at soccer
putting on
toweling off shows
as we danced
through Bushnell’s Basin to points

far gone. Twenty five
years later a reunion
near Blackies-
by-the-Sea in warm
Costa Mesa provided

a chance to
know his wife, eat with his Mom,
camp out, while
caddying on the L
PGA tour. I

heard mother
and son moved back to Holland
as his Grand
parents aged. Orgies
of fun all around.
A.S.

How can a
kid not love a man
who gives out gifts on
his own birthday? He
also read history

a trick my
father uses to
prolong his
hold on earth. Gramp was
also busy, but got to

be a great
golfer, a sport whose
torch skipped to Margot
and Mike. We visited him
in Naples twice a year and

his son got
married at sunset
in his house
so he could attend.
Mr. Stuber, a Cornell

Graduate,
no one ever saw him sad.
He was too
Busy boating with
Doyle, chasing skirts as

bachelor
men do, toasting life, nudging
children to
do better via
carrot on a stick.
W.J. Stuber

Then came Dad, the soft
spoken hero who
had more trials than Salem
and Assisi put
together. How did

you do it?
Trust me, most of the
hells your children went through are
still hidden
from you, yet you’ve seen

enough to make one
thousand moving films,
the ones your Dad helped
Edison refine.
The Greeks never came

up with such
sad tales, but here you
are still smiling, maybe thanks
to your love,
Lori, or stubborn

Desire to
Make sure the three boys survive
Without a
Whisper of hassles
From within. Houses

And guns have
been your collections. Who would
deny you
any pass-time that
could keep your heart free?
Mom

Bridge hostess, she loved
Tanqueray, fast cars,
a good laugh, since years of sad
yet dedicated
nursing of her sons

drained the life
from her as surely
as forty
cigarettes per day.
Five years in the hospital

is what saved her third,
and she almost gained
as much post-marriage life as
she had fighting it
out with eternal

opposite
(Dad). The fights ended
when others
were around, so he
saw to it they were. Damage

of all kinds
ensued: collateral, trite,
physical,
emotional too,
but we all survived

except Tad.
When he died she said “my job
is done,” as
Eastman had. One last
wheelchair-smoke, sunset.
Catherine Faulkner Spellman

“Gosh all hemlock” she’d
say, taking us kids
back a generation or
two. “Wait ‘til the Moon
Shines Nellie,” she’d hum

the way Harry James played horn.
Her husband played too,
and mellophone and
knew the notch was on his door
so hobos would stop in to

feast on her stretched meals.
If you failed to say
“hello,” she’d be offended,
Say “you could at least
Tell me to drop dead.”

Her children, often sad, as
their father died young,
had interesting
lives: wild yet so human, and
grandkids wilder yet, untamed

by normal
corporate constraints, living their
own way, led
by the power she
conveyed, the power

to trust our
instincts, know nature, bake a
great pie, cry
when you had to, but
hum the blues away.
MM

Only one friend saw me run
off then waited to buy Dad’s
H and O set, you
knew I would be back for Mom’s
meal. Only one made sure I

walked off the
altar, part of the number
two wedding in Rochester
history,
alone, but still a

member, one knee bent among
Oak Hill’s finest, singing to
the new bride: “you lost
that loving feeling: without
knowing the words, waiting to

clip the tail
off some pompous hired
gun, but no…your eighth ace, at
the Monroe
Invitational,

Tad was there,
and you came seeking growth stocks
to a land
where big swallows small
before growth happens,

said either
one was worth ten times the fee
as manure
course got in the way
of conversation.
W.C. Stuber

Billy, the elder,
eldest man to have
a child I
ever knew, proves man
hood is more than just taking

any job to keep
the family fed.
Indeed, you
cut your own path and
taught me how

to follow my heart.
You were right!, as the
Creator
nurtures those who use
their god-given skills to solve

their own problems, no
need for church, just
prayer, and
hard work. Yes, our clan
knows how to

work, suffers
the loss of children better
than most due
to diligence and
brain power to spare.

I never
Beat you in chess. I’ll settle
For a draw
In love though. How is
Irene? And the kids?
Nancy

She survived
hepatitis C
for twenty one years,
she mentored hundreds off of
alcohol and drugs.

She wrote long letters
when I was stressed out,
she loved all
she met, thus taken
advantage

of in schemes,
love, even death. Her
happiness was a
neat house, pet dogs, holocaust
memorial at

Monroe C.C., where
public relations
men also
tried to warp her words.
she never

stopped giving
so people took, yet her smile
stayed alive
long after she knew
she’d been scammed because

she knew the
needs of others, having been
through every
type of misery.
Love was all she sought.
Bev

Boat hoist diverted what could
have been a strong
career as concert
pianist, but quick
change to church

keyboardist,
hymn composer and
super-mom,
along with major
caretaker

for mother, husband, sister
med Bev “family
angel-in-times-of-
need.” Don’t worry aunt,
we knew and

remember
them all: the worst
day bloody
Korea offered
is wiped clean

just with a
thought of how good you are. How
is Tracy?
Bike rider, vocal
Coach and professor.

How could my
family be so different
than yours? I
learned a lot in “Spring”
seventy six. Smile.
Tracy

Another day without an
email from me, the ingrate.
If not for you, would
I have activated or
advocated for earth, peace,

common sense;
or walk to work, bus
downtown? No. Golf would have been
my time-wasting salvation.
Please know your beliefs

spread to students here where the
worst forms of feudal systems
remain: dependent
on nuclear energy
more than any other “land.”

I’m split here
in Korea, as
activism loses while
navy bases flourish. Be
calm, this too shall pass.

I hate that
weeks full of weltschmertz still hold
me back, that
I am ineffective
at most things except

writing and
loving. Love burns again but
I am with
you, honestly changed
by your strong actions.
Delmar Spellman

Delmar, the
tall, handsome one,
not the Coen brothers
character, would walk
from Pittsford to Webster, eight

miles, to earn a low
wage, return
home, and play and laugh
as if all was well in the
world. In his

world it was.
His carpentry earned
three houses, boats, and
an airplane! Good luck
doing that with a labor

job now. His
children were pressed
into adulthood
and my Mom took her chance on
a divorced

man, kind at
first, she had a musician
and Kodak
man, so Delmar, all
you need know now is

that they all
did well, laughed when they could, broke
bread at the
lake, carried on through
horrific trials.
Amy

Moss, hair flying due
to rear perch on motorbike
going seventy two miles
per hour
on route four ninety.

Athletic,
charming, caring, wild,
but not around the
girls, she picked
Roanoke,

relieving me of
a duty I did not want
to relinquish, so Tad got
double love,
which he deserved, due

to running
battle with our Mom.
Amy can
achieve wealth
quickly which

leaves time to
be a great parent: she learned
from the best.
Some people are born
to give. She never

tires because
she taps deep energy to
make sure
everyone else is
OK. Thanks Amy.
Jim Heriot

His Beemer twelve hundred bike
tipped off road
strangers and
second cousins alike that
his life would be

on his terms,
take it or leave it.
His wild child bride could
hardly keep pace, but he once
approved a hitch-hike

for a wayward fifteen-year-
old who was
psychotic from his
adolescent shrink’s
office around the

corner from Canon’s, meaning the
vodka lunch was a
bit too convenient. So I
hitched three rides to make

it to the chosen place, Canandaigua.
What now James?
Can’t get your signal
man, are you alive

out, up and
away there, or, has release
from this realm
allowed enough peace
to soberly rest?
Mike

Brother Mike,
fell for the old trap
and bait. Guns and sleds, clubs and
women, one life to live, one
head to head collide

away from
eternal
bliss, but nothing as
the Talking Heads proved, for
sure, nothing ever happens

in heaven.
So here we are still
Stressed by the past, relieving
It every way we can, and
Now I spend all day

At the range
so caddies won’t laugh at the twelve
who’s really a full
twenty four, so your group (?) is

not plagued by
an anchor who clobbers the
outward fours
on the large greens. But
there is more to golf

than golf. More
to life than we dare say, as
to mention
anything is a
sure buzz kill. Ace it!
Jack Spellman

Able to talk the coat off
An Eskimo, Jack had
every right
to his rage:
the V.A. treated

him to countless cuts
and experiments
in trade for the drugs
they had addicted
him to. Similar to

his homeless comrades he could
see on the
news, Jack could
also land
the ladies, fish in

Florida, crack wise
or flabbergast with
sarcasm refined
in the heat of World
War II. Once said I’d make a

restaurant
owner a lot of money
due to thin
layer of peanut butter
on a sandwich I’d

made him. How
about his super-spicy
spaghetti?
Touch lamps? Lincolns? Death,
surrounded by blacks?
Chink

She works hard,
manages to keep
the hard truth at bay, but, in
the process
loses a son’s love

while faithfully, in
pure love, following
the wishes
of her dying James
request. She could not

prevent this
eternal tear. So
retires, and
waits for a call she

may never get. The
superior brains
can devise
such realities,
leaving broken hearts

to bleed, torn
emotions to heal. But white
blood cells can’t
get at these types of
open wounds, so Chink

puts her best
face on the past. We all know
she’s got the
moxie, at five twelve
to endure and thrive.
Mek

Open, Meki, which
is the word
for October in the land,
(Ethiopia)
of his birth.

Large, yet as
gentleman go, he’s
gentle. Dar got the
royal home-
made reception,

and a few years down
the road they
moved back to Yellow Springs to
find Antioch close
to closed down.

Bands, Ha-Ha
pizza and the News
keep retired air force
generals at
bay, even if they

seek local
office to impose “order”
on the last
bastion of logic,
compassion and an

inherent
respect for diversity,
earth, wild spare
grass, Horace Mann and
self-propelled movement.
Ron

Vermont-bound,
truck, bike, and one
strong will to survive, Ron
fades away, but we
all want him back. He’s

supremely helpful and kind,
works harder than most,
but who knows
what he’s up
to these days. A born

loner, he can
easily be with
or without female,
so it’s down to his
job, and fulfillment

from within. The Spellman
split, notorious
for being
young and a
touch permanent

also seen
in your cousins Cathy,
Brett, Doug, makes
us all sad at times.
Nothing like a home

cooked meal to
soothe life’s trials, make fun of
obstacles
both physical and
self-imposed. Come back!
Lori

We played cards
at your Beach Club meal,
a hint of major ups and
downs to come.
But one child, who knows

Just a touch about
life never waivered.
Never fell
for the bait, always
stuck by what must be

as hard a
life as ever lived.
Amazing how souls unite,
overlap
expand with time and

similarities
pop up in aspects
expected
only by novels,
Faulknerian or

even from
Leipzig, by Goethe, twisted,
unreal, yet
soothing, as your life
proves it can all be

absorbed, lived
through, toughed out, tolerated,
yet with a
smile, a warm hug and
love intact…love wins.
LK

Chicago art star,
Savannah M.F.
A., he blew into Gwangju
the same time
I did. We waddled

through culture shock but
remained this six years
because we
saw how well this place
works for its own people, while

constricting many
individual
freedoms on the surface, while
tolerant
of any affair,

political or
personal, as long as its
kept secret.
This mirrors our
beloved U.S. exactly.

