Freshman Ahoy!

Freshman Ahoy!

Kim arrives from high school in Texas . Curls dangle
Over a tied top and the exact blue double-knit pants
That show the shape she wants. Most are too small
Or two skinny here, and that means it is bound to
Feed on itself until, ten years hence, our women
May become unappetizing. Still, the go-go glasses
Are dark framed hipster ovals that draw you in.
Weight or no weight, nose or no nose, smile or
No smile. Then he speaks, “when I’m
In a relationship I am much more masculine.
We have four men in our house, and I haven’t
Had sex with any of them, but there are
Never any women at the house so we have
To express both sides. We’re more in touch
With our feminine side.” Kim elbows her friend
As she moves in on this guy, who is explaining
So much. “But is this the truth? Or are you just
Saying this as part of our conversation?” Which
Proves that we are in a college town. Then Kim
Utters flirts, and flings herself at him. Go Heels.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

November 8, 2002, Bald Head Island

November 8, 2002, Bald Head Island

Three pelicans cut through the most amazing sky.
One freighter chugs under orange streams.
Foam jiggles and walks with you,
Turning in to wave good-bye. Bald Head
Pushes me past my comfort to a
Place I fear, and yet create in. How
Sea sticks bundle, how wind pushes mavericks
To colorize the world, how Luc and Vincenzo
Snap a picture to make big Doug happy.
Now tears, representing years of strange
Persistence, perhaps about to pay off. Oh
Yeah, here comes London baby, and
Ireland too. “Hi from Tad,” the sun says
As a ring between gray clouds, poking
Contrast into the last moments of the day.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Jog

Jog

The city of bouncing hair comes alive in winter
As the usual joggers, on display, pick the most
Crowded roads to work out on. Hair of every
Imaginable color flips side to side above bodies that,
To the naked eye, appear to be perfect already.
Jog on young damsels, and perhaps one day
Just the right Benz-driving law student will
Holler out his window as he flashes by. Then,
Two days later, same street, same time, he’ll return,
Dressed in gym shorts for the first time in years,
To jog in hopes of “accidentally” running into you.
Strategic jogging calls for catching you right at the
Corner of Franklin and Boundary as the light turns
Against your ability to flee. Then, in a moment
Of rapture, fully out of breath, he runs-in-place
And pops a question. “Jog here often?” To which
You smugly answer, “Not really,” which sets in motion
A blossoming crocus of late February, followed by many
Dogwood afternoons in March, the quick iris rush of April,
And magnificent magnolia May. By June, other moons.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Peace

Peace

Everyone has a right to know
That Bush’s policies really blow.
He’s greedy, deceitful, spills blood for oil,
He’s the man that makes laborers toil.
In Argentina there are no jobs
Due to JP Morgan and Fleet Bank slobs.
But in Brazil the left will rise:
A bigger place, oh what a surprise —
For Republicans in their swank pools:
Snipers hit to warn the fools
That cheap oil is not worth the price,
If we find our people shot in their eyes.
Please join the non-violent quest for peace!
Humanity is at stake, please don’t leave.

Stay here and talk to the people who know —
The ones who marched in the 60s, and go
To ALL the rallies, all union halls:
Stop this damned war (with or without balls).
We need to join forces, unite while we can
Or ALL love will perish, and with it, God’s plan.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

To Lindsey, on her Birthday, 2002

To Lindsey, on her Birthday, 2002

One Bartendress makes a Tia Maria &
Stoly black Russian, then joins her
Friends at a table for three: the blonde
Who waved, the mixologist and
The Czech woman with a butt
That tucks into her hip hugger pants.

She saws a tournedos at Tonic.
A plate slams into the Henry Jamesian
Universe created by mutual admiration
And a cross-bar flirtation augmented
By a flutter of heart strings stretched
On the lips of a novice server made
Wiley by tips proffered at table number
Twelve, where love holds meanings to
Be the highest homage to the creator.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

September 16 & 17, 2002

September 16 & 17, 2002

Asheville NC

“The NC Greens Say Hello”

What would a Green do to solve some of today’s looming problems? This is an excellent question, and one that will be answered in today’s pamphlet.

Please join us as we welcome new members and old in a close look at how the Greens would solve the problems of today.