So when he
couldn’t find a Korean
lady friend
he ventured to Thai
mountains and may yet
marry an
Asian, because, like some do,
he got tired
of thinking about
Western man’s bullshit.
SJ

Not many run off
to become a monk
at the age
of twenty. Found, and
forced back into the

flow due to
brothers who wouldn’t
take care of their Mom, she made
the most of
it: philosophy

major, out to save
the world, she also
possessed the
type of beauty you
can’t shape down at your

local nip
and tuck surgery
center. She posed for
a wayward professor, at lunch

when he could
not find a mate, told of her
woes in a
swap meet, and, until
her child came, stayed glued

to a rare
friendship in Korea, one
between a
student and this long
lost alien man.
TM

His stylish dismount,
balancing
bicycle, swinging
one leg over then stepping
off lower

pedal, always on
the left side bespoke
athletic
prowess in
all sports. Trevor Court

had its share of jocks,
but only
one gained style points. A
lady catcher, pen doctor,

hockey star, he taught
his younger brother well.
We last met
at the club,
appropriate, yes,

though my verse
was not. Few get such a free
childhood, and
he made the most of
it. Maybe we all

did, but none
with the knowledge-base so
capable
of discerning and
acquiring life’s joys.

KM

I chased you
not just because you
were pretty and lived
next door, but because I was
the pervert who stood upstairs on

my private roof to
read from all
the hot sex books Mom
had around the house.
Libidinous by

birth, there you
weren’t, so I punted
to Nat Zartman once
sure I had no chance at all.
We’d stalk your babysitting,

Streak, at least for a
few seconds,
play strip tag in the
basement at Hitchcock’s
or Preston’s, and so

Many years
later still years for what was
never to
be. (was) I wonder
hot it all came out:

whether your
eternal smile is aflame
or buried?
Pure intentions were
Never meant to harm.
KDB

She stops, bright-eyed, yells
Doug! Long days
after Ju Hee joined her in
“interesting” English class
she still has what seems

to be a crush for
knowledge, lust
for life, desire to
try to squeeze any
encounter

into another
learning niche.
“What do you want to learn now?”
I think as we stand outside
International

Center’s aura by
only a
few meters, yet far
enough away to
safely smile,

talk about
the matters of the world: war
greed, the
usual lies and
hypocrisies. This

is why I
won’t forget you: your
quest to know
more plus natural
kindness, searching eyes.
CB

Never, and
I mean never, has such
a beauty graced the eyes, dreams
of young men
at Allendale or

even the women
of Columbia School.
I bet she
never knew Joe and
I cross country skied through back

lots to hole
ten at C.C.R.
to watch you work out. It was
as good as
it gets for teenaged

“men” who had
yet to, but wanted
to prove all
on your (in your?) quite
amazing grounds. Come spring an

outside thought
would creep in. Could we ever
birdie ten
again if the green
itself had taken

our break? What
if either one of us had
the nerve to
ask? We all envied
those who gained your trust.
JM

Every heart beats hard
first and foremost, but
that girl may
not be the one who
yields. So there you were

not the chased
one, but the loved one,
the attic dream come true but
interrupted by the man,
my second father,

who offered a ride
to the lake, but I
hitched out of
huge embarrassment.
Decades later, with

Your child there,
we ran across each
other at Wegman’s and you
were kind enough to
describe me as the
basketball
player from outside your lit
window, still
bouncing by streetlight,
yearning so hard, for

what I did
not know, only guessed about.
What a dream
You made. Don’t worry
I’ll be fine, Love, Doug.
LT

Your husky alto
served notice
that though three were in
the Boston
Whaler, orgy was

available.
those firm fifteen-year-
old D-cup breasts now spring forth
to titillate entire
bodies, not just the

erogenous zones. The
third that day,
young “ant bites,” made the
optimum
middle-man, a cross

of stunning
beauty and carnal
knowledge due to an older
sister and her beau Rob, who
used to paddle out

in a small
inflatable raft to the
exact place
the telescope, placed
on the patio,

could zoom in
on the “action” that often
led to one
or both in the water
cold enough to calm, quench.

BS

An apple doesn’t
fall far from
the tree. Nor does a
rough start come
close to ensuring

a smooth-assed
finish, yet, between a
scoff-law and addict or
the reverse side of
emotion

wanders this father,
lover of
many, ne’er once pinned
down, returns
to Alabama

to avoid
detention, or big
law multiplied by fortune
to add up to more
trouble he

knows how to
deal with. Genuine rebel
aligned with
good astrology,
his path winds out long.

His children
now grown, surely not stress
causers, nor
marginal, two men
removed from past hells.
YL

She poses again,
dances across the entire
floor, sees men
come then leave her, so
hurt, yet happy, able to

support her fours kids,
their father was so
unlucky he went and lost
her too! A
lawyer, a

mover, a shaker
but too often the loosing
end of
heart breaker. What can
you do to quench both heart and

body, soul and mind?
Now on year sic, up,
away and teary-eyed as
your children grow into

adults. No
way to afford his school and
then he drops
out anyway! Now
the girls are ready,

meaning you
must sweat your every choice, be
they dates, types
of fun, clothing or
if you will marry.
PYS

Ewha plus
Cambridge equals part-
time instructor in this place
maybe for
two reasons: mostly

your husband
is tenured,
and then how to teach
towers over what
to teach, fair enough, but not

in this type
department, which prides
itself on black suits, proper
schooling in
ideas over

basics. How
unfair is
that? So we strike up
a pro-labor friendship
that also produces an

Auden piece,
thus saving my tenuous
career, as
poetry, you knew,
would never count as

achievement,
though literature still rules
our great school,
your light inspires all
persistent teacher.
TBS

Mister one track mind
also can’t prevent from
meddling in every affair
that appears
to be working. Why?

His don’t here
in Gwangju. Why? The
poor man comes on like
New York meets
L.A.; problem is, he’s in

rules-box Korea
still with no clue as
to how to soft-shoe ladies
the way they
expect. So he floors

all others
chances by putting
his spin on their lives.
Lucky me,
I can relate to abject

loneliness,
so we commiserate, eat,
drink and be
miserable in
small, yet smaller town

due to its
infatuation with both
grapevine and
gossip. He can’t find
a like-thinking heart.
SGG

Diligent,
and willing to test
yours if you expect to have
a high position.
Most wilt,

and change schools
if they even want
to stay here. Ah but
others rise to the
challenge:

learn to be

discreet, keep
up and surpass all
expectations. His diverse
International
Center leads

culture tours,
guides aliens to
some degree of peace
outside the normal
alcohol-soaked once-

a-week fun
that passes for relief from
eight hour school
instruction days or
marriage: abusive

Koreans
and their hapless mates rescued,
sent to a
support center. God
bless you sir. Rest now.
GMR

Natural,
complete, curious,
in and out of love
but staying firm, she
camped out in the triangle

at Reiksmuseum
where it meets
Van Gogh, needing a
cash infusion, so
she avoids asking her Dad

and finds a
friend to lend his help,
fair dinkum as she
had turned him on to
translated country female

poets from the rice
growing lands
west of Suncheon. How
can he ever forget you?
The red sweater dress, those eyes,

well hidden
breasts, soft boyfriend, gypsy tales
three Czech beer
imbibes, career dream
come true via two

years slave to
the music world now doing
just what you
wanted. You followed
your dreams: few here do.
KSS

Allen Gray
is correct, you have
movie-star looks, loyalty
to a cause so hard to grasp,
ability to

make things work even
when so many
mess-up around you.
OK, I
was one, but what a

laugh when Ho’s
motel photos were
captioned better than you or
I could, and flew past the censors!
Of course, being an

original type
feminist
in a land time left
behind, you
favored the message:

“Yo men, get
over yourselves, be faithful
like your wives’
have been in order
to better raise and

know your own
children, you idiots!” Then
there I was
torn to pieces in
your husband’s calm bar.
SHJ

Sexy and
in full control of
she would and would
not do, she
caused so many to

fall in love, so few to find
what they were looking
for, but what
a blast we had on
the dance floor!

Blonde wigs, jock
girl is with huge laughs,
major draw, but with
on shield-man in tow builds
wall that could test not

just climbing ability
but also sheer balls
of those so
brave as to try the
steep ascent.

Did they get
full satisfaction? Oh I
guess “yes” they
did, but other than
one Heineken on

the benches,
I avoided your giant lure
and mighty
glad I did, as you
showed up in my class.
AJO

Makoli
consumed experience
until all bike trips to see
prisoners
wrongfully jailed paled:

environmental
causes, brilliantly
led, “evolved”
to studio in
Dae-In mMarket, then

amazing
switch from Honnam to
Busan and in-laws I’m sure
relieved you’d
dried out, might a right

proper woman of
their precious girl. It’s
a demanding place
and we went
it together at

what became
the most left-leaning journal
Gwangju will
see. Small differences,
semantics, really,

sometimes slowed
our otherwise equally
enlightened
world view unsullied
by the nightly news.
Lee D.

She acts like
a boy, spells her name
like a boy, runs like
a boy, but
is all woman when

it comes to honest
caring about her
friends, hip gyrations on the
dance floor, and that deep
laugh that men here do

not know how
to accomplish. She
was part of the “group of six” on
the hunt for western

men, relaxed in her
new job answering
the phone for an organic
food cooperative
while not exactly

looking to
get married, deal with the sad
contempt bred
by knowing too much
truth about him, so

“him” changes,
sadness sets in, out-muscled
by gym time,
diligence on the
job, quiet yearning.
BCS

Backgammon, a game
you got about one
thousand points ahead in, served
to pass stress
away, since McGeorge

and smoke house were not
always available at
Holderness School. The
Marblehead crowd had
their own sources of

entertainment, which
consisted of car
rides home and pussy-drenched
ladies in
waiting. For the rest

of us, sports, dreams, and
illusions of summer had
to do. So curfew
was broken with bridge
until Burke or Mark

the Narc broke
it up just for something to
do. Almost
forty years later
and the visits live

on, each of
us with one son to dote on,
scold, pray has
the type of life we
were afforded: great.

PCS

His love, to mountain
climb, mixes with a
fine sense of painting, knowledge
poetry
brings to his life. He

pulled out a
bag of “anti-salt:”
anti-soju, which I had
downed seven bottles and two
beers, believing the

cute red ovals to
be plum juice. As each
table went up to speak, I’d
rifle their
supply and down it

without a
ceremonial
pour. I barfed for a half hour
right next to the waiting bus,
thus delaying high

members of
the Southwest Development
Council, and
embarrassing my
brother-in-law for

the very
first time, two weeks into
stay. Thanks Park
for your art, moons and
mountains, curing salt.
Nude Joo

She moves sand,
paints the sides of wood
blocks to make fake libraries
to discover a
child’s inner

beliefs and
emotional score,
tuning their engines
via creative projects
that do not

even hint at
accurate measure
of what should be done to calm
these TV, PC
deluded

stars who now
have to struggle to
learn in a place that
demands only test scores and
eighteen-hour

study days.
They have a singular chance
to follow
their dreams, since no one
will employ them at

higher than
taxi driver. “Art on” young
heroes of this
high-stress culture. Help
her to feel better.
Harabojay

He reads in
a room full of wild
generational flux, thus
avoiding
the fray caused by some

disagreements that
occur in a boy,
girl, boy, girl,
boy household. When first
we met he built the fences for

our kitchen
garden out of small
branches, nails and string. Oh your
silence was
a lesson for a

loud mouth like me. A
loud mouth gets himself
and his kin
in trouble here, while
the calm man lessens problems.

When will I
learn? Quiet means less chance of
being a
hypocrite, more time
for writing, way less

big huge fights
as long as I can, like you
did, agree
to others’ plans for
me: forever loved.

Thomas A. Stuber

Each day we try to
tap your magic, kindness, your
tolerance and fulfillment
because you got the most out
of life, never got

in your own
way, put up with all
kinds of struggle to persist,
you turned life
into a whole new

adventure for friends
and unknowns lugs alike. How
bands did I know
thanks to you? By “know” I mean
quaffing ales back stage.

Roanoke
days cannot return,
life moved me to this edge of
the planet,
torn, not by what we

had, but by
my inability to
capture life
as well. So I write,
do you blame me, bro?

I have two
friends so strong and true to see
me through it:
young James Hyuntay, and
your inspiration.

PR

Some tennis
coach teamed us up so
the year before, when
she chased me,
and I pulled a chair

down behind me, it was
sixth grade, and she tripped hard on
it, had to
be forgiven if
not forgotten. Priscilla

had grown so
large during the short
intervening June
she became
an instant “hit” with

her male classmates. But
I had the inside track at
Harley, that
is, until Durbin
and I published our newspaper.

Dad was so
impressed he ran off copies,
but the school
didn’t want to know
who was screwing whom,

who smoked pot,
or how angry she got when
I snapped her
bra strap; or how Chris
fingered Kim in class!
DM

The tracks for
our absurd pen-race
car game were drawn in a style
Pollack or
Kandinsky might have

learned from. The winner
predicted
I would never get
laid. Right, but it was
a far-reaching bit

of Tarot
guess, as it hit long
after expected, further
away, and with a
life-changing set of

consequences, not
pimples: a
domestic war. You
drew cartoons all day,
then the time I said

the French had
two exes and no Y and
got kicked out
of class, or played “it’s
a buzzard” while

drop-kicking
lockers, or being asked to
leave when sir
douche hated my hole
ridden jeans. Strike one!
KDW

Gray day turns
to black-out night as
the money ran out long, long
ago. At
least it afforded

Hoon a brief four years
of merriment as
evidenced by his
banner grades, string, nay rope, of
girl conquests.

Oh! The weird
way you got treated
by your own school, a major
researcher,
still too pure to buy

an election. Pure
spelled poor because the
guaranteed job in
honor of your achievements
was denied on the

theory that
the other guy had bought a lot
of votes for
the eventual
winner. Retreat, sir,

Eunheungsa
beckons, each spring offering
solitude,
away from the lies
that rule mainstream life.
JDS

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?
JCL

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
family

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.
CeeB
By Dooty Burber

He plays drums,
skates on the pond at
the side of the house,
cooks on a giant
grill with fieldstone chimney, and

eats unusual
items like
home-made donuts and
shares all games
from blind man’s bluff to pick-up

sticks. One day
out on the sail boat
maybe even too
too large for the smallest
finger lake, but a strong wind

blew and sunk this ship
so the whole
family fought
white caps and
swam ashore in the storm, not

the only
storm you faced, and still persist
through summer
log splits, house full of
children, long commutes

electric
connection keeps forward thoughts
alive though
both know trials
in each other’s past.
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.
KH

Lottery
winner, Dillard’s wife,
purple scarf
for Allan
Chuse, you gave me the

nudge needed to keep
it going, never quit, go
out with a bang, ponder
life’s small and large questions
while also

harboring
multifaceted
lust angles
dreamt right in
class, satisfied at

night with others or
myself. Your prose poems proved
the two can meld; I never
believed it before your pen
out-whittled

us all. Your
hooded lips appeared, but
you did not
get the reference
be it ever so

juicy. Your
image, words, luck remain a
blast: a way
to bring the entire
experience back.
JL

It’s never good to get a
student’s name wrong when
so progressive, but
blurt out the
name of the “other” sophomore

who is also proud ,
and an African
American, the same way
you and I are white,
stark raving whiteys.

Henry was smart to launch your
stories, your well-versed
first-hand knowledge on
display, and,
in a sea of books, impact

that resonates in
this scattered mind that
can’t remember what its mouth
ate for lunch. You looked

forward to
having an adjunct Doug as
I cleared out.
that one line meant more
than you imagined

as solid
ink-flow continues to save
the same lost
soul, woeful, lonely-
heart, eat-at-desk man.
MC

The Senator, the
famous art building
that dropped Lee
Hansley, gallerist
now, curator then, yes you

whose friend said
I had done so much
for you, and, with that hint laid
the place we united as
the painter waited.

Muse of the Dinner
Party, having picked
half the wild
known characters for
the novella, as of now

still not quite
published. It’s your eyes,
soccer legs, real auburn hair
and gentle touch that beats down
thick skull, sends sparks from

who knows where.
Cyberspace has yet to yield
your married
name, so this haiku
represents all the

times I came
back to your room, a surprise,
but shoved off:
“you can’t just show up
and expect more love.”
April 7, 8, 9, 2013

Gramp was
born the seventh, and
the lunar one-year toast was
April eighth for the
strong man who

shook Dad’s hand as James
Hyuntay was held out
by Kwang Suk. The ninth is the
birthday of
our patriarch, the

man who would
have made little of
this coincidence. These fine
men mixed hard work with
simple joys

to give offspring all
the chance to achieve
anything they could think of:
large and small
dreams nurtured by such

diligence:
Harabojay, the first from
Jido to
matriculate at
Yonsei, Gramp, on top

of the ads
and marketing world, friend to
all, William
made photography
a household must-have.
LHE

The one who
exudes such
natural kindness
first introduces
her boyfriend, and then because

I sit alone, buys
chocolate-covered almonds at
Angel-in
us on Uchiro.
We met twice by luck

Inside a
Two week stretch.
She can’t help but help.
“You are lucky,” I say
to the man, also

skinny, who went for
the one who could never get
angry, laughs
genuinely and
has the fortitude

to allow
others to be themselves with
no demands,
expectations or
pushes to annoy.

I can’t be
sure of any of this, but
look at her:
the only trick would
be to stay as kind.
LAJ

Your real tears first shocked
then attracted one
more feeling
creature. He’s complex,
you are not.

He’s old, you are not. But that
square walk. The one in
which you told
of visiting-for
all-hours “cousin” who was

the other woman
even if he was
Islamic,
Even if your heart
Was shredded.

You reached, exposed, but did not
dream. A realist,
all you asked
was that he come to
you. Geography, the test,

a small one,
the only one he had to
pass. He told
me you will press his
heart, pet his arm, take

care of him
when he gets old. He fears you
are trapped and
knows time is running
out. Are you still there?
GW, M.D.

Family
Doctor, a blast form
the past, so concerned,
in touch with
all his patients’ needs. He found

love, he know so much
more than medicine. He, the
unlikely
muse of the memoir
I don’t have the courage to
Write. You know,

the book whose truths would
be better written
as novel
or drama: a six hour play
resembling Sartre

or Wagner, full of self-hate,
huge errors
from my own hand. Yes,
those P.T./I.N.R. checks

also serve
to remind how short life is,
thus, equal
inspiration, a
touch above home life,

a full ledge to peer
back from. Not enough
general
practitioners spread
the love like you do.
SA

You danced your way through
Bald Head with
No Boundaries, either in
art or wild
personal life. You

kept it fun,
invited Dick to
retire in your
special village, put the
painting I got on every

catalogue cover
because you
knew how broken I was, and
observed the
tear widen at times.

Without friends
like you this light would
have faded by now,
maybe not extinguished, nor
distinguished, just turned off by

disinterest.
We blew the Sea Frolic down
the beach a
mile before it got
demolished so a

new owner
could build a mausoleum,
the kind you
live out life in. We
will never “retire.”
LM

Big-smiling
Luc, so Swiss in the
charming sense, obsessed
by orange
on blue and tangled

figures. Are
they dancing, mating,
running from
war, or an extension of
Matisse? You once sent your full

pile of art,
via catalogue,
so I could show your
stuff to the
curator of the

latest big
Biennale, but
Gwangju was
unable to grasp your smart
version of love as you’ve known

it. We try
and try to snaek a living
out of our
passion, but hearts get
broken in many

ways when laid
bare on the wall, exposed to
critics
and nincompoops,, then
adored, brought to life.
PWT

Pamela started
it for all of us. If not
for you, where would we
be? What would we have

done with our art? How
much would we
have been able to
squeeze from brush
strokes, love hugs,

drab studio time
still wondering why?
But we didn’t have to dream
any more, the dream
had come true, the beach,

ever welcoming,
led offshore
to explore new lands,
invited
by your friends

to partake
of their culture, influenced
in ways we
didn’t expect. Flow
now Pam, keep the dance

alive, be
proud to have given so much
to all us
souls tethered by art
to your better world.
RJ

Acquainted by
marriage, friends via
art, always on the
move, but at wildly
different levels.

Your theory works: only show
in world capitals,
only teach
at the top
schools, only draw or

paint what is
in your heart, only
live a pristine life,
even if, at age
eleven your job

is to crawl under cars to
check for bombs as the
son of an
American
Diplomat. I want

To find the
Pottery you made back in
Baltimore
Days, or talk to Glass
Again to gain a
New angle
On an admirable life.
Performance,
install, web, draw, sculpt,
drift diary, drift.
GT

You battled through the
self-made traps with panache. This
led to explorations in
color, form,
media and love.

Canandaigua plus
birthday match
keeps you on my brain,
always wondering
if sailboats

or kilns, parties or
nature walks carry you to
the next paradise, this one,
the latest,
the one that earns your

time, heart, devotion.
In case your
wondering why I
didn’t model for
you, so am

I, a decade past
the chance. Youth exudes as water,
dripping off
from within, as if
your entire body

offered fresh
nutrients of joy, happy
times, a dance
with no end. The best
unrequited ream.
DR

Though your bass
could out-rebound you
in a pick-up game out back,
off one of those baskets seen
above grass

courts, with rusted hoop,
no net…but wait, this
is not the
dream you’ve lived. Hard work

at the state
aquarium that
allowed time to practice and
perfect abstractions, classic
rock, blues, and

multicultural
love. Not an easy
path all the
time, but such a tight
bond. Tina, I pray

found things to
do by or in beloved
Ochrid: trout
Sizzling after long
Marinade, cuisine

An added
Art. We’re waiting for your next
Tangential
Leap. Stay strong young friend,
And show us the way.
WAH

Now you’ve done it: put
your brain functions into you
official Curricula
Vitae. I hope this
works, because for me, the more

people know,
the more they back off.
It’s bullshit,
unbeatable
that people fear those

who, like us, have one
or more imperfections. Sure
it worked, post-facto, for Van
Gogh, but short-lived friends
were his sanctuary when

not writing
letters. Luckily
your happy
life has brought
such great art. Your large

fan base may
hide during economic
malaise, but
your music smarts, broad
conversations, draw

creative
salons, too infrequent, but
Internet
assistance connects
far-flung lunatics.
EL

Lasagna
from Argentina,
enthusiastic
student of Filer,
former Doc,

a research doctor
who took to smeared abstraction
like a “wuck”
to daughter, or a
master artist-singer

able, as
a lawyer might, to
create illusions
of alternate space
away from

today’s troubles long
enough to trade wallpaper
for cold hard
cash, but void any
emotion that might scare them

away. First
comes business, then wine, food and
merriment,
not stricken by pain
or affliction, but

rising to
meet slowing markets
with even
better work, a real
mastery of gold.
DP

Triple Dee
collaboration,
an early light on
dark South Glendale until jazz,
new-money

yuppies and taco-stands made
a complete street out of Lee
Hansley’s locale.
We glued, drew,
made work I never

would have thought
to do, except your
infectious verve, love
of colors, insistent push
to pull us

together for art. Does Boone
offer opportunities
so sinfully young?
Teenager
is what I love, so

I stayed, and
you played along, not many
do. Your luck
is the same as your
children’s: youth need not

be left, dumped
or forsaken if you find
a “young” job:
youthful tuning in
sixteen, C-Major.
AN

Back in Japan, where
he must pace himself
or face the certain aging
of a man fully
drained, depleted each

night by fun-
seeking art fans, or
mere passersby, he
just got a
write-up in an art

magazine based in
Osaka, city
of culture, which means we all
want an entrée under
his umbrella now.