1. Repeal NAFTA (thus living Wages in U.S.)
2. Repeal “Right to Work” Laws, better unions
3. Alternative renewable energy for all.
4. Only workers could own stock in a company. Stop manufacturing items that hurt the environment. Create jobs like ocean clean up and pay for them by stopping the military economic complex.
5. Make Love Not War (no war in Iraq! Pakistan! Syria! Afghanistan!).
6. Justice: social, environmental, human
7. Ask U.S. to live by its treaties with Natives
8. Ask U.S. to sign Kyoto treaty
9. Allow people to work the land, not in factories
10. Peace. There is no such thing as “race.”
11. Respect each human as an equal, learn.
12. Be Grateful for all the blessings bestowed

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Fayetteville Mall, September 5, 2002

Fayetteville Mall, September 5, 2002

In the shade across from the Wake County Courthouse
An entire row of folks wait. They wait anticipating
The crown-stripped Miss North Carolina, and others.
“Mary,” who carries a baseball bat, handcuffs, and
Thirty bracelets, watches as the Capital’s finest walk
The worn out bricks of Fayetteville Street Mall.
The thick stench of racism pollutes beautiful fall air.
Sympathetic eyes search for compassion as workers
Dismantle metal scaffolding, a job well done. Lily pads
Float, bald-headed briefcase toter huffs and puffs up nine
Stairs. Sturdy capitalists go by: easy targets. Unaware.
A local high princess displays her hair seriously. Orange
Outfits mix with cell phones, coffee and power lunches.
No rich people come out of the court losers, but many
Weeping wives head back to Person Street frustrated
By a system gone awry. They too are easy targets.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Double Trouble

Double Trouble

Jeung Hwa snaps secrets.
Precise hands load energy
in warm Williamsburg.

Scott plays bass, Mark waits,
Rebecca: a mellow leaf
swept over water.

Profs and sophs mingle.
William and Mary laugh stars
from the sky for us.

Bricks begin and end.
Jeung Hwa smiles for home, letting
colors soak her eyes.

Another chuckle
reminds us how much we miss
those petals floating.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

De Luca and the Boys

De Luca and the Boys

Erica smiles as the band plays on. She’s through
Seeking fulfillment in boys, even dynamite boys.
And I’m through trying to make it as a rock star.
“Rock stars don’t wear t-shirts from their own
Band,” the Gossip singer says to me, frowning.

Back when brother Tad was alive I knew what
To do. Everything had meaning: speeding to
Costello concerts, chipping in for birdie on 18,
Making hundreds of tapes to listen to on road
Trips, pre-CD, and looking on in amazement.

Erica, like so many, was for me, and still can be,
A vital replacement for a missing Tad. A music
Lover, lively, making meaning out of simplicity.
She keeps turning up, instant messaging and
Weighing in on topics, although we only met

Three times: once at the Cradle, once at her job,
And once almost stealing away from East Chapel
Hill High School for a smoke. I yanked Tad out
Of an afternoon of school to get the first view of
Saturday Night Fever. We laughed at Travolta.

Erica is making me a tape now, this one’s a new-
Fangled burned CD. For this, all she gets is a
Poem and Alanis Morrisette. Erica doesn’t know
How pretty she is. I never realized how much
These newfound friends meant until they quickly

Sifted through one day and out into the Canadian
Night, or the hidden expanses of life on the road.
We all run back to see old friends. We all lose
Friends as life goes on, or lose ourselves. Erica
Do you know how much those moments meant?

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Bombs Away!

Bombs Away!

A plane that veered off over Cleveland
Still had a one-hour flight,
Before smashing into the building
That has caused the world so much fright.

The air force stood still at Andrews
It is clear they had plenty of time.
The plane hit a segment near-vacant.
Can you solve this riddle in rhyme?

Unocal wanted a pipeline
To run from the Caspian Sea.
Their man is our new Afghan envoy,
We call this diplomacy.

We’ve scrambled jets to bomb the line
Who cares about collateral death?
Our heinous command favors profits
No matter on whom we tread.

Our bombs have cleared the bedrock,
Soon oil will flow through the land.
Our soldiers will stay to protect it,
New sticker: “Free Afghanistan.”

But this place is not like Tibet,
It’s not China that we have to sway.
This time the task is much harder
We must teach ourselves to obey.

Already we’ve gone from a surplus
To $200 Billion in debt.
But somehow this stooge asks for tax cuts,
Increased defense is a sure bet.

What’s wrong with mass transportation?
Or small cars: NO MORE SUVs!?
Oh yeah, that might hurt the profits
Of Exxon, Mobil, BP!

Before the planes hit the buildings
The pilots caroused the Las Vegas Strip.
Does this seem like holy Muslims,
Or agents out to get their last kicks?