Your women,
your self-taught art, your
Duke-level thinking
pushes late
conversations that

stay frontal
in a world overflowing
with stupid
“philosophers,” rank
hate-mongers. Thus friends

get bonus,
ladies learn more than body’s
responses,
viewers take in more
than strong images.
LC

Bunch the usual
ne’er-do-wells into
an alternative
Franklin Street, Chapel
Hill art café, and

presto! For
that brief period
she brought/gave
us the chance to let
it fly, hang it out in the

breeze for all to see,
some to comment on,
few, very few, to
purchase. That marble
effect you gave me

lingers, though
myself far flung to
just under
missile range on this
mountainous peninsula.

Natural
Carolina life seems so
happy, yet
only pictures tell
a story that must be

as complex
as you always were back when
we had time
to wander free, be
ourselves, love each other.

AS II

Leaf man, branch
collector, and rock
dangler, your feather
network flew to Florida
leaving us

to fend for ourselves.
Carved conceptual
art into
a scene both rigid
and experimental at

the edges.
You are one of the
few who deserves to
“make it,” whatever standard
That means. What

Now mailbox greeter?
Experimenter
delivers
ideas to a
once-stale coastline. If nothing

exciting
happens here again, we won’t
forget the
fast years you blew through
and tweaked the nose of

once-smug wives
of creepy bankers and land
deal con men.
Now surrounded, are
you at peace, in love?
JC

In the most
outdated
cravat he blows in
to his least
famous solo show

to date. Four super
paintings, sized
for major rooms in homes and
then an entire wall
not matching

character,
tone, even
aesthetics pops my
eyes out as
it stunk out

loud. This self-made man
of the arts
has it going on in all
Atlanta-style scenes,
on his way

to New York
of L.A., but God please do
nor record
or document that
Carrboro wall in

Any way
dude. Maybe it was your way
to show off
the prowess of those
vertical gem works?
DG

She will dart you into dust,
she was thrown at me by Joe
Wabe, she has a
Real need for closeness
Yet tires and bores easily.

Salwa, the
love of her life, gets
easily attached to all
new house friends;
she goes it alone,

sometimes appearing late
night in that loose-fitting top,
or bowling. Lately
serving sexy meals,
Egyptian morsels to fund

last-minute
matriculation
into a program that is
rapidly
changing to the post

Shin era.
Among a growing throng who
have settled
here, so far from home,
but safer: safer

than war torn,
rebellious, terrorists camps,
or millions
of refugees. Kim
Jung Eun is a joke.
WCSS

You dropped young Jule
into unknown Roosevelt
apartment, took off with Lee
to scope the Rochester gay
scene, or dance, or to…

She woke up
and cried, fell back to
sleep, woke up an cried, so I
hugged her and in my
mind I cried.

Back then I thought you
could replace the giant hole
in my heart; then two others
tried, but I cannot be changed
so they tired, as you

saw again
in beloved Hamburg;
even Brahms neighborhood
could not smooth over
the fact that

you were with
the new right man, and I had
stayed past the
expiration date
of the plastic key

in the nice
inexpensive place you found
us. You knew,
better than I, how time
flies, makes bad moves worse.

BC

On lead guitar is
Bradley Carr, adding “Midnight
Hour” to the
long list of covers
sprinkled with original

gems like “Out the Door
and Down the Road.” We
opened for all,
from Bobby Blue Bland to Roy
Buchanan, Toy Caldwell, back

when the Iroquois
rocked, and Roanoke
offered rogues
a way to scrape by
on very little: not that

we knew any! It
must have shocked you to
find Andrey
forced in, but right then we were
as good as any band had

to be to
continue the tour, pay for
small pay, enjoy
camaraderie and
each other’s antics.

Even I
have a child now, and often
wonder what’s
going on up there.
How are you old friend?
TW

Other than being
the creatively inclined
power in the rhythm group
that drove nails into shit shops
and songs into the

hearts and feet
on nice days to be
doing something. You
also went,
by old green Volvo

to count cigarettes
for Mary Ann. We were damned
spies cutting into some poor
sap’s meager extra wages
earned form smuggled tax

free boxes.
My favorite moment
was not on stage, but
when, to her
surprise, you lifted

the covers
on naked Penny. Exposed,
and tasty
one might add,
all she could do was

blush when you
asked if I was going to
join in the
fun. The best times of
my life still ring clear.
CM

You cranked us
up, stole band members,
pulled practice together, and
even bought
a van. By God we

were going to be
rock stars, ,or at least
regional favorites. ‘Shrooms for
the first show at the
Cave at Roanoke College.

Then a run
to Harrisonburg,
opening for Boyd Tinsley:
Charlottesville
in the pre-Dave days.

The Coffee Pot break
was as solid as
the glue you used to found us.
Your speed was full tilt
in a group of laid

back. Never
to forget the glory days,
now so far
away, but you found
a niche in music,

while some of
us hung it up completely.
For you the
motivation runs
deep. Rock on young man.
JB

How many
bags did you drop off
for Gitsies? When you lost the
love of your
life, broke your Les Paul and dove

into one
bottle after the
next, who failed to tell
you a better girl
would be along? Who

forgot to
force you into your
rightful slot as a full-time
band member?
I guess I screwed this hidden

assignment
too. Even morning
sober your guitar
made Dogwoods bloom and
sad men cry. You were

the great one,
but never cut yourself some
slack, some space
from which to re-grow,
as the bean sprouts in

the dead black
cabinet, or down a well.
Recall, please, your own
Kindness, simple times
Down by the river.
DN

You stayed a
friend when most just up
and disappeared. You
are surrounded by
complete, low

uncultured fools with nothing
better to do than
shoot up the neighborhood. Your
patriot glory
was short lived,

but you keep
smiling in the face
of adversity,
a lesson we could
all learn from

if we were in the mood to
actually lend
an \ear to such a hard fought
life. But who takes the
time to sit

and talk when
keyboards, pads and unmet “friends”
take us from
real banter, real needs,
real community?

Techno beat
our ass with screens long ago:
settled for
TV characters,
let’s gather again.
JZ

One day, while flying
Solo at Occoneechee
Golf Course, I
paired-up with someone
who would become my best friend.

It’s the best
Moment golf ever
Brought me, and that, up
Until then,
Included: ESPN

sending my brother
and I on the Concorde full
of major
stars, to the British
open, a handful of sand

blasts, putts and
six-irons for eye-
opening eagles
and growing
up on CCR, with scratch

golfers as
friends. Still, that day, maybe in
’02 or
so ranks as golf’s large
contribution to

this small life.
because this upstate man is
so kind, raised
great daughters, always
is happy, loves well.
KE

Songwriter of the
highest order, you also
reminded me to
keep playing.
one story turned the

regular
Roanoke days to
The Gadflies, and your
CDs kept coming
even after children blessed

your home, and the ups
and downs of life stretched your time:
creativity
squeezed into
precious spare moments.

You did it
your way, married for
love, gave your knowledge
and true kindness to
everyone in your path, so

lucky we
have been know natural
human love
expressed without thought:
a daily practice.

You must have
Achieved more than most, since your
Self-made pure
Karma remains near
its peak: nirvana?
TD

Chris Craft in
boat house: a touch of
history.
Ticonderoga,
as solid as your winter

summer eight iron
chips that save five or
ten strokes per
round. “Consistent” must
be a trait that helped

our forebears
to flourish: allows
us to play
on weekends, teach and
read or write during the week.

I don’t take lightly
those who witness golf’s
miracles.
Mine? One twenty five
over water for

eagle. Yours? An
ace at Tobacco Road. So
you saw some
serious hacking
too, but always cheered

even small
luck, the constant supporter
of friends and
family, being
human, do mess up.
AM

Soaring guitar, melodic
symphonies cranked via new
midi you
saved up for working
as nanny, tailor, unpaid

music star.
Your struggles were matched
by success,
until finally
you wound up

in Miami twenty years
later. So you stopped by my house,
found Kwang Suk,
and the next winter
I was slammed domestically

so our long
awaited meeting
waits in the
corner, another dance
to be a

wallflower,
growing a life of its own
despite your
best efforts, and my
book on Russia. I

hung up all
three bass guitars to make a
better life,
but Roanoke was
“better life,” and you?
JMK

This man who
I met three times comes
back down from
Seoul in a timed way he
could not hide

by saying he comes
in spring to climb Meudungsan,
even though he is
Japanese.
He is a

consultant
and multi-lingual,
disciplined
in four or five fields.
Pertinent

this visit is his
psychology degree as
everyone in town
now asks if
I am sad,

or feeling
OK, and one exposed that
she heard I
was not happy at
all, but how did they

know? Who called
him in? What will come of my
life this time,
now, good doctor, that
I succumbed for keeps?
SD

You are too young to
know these are
my love poems to
those who may have a large
or small chance of tears

if ever
they heard of the demise
of fat flame
left many
wondering why. As

in WI dance or darts
or other
ways to fend off the
confusion losing union
can bring. It’s good you

know your Dad
again but your Mom
needs you more,
fought for you,
stayed in desolate

surroundings
until she fit in, but with
nothing like
the life she knew. You
get to make any

life you want.
So go out and grab it, do
not be tied
nor bound to follow
anyone but you.

CH

Yours was the
first I felt after
a four year layoff.
It was in the hall
at Anclote,

you expected a
whole lot more
so we retired to a
bathroom in
the back of the hot

kitchen I
washed dishes in to
complete what had been
started with a kiss,
a finger,

a smile, and this strange
longing for
human contact where it was
banned for odd
reasons none of us

could get a
handle on. A Florida
sub-group as
small as sequestered
grand juries, yet, though

love starved to
the point of insanity,
were thereby
restricted from love.
They closed that fucker.
PB

There have been billions
of crossroads, but none meant more
than the time, up on
Leslie Lane, smoke in hand, when
your roommate was in

laughing full
romp, and I failed to
grab a left turn, stayed
straight, and twisted in the wind
of bad stars,

my own poor life that
turned good to bad, and simple
bad matches. Oh you had
a huge heart for me, and a
compost pile, and the

exact same
outlook, but I had
not grasped the hint your
mother threw, nor did I know
I could be

so lucky.
Your art, your humanity
Must be a
Great mother by now.
I checked out of the

co-op, not
knowing I would never see
you again,
but never has come
and gone. I fucked up.
AL

You got quite a ride
the day the cat flipped
over and I wasn’t yet
adept at righting
a capsized sail boat.

You, the first
in a long series
of “could-have-beens” have been the
hardest to clear from
oft-addled

brain. Canandaigua
remains your home, and
if, as they say, heart dictates
where our homes are then
this is another

choice not made,
strike two, if you will.
This heart first throbbed for you; yet
I never moved the
Way you had

To have me
move, even uttering that
“family
jewels” line. Legend
has it another

trumpet man
entered, but I still have the
letters you
sent to Holderness.
All’s well, good to hear.
TKW

Described by Janz as
“eternal
adolescent,” but art is
an adult sphere for
those who end

being in
among the swarms of
color-flingers, bright
bulb idea guys,
women with

a brush to grind, you
still wear the
fedora, still hang, Weaver
Street itself knows your
foot beat, smell

laugh. The Louvre
Shack was an art piece
in itself, socked-assed
puppets, some nudist
handed his

camera
to sophomoric coeds who
snapped away
anyway. Your stash
of music was one

of many
lures ladies young and old could
rely on.
Dennis Oppenheim
never had this life.

AB

He organizes
volunteers for Sung Bin, the
orphanage
for girls, young women
here in Gwangju. Former man
with “wheels to the stars,”
everyone feels his
presence when
he enters a room.
Often a room to
raise money for yet
another cause, or quaffing
water at
Alleyways, he’s a
miracle in shades, glad to
be here. He caught the
Gwangju spirit and
volunteers
as both thank you and
diligence, thus a
carrying-
card Gwangjuvian, is one
of two I
know who lost daughters.
Such unexpected
sadness was
debilitating only
a short time,
smoothly he returned
to cheer us all up.

SRC
Her mane, that
of a Chow Chow, and
DSL beauty
that defines
modern Korea,
walks into Kino
on her birthday, no less, to
celebrate via
videos
of old music stars
she hardly
knows. If the place had
been full she
and her friend
may have stayed longer,
but she’s on to you
and that’s unusual in
a place where square has
a quantum
definition, the
layers of
which can be hidden by light
blue mini
skirt, open
philosophy, then
exposed first
by nondrinking status, then
confirmed as
banter meant to spark
a push out the door.

JAP, II

You bought in
to the principle (al)
that profit is king, and this
was noble
thinking, considering

what the market has
done for you (and me?) but long
ago, after your
brother and I met square-on
in a chicken match

over on
the west side of the
chosen lake, Canandaigua,
Jack put his
foot down on any

association
with Stuber, except maybe
as client, from a
distance, “managed” once a year
regardless of trite

order to
sell. So we met once again
floating your
fortieth birthday,
but I let you have

your day, skipped
Thirstys, it being your joint
not ever
mine. I’ve done well for
labor, planet earth.
JP

Snow flies through closing
door, bark peels
away from fire log
placed on embers, entices
old friend to new play.

Cross country
ski, or boat purchase,
defense on Navy’s
hockey club,
barefoot skiing on

the lake where your Dad
bought the house
my Dad built with his
own hands. Luck eh? And down
to Rake’s to fill-up,
overnight
camp out on Squaw, the
small island in such
shallow green
in lake of deep blue.

Smoke stacks for
the environment, roller
blades for hot
weather exercise,
children mostly grown,

and the joy
of being a unit for
as long as’
possible in the
human realm. Peaches.
DH

Soccer star,
hoop magician, stunned
when A/C gave you all you
could handle
since I was on the

victorious team.
Ah, but I the bench
warmer, was
not you, star center.
What’s new in the lab or out

in the field?
Far astray from our
Barnard Track days, away from
wedgies to
Goldberg, chasing Kim,

Screwing up party
plans by calling on
the day of
the gathering, I
still remember between- the-

leg passes,
wicked slap shots, your first time
stories, as
they were first in a
neighborhood full of

latter-day
playboys, but none worked harder
to attain
sports fame. Long lost, it
could take time to know…
DH, II

Commissioner, how
did that chance
to save your family land
work out? Lewis and
Clark sure did

not steal land
as they went, and our
friend Jefferson ended up
millions in debt back when a
dollar was a good

week’s pay. So what of
these bailed out
bankers while austerity
rules the land? Got a
new plan that

can save a
town, village, household?
That’s it! Stay local, make a
place that works outside the damned
globalized, profit,

fascist hold
on the planet. True, people
everywhere
would have to form new
cooperative farms,

urban style
communes,
and barter, to stay
clear of tax-
as-war-support, or
we’re all culpable.
SH

You, thespian, moved
not just into my building,
but down the hall. Showed
up at a party in a
gold Lemay mini that gave

Lee a run for his
money, yet
his hip-high
banana-sticking-
out-cake did ice the fact

Ben preferred to break
down his own door than
to risk a couch sleep
among such company. Then
the novel-length text message

we had about the
confusion
you caused to
yourself when first struck
then annoyed, then let loose by

dreamy one,
only to make eyes at an
Irish soft-
eyed wonder, only
to lose out again,

just in time
for Ben to re-enter, so
to speak, whisk
you from Brooklyn to
Boston. Stay young Q.
CD

The Red Lion Inn,
no matter
who owned it, or ran
Country Curtains,
or who tended bar

in the basement tin-
ceilinged, red velvet, Stormin’
Norman and
Susie-styled stage size,
could never equal

the pure New England
touch of its
ultimate man-of-
the-house, Church
Davis. His navy

blue blazer always
welcoming guests from the porch
to the round
tables-for-ten served
family style. Old

Fitzpatrick
briefly lost then regained your
finesse in
dealing with things
like the stolen glass

collection
in some alcoholic’s small
apartment.
Stockbridge was/is a
Rockwell/Davis thing.
Lorant Forizs

Your wife wrote
a response to a Christmas
card to let me know you had
died. You, the swimmer, the one
who escaped

Andropov, leaving
Budapest,
eating out of a
can, if at all, and
making it to the

USA.
Already wise, before “The
Loops and Interfaces of
Man” appeared: you managed to
convince an

inveterate, cheap
liar that
my main goal in life
was to seek the truth.
Not once did you blurt

obvious
stuff, like it was myself I’d
have to fool
to become a truth
sayer. I’m less off,

less rattled,
less depressed, more able to
love, thanks to
you. And you liked my
paintings, no kidding.
LI, M.D.

You punted me to
George, not so much due
to your retirement,
but out of sheer nods
and sleeping through an

incessant repetition
of incurable
bullshit. Still,
it was the upper
overdose, brought on by an

hysterical, yet
incorrect home nurse
that allowed a huge
relapse, plus complete
permanent loss of

friendship with my favorite
cousin, so get thee
to tennis
or some other pass
time surrounded by unsold

pottery.
You are nice, full of good will,
work hard, and
never quit, none of
which proves your prowess

as healer.
How could you know that I had
resolved my
brother’s death many
years before he died?
AB II

You kept swimming, though
long since blind. You stunned memoir
writers with
your amazing tale:
you ran with brother, away

from Warsaw Ghetto.
Lost him and
every single aunt
sister, family but
survived, only to succumb

to the Russians, who
made you a soldier against
your own, then
survived the brutal
winters in a labor camp,

escaping on a
log that, though
frozen, floated far
enough to you
to Istanbul where you made

it over
to Eqgypt and fixed machines
for British
tank soldiers until
you made it to the

US troops
in Italy. Fought, repaired
with them all
the way, then married
a Dutch Catholic.
HY

Park So Young
invited me to
that fateful
dinner at the fancy place
where the art

lady hung color
square stuff and
the food was almost as good
as the new faces, none more
alluring than yours.

We’ve stayed in
and out of touch, yet
manage
small
rendez-vous, Kyoung Mi tagging
along, still

in quest of a mate,
but not you,
no, your face was not going
to be left alone. Age has
added luster, so

now you raise
your last child with a throng of
friends, mostly
women, as is the
norm. so the culture

here is in
good hands. Let’s travel far some
time, as this
is your goal and my
pleasure. Bon Apetite!
RE

Nurse by trade, who could
forget that we were
roommates in two completely
different places,
one good for nothing,

the other
your home town. And you
hung in there with Mike,
saw Eddie get a
five-gallon

wake-up call, did all
the normal Gainesville
activities, and became
an important link
from hard past to an

easy time,
relaxed study, and
conversations that
ranged form big toes
to Tracy

Spiegel: the
hot new band to “new music,”
the death
of rock to how Gators
everywhere know the

score, meet at
CJs, at least in their minds,
while you, who
thrive, do so with large
home field advantage.

PS

Pedigree
anthropologist,
learned from Ruth, who from Margaret
learned from Boaz at
the birthplace

of the discipline:
in northern
Manhattan, Columbia.
consummate hostess
with giant spider: insect

repellent
pet that shocked guests as
they munched on colorful twang:
flowers we once thought
reserved for

bouquets. They tasted
peppery
and this meal introduced me
to Jennifer, who
I lost to Mike, then found, but

made my worst
lifetime error with. Extend
my sincere
apologies to
your good taste in this

matter, now
ten years too late. Your garden
in Irvine
still blooms, your sincere
love still felt by all.

WL

You, so bright, so tight,
expected firm baked
poems, just
as The New Yorker
was printing.

You scored by twenty
nine, then had a great
job busting
the chops of
would-be poetry stars. So

I came back for more
after that little
degree from
Hollins. You were not
impressed, huddled

with Deborah, no
doubt around fabled
duck pond, the
scene of a
Robert Merrill visit. Aren’t

you glad I
suggested Donald Hall since
he became
poet laureate?
One day you will hold

this honor.
back then Eberhardt, Justice
Paddget and
Harry Crews roamed. How’s
it hangin’ William?
BD

Chamber Pop,
the music genre
named by you to describe your
post-Costello taste,
has no been

ascribed to
many stars
who have achieved at
least national bar tour fame.
It’s beyond unfair, yet a

typical
result in any
creative endeavor: luck plays
a role, and absurd
ass-kissing.

May the luck
prove out in
ol’ St. Louis, and,
with the support you’ve enjoyed
at home, the force is always

with you: rock
on. Sorry to have tried, but
failed to be
the type of bassist
you are, but not much

time wasted,
and the memories of such
delicious
songs ring in ears too
often polluted.
DS

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
“bikinied”
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?
RW

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

Allendale
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?
Wittenberg
probably felt a
lot more like home. The

connection
to William, baritone plus
continued
awe of your real take
on life flows on here.
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?
NZ

Paisley flop
hat as urinal
put me in my place,
solidified my spot at
the bottom of the

social food
chain, though as a large
minnow. You helped me learn how
to fend for myself.
Later I

hoisted Kim
as an attempted to
gain further favor in the
hip crowd, but it came when you
and I parted schools.

Holderness
gave a chance to be
tight, but Macy and the jock
Marblehead clique ruled
so we slunk

to far ends,
opposite sides, and made peace
via herbs
and log cabins, self
generated food,

organic
existence, or continued
battles fought
on behalf of friends
and strangers in need
Roy Buchanan

First you invited us to
have a beer in your
van, then you
offered back stage fun
by the lake in Syracuse.