You may say I’m some type of cynic,
But our track record is clear.
If you stand in the way of our oil-men
There will be plenty to fear.

Uganda, Iraq, and Afghanistan
Know how deadly this game can be.
Economies crumble below us,
Soon, we will fight to be free.

History holds many lessons,
Those in power fall from their greed.
We are not very good Christians:
We always take more than we need.

The rich get their education,
The rest of us learn for ourselves,
That for-profit domination
Soon leads to a permanent hell.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Gail

Gail

Baby blue eyes, soft face, five pierces per ear,
Gail struts with strong arms and a gnawing desire.
“Burrito babe” as she’s known by her secretive fans,
Has no idea just how capable she is, of arousing
Primal desires that cure the ills that slow us all.

If you eat too much broccoli, your legs go bad…

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Labor Conference, Duke U.

Labor Conference, Duke U.

Three enter, six stretch, sassy short blonde, and a
Capped brunette, whose brim is so curved down
All you get is tan and teeth. One slides to an
Angle that gives you her back, hides miss sassy
And allows bubbly blue-cap to peer, stare,
Analyze and reject all in a second’s time.

The ratio is six to one in a room
Dominated by tea. Is it only us
Who care about labor rights? How many
In this room will have the health and labor
Problems the speakers speak about? Racial
Discrepancies? Horrible migrant labor camps?

How does this jibe with your average
Duke student? Do the students really picnic
With the dining and housekeeping staff?
Can the students be a voice that changes
Conditions for the workers, or is their concern
Just an alarm ringing in deaf administrative ears?

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Dad

Dad

Words uncoil over lines, undernourished and infrequent.
The Sunday calls, sporadic now, mean more when we
Sneak in extra paragraphs about some oft-forgotten tune,
Long lost summer jams. Notes still float across to ears
But none can replace live tinkerings of familiar themes.

Bev drops a stealthy chord, Jim attempts Hayden’s, Gap
Or Doug or some bass saxophonist in doctor’s clothes,
Now playing clarinet, wonders why each song is in C .
Interpersonal miasma means Dad plays in C. On July
Fourth fit-boomers pop, exclaiming momentary freedom.

The kids get swept into adult parties, train rides, and the
Famous creepy crawlers-in-the-ice joke that got funnier
As the night wore on. It’s not easy living up to previous
Accomplishments, and Dad was the first one to cut a path
Away from the past. The expectations stopped with Dad.

He only nudges layabouts, does not fear distant shores,
Cleans the dishes, walks the dog, or chases the cat, and
Could hold a clinic on how to pack a box. How many
Dreams faded, how many came true? It’s Dad’s quest
For the good life we cherish. He has taught us well.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Stone Mountain, N.C.

Stone Mountain, N.C.

The old Hutchinson homestead, all redone for tourists,
Spreads out in front of Stone Mountain. This summer
Saturday finds John McCreary spinning tales to patient ears
“There were eight children in my mother’s generation, and
Eight in the generation before that. All made it to adulthood
Without a doctor.” His 40-year-old son, two brothers and
A grandson pull up in a Jaguar sedan, sweaty, after a round
Of golf. “Any Sunday wine around John?” one asks, and
They all get a chuckle, while I pull away, embarrassed.

We hike the rock, quite steep at times,
That has taken many lives. We duck
Rhododendron branches along a mossy-rock
Creek. We seek and find cool water where the
Orchards rot, unpicked. We watch hawks
Circle next to cliffs, away from modern times.

Twice a year the cart had been hitched to make
A trek to town. Each day was full of heavy chores
That pulled a living from the earth. That type of
Work has been replaced by geographic serendipity.
One cashed check made sure the hikers now have a chance
To see how mountain families once made their way.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Betty Bolton’s 90th Birthday

Betty Bolton’s 90th Birthday

Happy Birthday Betty-
May the squirrels run today,
May bluebirds whistle by your eye,
May rabbits frolic outside your door,

May you keep your zest for life,
May poems flow from mind to pen,
May simple pleasures bring a smile
May Mac or David or Bennett stop

To bring you to the little room
Where poets meet and spread the joy
That started many years ago.

May sycamores spread summer shade,
May woodpeckers rap familiar beats,
May your friends be gracious celebrants,
May memories fill your heart with lines that jump out on the page.

You’ve helped create a special place
Where, for an hour every week new poems
Meet the old: a community of words
That makes each Friday something new.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.