The DBs,
then you, Little Feat:
a legendary
show because it changed
my life. Oh, but I still cry

about yours. What the hell made
it impossible
for you to
resist whatever
recreational was in

front of you,
or bar fights? You home
town of Reston police
finally had enough, too
much, but how did this lead such

a gifted
guitarist to end it all?
Or did you
have it ended for
you? I switched the guilt

I felt to
a story in my favor.
I still pray
our short time as friends
was good for you too.
PRG

You dove in and swam
all the way to under the
raft under water. The same
raft that saw
water and adult

games. It had
a three-step ladder
to a platform you
jumped off, onto trampoline
then into cool clear

water back when out
beat in, before cell phones took
nature away from most kids.
You still go
camping, enjoy your

neighborhood
from over the hill.
On one night, with one
chance I decided not to
ask. Lucky for you,

Maybe not
for me. How could I resist
you? I knew
I’d never be the
mature one: not a church

goer. A
good match? Well I haven’t been
a good match
for anyone yet:
there’s your clue cute Pam.
R “H” R

You went with
Joy to the beat of
the Bedford/Lynchburg crowd and
asked if I had done
right by my

vote once. So close yet
so far. A one-hour
drive I made
one time before we
both knew philosophical

differences
made socializing
too hard to try. I hope those
nuclear fuels
for U.S.

submarines kept
your family in
good stead at
church, well fed, happy
and adept at change because

change will come.
Church-sponsored war is bound to
end at some
point, but, as a friend
I pray this happens

long after
our working days are over.
If this finds
you, let’s reunite,
cook out, talk sports, love.
Reality Drill, Spring 2013

Taurus comes around again to remind us that the
bulldog or bull types may have a fun life, but cause
a lot of misery along the way. For men the only sign
more insanely aggressive is the tricky, often purely
manipulative Scorpio group. They rise to the top as
Machiavelli prescribes, then take credit for other
people’s work, while always recruiting an expanding
power base. A capitalist’s dream birth month for
her number one son thus being November. So how
to infuse creative verve associated with Gemini?
Elementary school sirens blare a practice drill here
at the tip of the world war spear, so it all may be a
moot point if ever these drills are attached to real
bombs. Dust flies as children line up or run home
before being accounted for. Accounted for, ha!
None of the creeps above is accountable for anything
other than profit. Even if their own cloistered New
England boarding school brats seem safe, maybe the
Next school slaying will be revolutionary, in which a
Fed up impoverished man goes nuts all over rich kids.
4 November 2011, 7 May 2013

The most orange sun
ever sinks
under old stretched wire,
lower half fades out.
Dusty sunset in

autumn haze
defines harvest as
rice fields burn, sun eclipsed,
then gone as
brisk air aids breathing,

but spring style dust then
heat blares. So
single diners are
turned away for fear
they’d embarrass the

others, or
themselves: blossoms range
from muted cherry to the
absurd red-
pink azalea bush

smashes, a
juxtaposition more op-
art than those
thin-lined paintings by
Anuskiewicz. March

brought one more
round of U.S. war games, which
caused Kim Jung
Eun to launch missiles.
When will it end? How?
Activating Young Haves

Isn’t it the bomb when one of three decent food
joints opens a second helping right down the street?
Meeting get more accomplished when the food’s good. Up
here the music and atmosphere beat surrounding competitors,
so escaping the grind is possible as well. Lemon Table, a real
Gwangju original, has given in to witness a lot of love
bloom, even more friends laugh. This time Kang Dan Bi
and Ju Hee, next time Little Bear suggests his burger
heaven, and Big Bear easily agrees. We, the lucky ones,
earn enough to eat out, relax, not worry where our
next meal is going to come from. We salute those
who teach how to create local economies that provide
meager livings form micro-loans, like Peace Boat, or
the group that hands out livestock, mostly chickens and
goats. Isn’t it amazing the changes that occur for so little
for so many with so few coordinating the whole shebang?
It’s a drop in the globalized, for-profit, cheap labor bucket,
but how did we all give up natural instincts in favor of suburbia,
or urban wealth? City dwellers have outnumbered the
countryside humans since nineteen ninety four. Too bad.
Seoul, Oh; So Low; Solo

Drenched girls scope
Uchiro, a road
that defines
Chonnam from Humun,
scholars from hunters.

Style points must
be made at all times:
now Burberry umbrellas,
to save hair,
high heeled rubber boots.

My love struts
Confidently rain
Or shine, her
New smile displays what
Her mouth cannot tell.

Happiness
spreads to all who know
her, making
this a spring she will
remember as love

unfolds, brings
new horizons into view.
She may be
only seeing them
in isolation,

but this is
when we need the breathing space
the most, is
it not? Go fourth in
peace without me now.
The Dating Game

Here in the land of lips, where hand-crafted faces
usually smile, and fashion, instilled by pop icons
creates consumer-crazy eye-candy at a seventy percent
clip: where even the boys don pork-pie hats and Buddy
Holly thick frames, or silver shiny suits to match chrome
speckled cars, the young have quantum leaped generation
gaps, creating sea, nay ocean between stunned Confucian
parents, who can’t bear to have the fun their children
are. Pairs, conceived by beauty likeness or wallet fatness
still give in to parental norms by playing hard to get, until
soju, the cheapest drunk-per-dollar available on planet
Earth, kicks in to free both body and mind. Ancient ties
still bind until marriage, but three levels of dating occur
on the peninsula: one-night romance, either with or without
wooing period, long-standing, in which some or all friends
know about it, or the guy who is invited to her house for
Thanksgiving dinner. Openly confident women wonder
when men will grow the nerve to come right out and ask,
so the classic “set-up” date where her best friend picks a boy,
or his best friend picks any girl adds quick sex to the mix.
RS

Albatross hangs on
another’s neck, the
smallest significant font,
self-printed
magic poetry

eco-write
has going for it.
Brilliant oft’ elusive scribe,
your mix of father
and full time

librarian has
brought great books and strong
poems to our attention.
Your sons made
a movie that grows,

migrates to
one festival then
another. Your TV is
boxed up, allowed small
time, thus you

saved brains for
creative work that exposed
the huge gap
between rich and poor:
U.S.—Mexican

divide aired
from labor’s point of view. Your
own poems
are worthy of the
postage, let them fly.

DTM

Style, humor,
unexpected twists,
your type of poetic verve
is understated
yet lasts in

brains you haven’t yet
met. When the girl in pink socks,
platform shoes and done
face glances three times, to you
it is a story, to us

not noticed.
You’ve kept the Friday
Noon poets going and the
service this provides
to aging

radicals and blessed
thinkers, those who listen and
those who write, makes our
town a better place. What of
cats, outer Cary, romance

of the kind
only California could
bring? Infused
nature sparks lines, but
your optimism

is what keeps
books sales as high as two or
three hundred:
the type of numbers
laureates deserve?
The Dream

I jumped in the car
with Leo, or was
it Bradley?
we motored I-Eighty One to
way west of Scranton to a

red fieldstone with
fancy peaked
entryway with arch,
keystone and
contrasting yellow

rocks scattered in. To
my surprise, we were
there to meet
Bob Dylan, played very well
by Dustin Hoffman. He was

put off by strangers,
protected
well by doting
younger blonde,
yet followed us to

jam with friends,
show us the surrounding hills
and mountains,
skip stones in flowing
Susquehanna, laugh

at our youths
and finally thank us for
stopping by
to spend time, eat, drink,
relive merry days.
McG S

Maybe my case helped
push you into shrink-hood in
Burlington, land of
Strung-out hippies, permanent
New Yorkers who need

advice like
cows need grass, Ben
needs Jerry. You listened well
when I needed you.
You made me

want to keep writing,
to teach, to snuggle up to
women I could have,
not just dreams. You hired Brian
to babysit; this

left me to
fantasize about
Stroud’s wife, and forever seek
redheads. Your knowledge
of hockey

was less than
mine, but you coached it out of
duty. It’s
been thirty seven
years: are you alive

old man? To
me you will always be, so
it matters
not. Our friendship kept
me alive. Thank you.
RHWD

Your pen, so
lively, your class notes
on Faulkner, Steinbeck
impeccable, your legend
among close

romantic circles
could last forever.
Mostly, devices like the
hit-or-miss hammer
and gong-o-meter

for would-be
poets, and the brains
to guide quietly.
No place has ever been thus
defined by a

single intellect.
Still, how can I skip
the time you got booted out
of the women’s dorm
(there are no men’s dorms

at Hollins)
after hours, asleep on
the couch, not
even in her arms,
thank God! The saving

grace being
you married this one, the one
who writes from
her heart: pure, feeling
original. Cheers!
MB

Your id, untainted
by such normal and
electric
chemical boundaries
as ego
or superego
flies around
asking all passing
females for a date, even
though you have a gal

just over half your
age waiting for you,
which is why
you want to hang out
somewhere else.

Even if it’s two
blocks away
in a very small
town, you’re willing to make a
“new friend” every hour.

You, sir, are
the walking definition
of a cad,
taking manhood to
a new low. You asked

if you could
sit in my class. Oh for God’s
sake you take
me for a fool or
are completely lost.

Blossom Picking

Spring means beauty, open and hidden rushes in and out.
Black top, fuchsia mini, stiletto heals, whining about dining
at a better spot, so she yanks her boy southward exposing
thigh tattoo, she’s the open type. Gray sweats, gray hat, pulled
low due to plastic surgery is even more alluring, but she doesn’t
even want friends to figure out who she is with until those
eyelids flatten out. They try so hard here because beauty is the
only sure-fire way to “marry up,” just like anywhere else.
Now even more spoiled than their American contemporaries
these Seoul university tarts, dressed Gangnam style, forty kilos
soaking wet, unable to complete even simple chores
their grandmothers still do with ease, they float from
one-nighters to two month attachments until finally
assured their men can keep them better off than Daddy
down in Gwangju did. Of course he’s in debt due
to all the private academies, plus Seoul tuition, so his
little girl better score the right man, or what was all
the investment good for? Love as a commodity is nothing
new, it’s damn near universal that people want to add
moving up economically to the list of what makes a good mate.
Onward Native Sons!

Life mimics sci-fi
doomsday flicks
as brain tumors grow
from our phones, leaders
plan attacks

with drones leading on
collateral damage charts
while eight types of drugs
mix with sports, sex and
talk to smooth war’s transgressions.

You hunker down, plant
protein trees,
pecans, persimmons,
peaches, figs knowing
what you teach

now could save him when
prices soar, bullets fly, jets
break silence, sonic
booms forever shake
neighbor’s cattle, rattle dogs,

deer, rabbits,
but these details never
amount to
peace movement, or was
our occupation

a passing
fad, easily dismissed and
completely
futile? Stand rebels,
go forth until death!
L aka BH

What must it
have been like to be
led around Hamburg, in full
regalia
by Wiebke, as it

were, “introduced” to
the fair city’s most
and least notorious? But
it was that first show,
Genesee

mud flowing
aside that blew our
minds. Had I been a
prophet I’d
have had them all, but,

alas, stuck in poor
yet humorous trades,
I still feel happy to know
the grown up artist,
as our loose

connection
via ADTEC: your father,
my second
cousin, never would
have kept us in touch.

To art then,
not for art’s sake but for the
binds it ties.
be more productive
my friend: exhibit.
JM

Our June day
so similar, and
perverse (?) desire to
mate with new
friends, granted, from different

points of view, angles
if you will.
How magic for you
to offer so much
to those trapped

or propelled
by art, those whose true
talent doubles as
refuge in
a world long lost to profit

and war. Isn’t it
natural
that more would flow to
break into a world
that doesn’t

resemble
reality in any
way? But you
could color your dreams
like few ever, thus

making a
formidable mentor, so
rare among
the “truly gifted
artist” group. Good job!
JC

Piano brings in
the Do-Re-Mi here
where it is
of concern, but I like your
art the most. Not too

many can
be as supportive,
stir such a lemon
ice cream, smile, laugh learn
while teaching humanity

as if a course was
needed, but in this
age it sure
is. You help make foundations
for those to follow

their dreams in,
go further with their
art than they ever
thought, like France, Raleigh,
Macedonia. Simple

Connections
rarely turn commonplace or last
on a face
to face basis no
less artistic

level love.
Your shine spreads in ways we all
understand;
a shine that makes our
quick lives more joyous.
BB

How did we
lose touch? What are you
doing? When is your next show
in Cologne?
Is Frida still in

your house, or has she,
like most loves
or people, moved on?
No one ever spent
so much time with her art, or

deserved a
major break the way
you do. Investigating
color smash
combinations, the

way you pile it up
until the
surface is imbued,
multiple subjects
come and go, but obvious

lens effect
games are not your style. Express
those rough
lines my friend, German-
style while pushing art

your way, as
your heart alone is the one
that beats new
meaning out of an
old form, unique star.
CT

She runs through
the minds of every
boy or man who ever knew
her in the
eighties. Palm Harbor’s

finest: blonde red hair,
freckles, a
touch darker than forever
tan, sported
for all to admire,

dream about,
sprout about, and one
of my friends got to date you
for a while.
Us men don’t forget

the names or face of
a beauty
like you. It must be a big
burden to
have to dust off so

many men
all the time. So what did you
do with your
choice? Maybe you are
still single, that would

be a hoot.
My last viewing was as you
walked in from
your car. We trailed you
but got no invite.
DF

You asked me to lunch
then went straight to the
shower. I took that
hint, and we
stayed friends, then loose friends until

finally I missed Panthers
hockey, and, though just
one beach up
we lost what
may have been our last

chance to meet face-to-
face. Here May’s wind moves
Buddha’s birthday signs,
Doctor Seuss
looking furry needled pine,

or conifer of some type.
I brought my son to
the border
of insane
in South Korea.

I hope you
read that this life finally
settled down
to domestic bliss.
Raising one son has

given me
something more than watching you
play tennis
or eating tuna
together: new life.
PM

You drew those
incredible fun
characters, adding
life to regular
poems in the Obelisk.

Your Italian style
tennis was nearly
flawless. Your
face, physique, almost
Michelangelo

beautiful.
So I got you to
join me off the court
in as many ways
as I could devise without

scaring you away.
Just to be with you,
laugh, gave such
pleasure at a time
when motoring to

school on a
moped was embarrassing.
Your prompt pushed
me to four visits,
mostly Tuscany,

and my own
art, perhaps improved, goes on
all over,
like Bulgaria,
Korea, your heart.
DT

You heard bass
guitar coming out
of stereo rig
in Brandywine. Being a
player we made Lewis and

Clark, went to
Seattle, tried to
record, stayed with Bill,
Marilyn,
Charlie. David was

just born, life
was merry, but we
could not sing, lobster
dinners were the best part. You
allowed my friend to park her

van many
years later. After
Amy Grant, country
tour, practice
with budding bud, some

kid whose Dad
paid you to practice. That’s how
good you are,
and your wife, children
band mates all prosper

due to your
positive vibe. Brazil is
in your blood,
magic guitar, you
kept me playing hard.

RB

Roberto,
are you still selling
cars? Is your strong will
still alive?
Personality

goes a long way when
the family name does not
apply due
to being so far
from Manila, yet your friend

count was so
high back when we roamed
for used cars, and I
settled for
a seventy three

Volvo one sixty
four. You advised for either
a better
car, or a lower
price, but “the Boss” went on and

on, maybe
still floating around Gainesville,
who knows. Did
you ever pick just
one woman, or has

your career
bachelor status remained
past middle
age? Memories crank
back. Pinay rule here.
MR

The loop box,
a rewinding and
playback effects was
alluring,
but it was the jams

at the power lines
acquiring
electricity
illegally that drew big
crowds: second

round of youth
hippies started soon
in Florida where
babies came
naturally in

teen years. So nineteen
seventy
eight was the age when
everyone’s parents were hip,
large doses

of fun were
not scolded bur applauded.
Before you
my days had been trapped

inside walls,
plexiglass, miasma of
my making.
Music, salvation
in four strings, strong beats.
CU

You cared for me and
know escape would be
hard because my family
could keep me
in forever. We

hugged, an allowed contact on
the patio, the
scene of past
writing, none better
than when you were on my mind.

Your tongue protrudes in
a small square photo
tucked away in the second
drawer of
my sister’s old set

in a storage room rarely
visited, except
to see old
pictures. Most are hung,
but I slide the drawer to see

you more than
you’d expect. That was back when
love was love,
money came easy,
sun baked us to tan

not red. I
bet your life, due to looks
and youthful
personality
must be great by now.
LDG

Your genuine smile,
hidden Ingrid Bergman style,
with scarf, dark
sun glasses
shows the depth of emotion

to be natural,
nor method,
on stage, in life; yet
some are allowed
to interrupt your

life’s pursuits. Some, like
me, are children, sincere and
seeking hard
answers to
seemingly easy questions.

You act, but it is
Not acting.
Every, any part
Becomes you. You are
Every part. Not a

tear nor drop
of sweat out of place, as if
you and the
playwright conceived not
just this drama but

your entire
lives together somehow. You
walk on the
way others refresh
their lives, friend to all.
PDB

Rouge cheeks and
Bright eyes over the
Same loose-fitting hippy dress
And gray T-shirt.
I wonder

how precious time is spent when
not reading, and guess
she works and plays and uses
make-up to try to
cover exhaustion.

Straight As, and
a team player, she makes
new friends, most do not. Once she
sat in on class long
enough to

know it was too hard. She said
she would be back, so
here she is, shining not to
be known as best, but
happy anyway.

Too many
students never get involved;
they waltz through
classes as if their
looks or family

name should be
enough to score a grade, as
if Chonnam
were Harvard: then come
the fresh real learners.
T-50

Every noon they take
flight over Gwangju,
not just as a check,
nor reminder of
air force glory from

the nineteen
fifties, but these days
because noon is not
enough. Continual guard,
vigilant patrol

in case Kim Jung Eun
is not “Kid”-ing, but
truly will goad
a reaction, a step

up ladder
to ramp the creeping
world war three that, as
historians will recall,
began on August
thirty first
nineteen ninety seven when
Diana
and Dodi died “by
accident.” Then nine

eleven,
now and evermore battle
for oil and
resources that can
make the rich richer.
JP

Snow flies through closing
door, bark peels
away from fire log
placed on embers, entices
old friend to new play.

Cross country
ski, or boat purchase,
defense on Navy’s
hockey club,
barefoot skiing on

the lake where your Dad
bought the house
my Dad built with his
own hands. Luck eh? And down
to Rake’s to fill-up,
overnight
camp out on Squaw, the
small island in such
shallow green
in lake of deep blue.

Smoke stacks for
the environment, roller
blades for hot
weather exercise,
children mostly grown,

and the joy
of being a unit for
as long as’
possible in the
human realm. Peaches.

Merritt A. Cleveland
Tennis may
have been the first glance
grabber, but your squash,
hunting, fishing just as
strong. Rumor has it you let
loose those last three weeks,
thus pushing
for some type of tie
when we all
knew none was ever
possible.
Why it took until
the final hour is
explainable by the way
you measured each shot down to
dram level so as
to keep the
bar bountiful, and
not incur
what must have been a
major load
of wrath if over serving
family
and friends. You were
the sunny side of
Whitney Lane,
never saw you mad. Each
putt you left
short meant one whisky
poured straight from the bag.

DA
Saint Pete Jay Cee had
a few lunatics. Some were
certified, out on
good behavior, others dropped
not far from their fathers, and
made perfect
roommates for, among
other things, Gator
bikini girl shoots,
and we watched the changing room
openly, or three-
times-the-speed-limit races
home from the parking
lot. Tops was “Recovery
Eighty Five,” in which huge jugs,
allotments
of fifteen hundred
per nostrum were spent
on bending nights in
places like Cedar Key, with
Amy, or
whoever, ruined for five
days or so.
And we drove back! What
Of Guppie or Miss
Bonfield, known
as Bon-Bon? Media Blast
was all ours:
the best J-School drunk:
over three hundred!

DS
When dungeons
re-emerge, not in
Guantanamo, but
F.E.M.A camps, will some players
be able
to conquer the beasts
save crying
princess, beat
concrete gas lines and
train “depots” that lead straight to
hell, not for
passengers, but for
all humanity?
you sir, have the power to
change lives, live
large, due to lucky
combo of
brains, nerve and
creativity.
What will it be, strawberry-
blonde lover,
or public crusader, beach
lounge, or at
every meeting, all
marches, screaming for
love, kindness,
mercy in the face of such
evil as
no comic has yet
devised. Come join man.

MMK
You were the first real one, and
I went off to caddy like
a dumb ass.
Your smarts for
psychology is only
surpassed by the care
you give to
diverse and
crazy patients. Six
years after you snuck through
the window at Brandywine
I dropped back down for a year
and called, but
your full life
had no time for the past. I
never would have known
my own good
side if not
for you. Every car
seat conversation is clear,
and the month
you let me crash, pushing back on
my attempts
to re-ignite taught
me how to let go
without blues
dominating in a way
that preserves
precious memories.
Your charm caused real growth.

LW
You were three
years or so younger in the
French class we sat in.
both bored but you more
so because
at least I
had you to look at.
Columbia
had the plaid
blue, yellow, white skirts,
so the big
challenge was the color of
panties. Male lunch talk
had to include a
report of
who was in
which color, otherwise
you could get
ridiculed.
But I want you to
know I took
all the ribbings failure can
offer, and
never once gave up
your secret, though I
always knew.
I held out, hoping that to
do so would
not, we never talked.

NKS
Did you love or hate
the black Ford
Fairlane, circa nineteen and
sixty five?
My tolerance was
matched by your
need for fun
and mischief. As a
roommate you’d
rank a fun one. So what if
it took a while to
iron it
all out? You hung tough then got
hit with the
worst possible scene.
A few times
I tried to
crack into your heart
just after,
then realized it was not
wise, backed off
until you recovered. Now
then Nancy,
how is “positive
life”: these days? You made
it, cleared all
tests. Here’s to smooth sailing and
real love, to
genuine friends, peace,
real autonomy.

ET
Swiss beauty, if it
flows through New
Jersey, spreads legs, accepts one
or two who
do not last, just for
the fun of
it. How you
ended up a strong District
Attorney I will
never know.
Yet, I doubt you’ve found
a way to
forget the wild romps, escape
from frozen
rules, or bullshit that
flew. Maybe
it was your
inadvertent exposure
to conniving lies
that helped you
beat both those
arrested and their slimy
lawyers. Come,
hold my hand again
in the dark,, attack
the way you
used to. Memories smash in
to dreams; are
you still in Tampa?
Who got you for good?

KK

Your beauty comes from
giving so
much back to the earth, to those
who labor so hard
for such a

meager wage.
Don’t get me wrong, you
Also got you Mom’s
natural beauty
with body to spare.

So fix your brain by
“Will” power.
You’ve done so much not to hang out
and do more. Beat
brain cancer,

rejoin the
love of life you have.
You photos on face
book alone speak of
your magic, pure life.

So when this
phase passes I can’t believe
how you will
produce…talking each
day to make a life

focused on
benefitting everyone
around you
Shine on, come out and
Laugh with us again.

EB

It started
at the Beach Club, white
sand dusted
the board. Cube
mystery solved late:

double sixes cleared your home,
I smiled at the blue-
eyed twinkle
over swimmer’s breasts,
firm, even for eighteen: your

Montclair roots
augmented by strict
upbringing
easily
surpassed by passion.

Watkins conceded romance.
We never got caught,
cabanas
wide open to the
night, three beach loungers placed to

shield young love.
Learning the lexicon of
your long legs,
tongue patrol over
muscle terrain, two

weeks of lust,
a few months of letters, then
the fade back
to lives unshared yet
forever enriched.

Margot Cleveland

Forty seven days
after your twenty
second birthday a rare, mad
human tragedy
struck, and took with it

an artists,
near-pro golfer, wild
lover. We
lost a close friend who
wasn’t shy.

Called us out on our
bullshit, laughed in the
afternoon sun, but couldn’t
always get past the
immediate shifts,

opinion
blasts, head games, guilt trips,
controlling
Mom, consoling Dad
that must have

made each day
unpredictable, each night
a search for
independence no
matter the risks. You

feigned interest
in younger kin, remained a
mystery
then tragic lesson.
I feared for my life.

Charles Stuber

Wide-eyed player, your
parents soft joy; raised watching
your father
build two houses on
Taylor Cut-off Road after

A start in town surrounded by
Korean porch kites,
four-way cars
with no stop signs, Seattle
before the clog of

California came
to convert beauty into
suburbs. Your
spirit directs great
action to this day. Though none

fully recovered, new ties
added smiles, your
mother made
it through,
continues to be
both worried about

the future
and working hard in the now;
the gift you
gave was simple: “do
not live in the past.”

We all still
pray and wonder what you would
have given
to humanity;
something large for sure.
DS II

You kept asking “where’s
Charlie?” It
still causes throat swell, tear drop
but at the same time
imposes

a new edict to live by
between seize the day
and be productive. You beat
every one
of life’s challenges

with aplomb, ended
up as good
a parent as any this
family has seen,
scored major

work assignments and reveled
in your children as
you did your brother. Living
proof that hard
work yields a good life,

you are a
prime example for the young
ladies to learn
from. Your glow exudes,
spreads happiness earned

not given.
If they would admit it, your
elders would
announce how much they’ve
Learned from your success.

SS

No camper
ever came to play,
paddle, hike
at Reiner’s
Adirondack Swim and Trip

Camp with the vigor
you threw at
us. Armed with one hundred points
you always
made it past the guards,

your team won
by using your for
defense then
scoring the
century at the end. Your

Dad is a “good stick”
but rock and
roll, then movie keyboards made
you mister
Hollywood. Not all

maniacs
that roamed the Barnard Tract hit
their stride, or
even survived teen
car accidents. The

aptly named
planetarium lasers
tie-dyed Park
Avenue heads, smell
the magic, rock on!

Marjorie S. Cleveland

When the time came “God
Bless America” played an
hour after
the planes hit
on nine eleven

two thousand
one. Your example
gave Margot a head start on
the links, but sadness
ensued, so

we never saw your
youth reappear except on
warm summer
or close days,
family only.

What had we
missed, I will never
know. You gave all of us a
lot of class, which we
should have known

from birth, but
from birth the party was on.
So what? You
have to live while you
are alive. The long

walks, soul-filled
searches, avec Lara, or
alone…how
you went on without
flinching: real life lived.

EW

Your parents had seats
I could find
with ease on
the fifty yard line of the
blue side of orange

and blue. The last time
we met, you
said I had
not changed, and I said
“well was I

supposed to?” You shrugged,
informed me
you had been
running a tanning booth in
Gainesville for years. There

Was the time we hung out:
pajama
party
at Thyrza’s, your soft eyes,
thin body

quietly
beckoning the select few,
nevermore
than two-a-month in
order to give each

his chance to
qualify for inclusion
on your list
of potential life
mates. Still bachelorette?
MC II

Your strong blue top, magic eyes
interest in the
stories that
made up our lives kept
us close long after the

media
blast parties. The Saint
Petersburg Times is
now the last
major left daily

and whether Gallagher’s great
vanishing nature
pieces or
world-class scrutiny
of the power elite, your

family’s
heritage, may, if
ever moved to the
history
column, mean the death

not just of
real news, but American
democracy.
My Columbia
deposit may not

have achieved
its original purpose
but you will
never fade, blonde hair
above joyous smile.

Paul Heiner

First I took all Dad’s
shirt cardboards that came every
week from the dry cleaners, then
painted them
and proposed and art

booth to be parked in
front of our
garden-club level
neighborhood house. Mom,
irate, said “no” so I stormed

up brought them down and
tore them up hysterically.
Next thing I knew I’m enrolled
in art class
at Memorial

Art Gallery with
the immense
German master who
spent every class mad
at me, saying I stunk. He’d

set up still
lifes, I painted abstractions.
Only me.
Years later Dad took me to
see one of your shows.

Your large abstract
bombs exploding in contrast
from above
lured me into art,
where I have stayed since.

Leo Garel

You came to the Lavender
Door on Tuesdays, the
same day as my sessions, so
I skipped one form, pushed beyond
what Heiner taught me

ten years earlier.
It was your turn to
inadvertently save my
life. Nothing
anyone else gave

or took matched the peace acquired
splashing colors on
wood, canvas. You presented
slide shows, taught us when our work
was done, kept the mean

ogres and
real demons at bay
productively, what the pros
called late-bloom
sublimation. But

there were no
labels at the studio
other than
next to exhibit
paintings. Our art was

cutting edge,
pure, pushy, fun, a release,
and even
accepted during
our lifetimes. Tears now.
MS

Your Grandad
hit “worm burners” as
far as any amateur
ever has, managed
to card low

scores via
short game, the best way.
After years seeing
photos come and go
you switched to

camper. It’s
a rare and idea;
job: how has nature given
you what curating
could not? What

if you are
among the handful
to still boondoggle,
portage lakes and ponds,
teach sailing,

swimming and
mountain climbing? The fine art:
natural
living, is so far
out, abstract by now.

All we can
do is pray our children’s lives
will be half
what ours have been.
What of grandchildren?
JM II

You loved me with
talk of diaphragms, stories
so good for
The Yellow Springs News, back when
everyone knew each

other, and the strict Quaker
laughed with the polar Christian
Baptists down
at the ladies’ school.
I was not scared, took what was

offered, thought back to
Lexi before I had left
for boarding
school. You tripled my female
knowledge base in less

than five visits. Mentor
of the intimate realm, we
faded to
other places then
reconnoitered over wine.

Jacksonville
Beach, where your son asked the next
morning if
we had slept in the
same bed. Wise for eight,

but a truth
seeker should be wise. Your days,
medical
recruiter, lover,
easier than mine.

Bud Shaw

You came back to Rochester
to die. Many of
us were gone.
Some, like me, had no
idea

how precious
short, yet fulfilled life
could be, then
we heard the
how and when of yours

and cried. We cried when Trudy
told it four months past
due. Life was
complicated by
tragedy,

yet some learned
enough, grabbed and ran,
compared and
drew a sigh
We seize all with zest,

flamboyant
in our quest for just a touch
of someone’s
memory twenty
two years down the road.

Immortal
applies to sports and music
stars, not true
friends; except special
ones we hardly knew.
EC “S” C

It started
when you approached me
on behalf, I found out soon,
my bosses domestic and
volunteer.

But what must be the
reason you disappeared goes
beyond your knowledge
base, and cultural norms, as
you get me to put

out there the
exact stuff they thought
impossible yet had big
suspicions about. There I
was feeding to

you until even
your role as spy was too much
to fulfill. Hence I
wonder, to this day, whether
to remember you

as foe, faux,
confidant, advisor, ping
pong mentor,
beggar, artist, self-
absorbed beauty queen,

teenager
forever, sufferer of
Han, absent
daughter, loving Mom
or my best friend.
ZXX

Torn between tying
in to the system or to
make a life
of your own in some
far off land, you even have

what it takes
to lead a charge for
the workers, or to
save planet
earth, or to make a

farm and save friends when
the money system collapse
occurs. What
will it be then? The
“safety” of party cocoon

in China,
seeking know-how and
romance abroad, or
working to
save what is left of

arable
land for s GMO-free
grocery chain,
new generation
of healthy babies

rather than
sterilized men, Viagra
needed at
age twenty? Make a
full play. Accomplish.

PYS

We sat down
for dinner, and it
had been ages. You moved to
Mokpo and
came up on weekends

but this time in a
new circle. Our friend
Inoeye
dropped by twice since last
we met. Your resolve

to persist,
impeccable taste
and zest for life bless tables
and dance floors.
What pleasure to see

you back in the swing.
You genuinely
took to the
abstract art I fling,
are a great friend though

I once wronged
you. Let summer bring romance,
fulfillment
and an even more
positive charge. When

will you write
the book you have inside you?
We need to
know navigation
secrets. Write girl, write.

MB II

Music man
and Xerox
bean counter, chief add
and subtract man:
songs like Pink Floyd meets Tom Waits

for a night of beer and hot
tubs in L.A. with
the finest
women, the
hottest hotties a

man could find,
but you had
them, not in dreams, but
in rebuilt attic
with mini-bar, toaster, coffee

maker. So, as night drifted
into Sunday you
were ready
to recharge
and keep going. Oh

she must have
loved your zest. Continual
prodding for
more. How’s your knee
holding up? Still on

Westminster?
Those glory days when
Tad was still
strong enough to drum.
You still playing out?

BS

Following
in the footsteps of
Canandaigua stars who stayed
a single
summer, like Clapton

is McCartney who
hid on a
Cheshire farm
in summer, nineteen
seventy one; hydroplane

star Campbell
or Todd Brewer the
lake’s least fortunate devil
who dared to
climb sixty-foot trees

as a kid, then kept
pushing bikes,
cigarette
boats and life until
struck by lightning. You, on the

other hand,
played hard, but then, convinced
we were past
our era, too old
to catch on. You must

still record
in your room. I miss the chance
we had, just
as I have other bands.
Don’t quit you butthead.

Fish Window Number One

Pug-nose penguins between rushes,
Flapper follows, a peach mistake.
Peachtree glistens, horrendous Hyatt.

Mother cut a daughter’s throat,
Proceeded to a marriage though.
Police suspect her to have acted

Without the knowledge given most.
Pug-nose wonders between bites,
If smug alumnae of rich schools

Attract the fiery undulations
Blue-blood families are noted for.
Flapper squirts a piss that freezes.

Flapper doesn’t care who knows,
Squats on quad in cold December.
Pug-nose worries about future.

Father’s stocks all disappeared,
The condo isn’t selling well,
Blood-stained pearls coagulate.

Fish Windows Number Two

This view of frosted Tinker,
Fabled mountain, accentuates
Streams of winter clouds floating
In the season’s lightest blue.

Drooping, thinning, browning pine
Initiates surprised walkers
With the season’s final droppings:
Clumps of snow, impotent cones.

Eighteen leaves and forty-five pods
Shimmy, unwilling to take
Wind’s frozen ride on ice.
Hanging on to life too long.

This view, barren foreground trees
Towering over frozen cliffs
Terrorizing passing clouds
With piercing arms, is winter.

Fish Window Number Three

Nothing moves fast in two-degree weather.
Snow stops, grass browns, trees creak.
A dangling pod denies an entire generation.
Five-step cloud lingers a quarter hour.

Fish window isn’t wide enough to see,
Isn’t Tall enough to breathe, isn’t old
Enough to feel it in its joints. But, a
Camouflaged manhole cover steams.

Two yonder trees make visible
Ten thick branches, contrasting light blue
Frozen sky. A silver tag twitches.
The active agent is two degrees.

One (it will be dead for three months) bush
Absorbs the manhole’s offerings quietly.

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