Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Dr. King represented all that can be done to help all people realize their dreams.  For this he was shot. You need not be a erudite, learned, supreme orator and culture-changing activist to get shot these days.  In fact, all you gave to do is be African-American, all you have to be doing is walk outside.  It increases your chances of being shot if you’re male, but, since such a large percentage of African-American males have been or are currently incarcerated, Cornell West is correct, the genocide is in creeping, but steady-as-the-tortoise-goes mode.

You need not be impoverished to empathize with the horrors of the underclass, nor shot at to realize that our militarized police have for a LONG TIME been out of control.

Status Quo was written in 1992 and applies in even more ways today.  Haiku #312 is fresh, it was written Saturday.

The “Stuber Haiku” has lines of 3, 5 or 7 syllables, thus a bit of a stretch, as Japanese Haiku have the 5-7-5 syllable pattern and are three lines long .

In my form,the first and third stanzas are the exact same syllable count per line, in five lines.  The second and forth also match.  The last two are ALWAYS 3-7-3-5-5 in terms of syllables. The form is addicting so I don’t write too many these days,for fear of cranking a whole book’s worth.  (Note “Open Secrets” – 2013 – Chonnam National Press, Gwangju, South Korea).  SO here they are, after much ado.

 

                    

Status Quo

                                

For now the streets are cluttered:

The poor kill off the poor,

But this won’t last forever

If the “Quo” keeps getting worse.

Guns for sale in neighborhoods

Where crime is the only living

Quarts and vials and bullets

Take without ever giving.

“Innocent” bystanders

Are the ones to blame.

Standing by in times like these

Leaves everything the same.

The quo goes “living standards

Will be on the decline.”

While multi-national barons

Continue their money climb.

No chums around a fireplace

When you can’t pay the bills.

While money-man is traveling

In search of bigger thrills.

Sooner rather than later

The poor will raise their arms.

Replacing all the suited men

Regardless of the harm.

The system as we know it’

Is fading thanks to this:

The greedy haven’t realized

Their life ain’t worth a piss.

The ticking clock inside the bomb

Has passed the witching hour.

There is little hope for most,

So when will freedom flower?

It will when people with the time

Turn to lend a hand,

It will when greedy governors

Give back a hunk of land

The quo has made it possible

For us to live like rats.

Your life to them means nothing

You could end up a stat.

As the status quo gets worse

Violence rules the day.

We better help each other now.

Let us pray.

<><><><><><><><><><><

Stuber Haiku # 312

William walks hands in the air

praying to survive.

He’s unarmed,

terrorized by our

militarized police force.

“Stand back, get

down, hands behind your

back! “What did you say?”

“Don’t move an inch!” He

walks away, pocket knife in

hand, no threat, sixteen bullets

worth of dead, the new

dead; fascism lays

wide open for us to see,

yet Trump gains

followers, choices

all as bad, but one,

and he’s not gonna

get nominated, if you

follow me.

Driving while black changed. Walking

while black is

now a felony

punishable by

instant death.

Jump back privileged poet boy.

Words are not

enough, nor protests

nor votes.  Unite now!

 

 

1/16/16 Weymouth, Southern Pines, NC, with Metta Sema Melvin as prompter.

 

 

 

 

Stuber Haiku #312

Stuber Haiku # 312

William walks hands in the air

praying to survive.

He’s unarmed,

terrorized by our

militarized police force.

“Stand back, get

down, hands behind your

back! “What did you say?”

“Don’t move an inch!” He

walks away, pocket knife in

hand, no threat, sixteen bullets

worth of dead, the new

dead; fascism lays

wide open for us to see,

yet Trump gains

followers, choices

all as bad, but one,

and he’s not gonna

get nominated, if you

follow me.

Driving while black changed. Walking

while black is

now a felony

punishable by

instant death.

Jump back privileged poet boy.

Words are not

enough, nor protests

nor votes.  Unite now!

1/16/16 Weymouth, Southern Pines, NC, with Metta Sema Melvin as prompter.

Arable Spring and Two Haiku

Arable Spring

The gap grows wider at the top
And at the bottom too.
The middle also takes a flop
Because the jobs have moved.

Forget-thee-not inflation
Especially food and fuel
Which at present escalation
Leave the masses eating gruel.

Will sharing return to unite
The wage-slaves in such massive debt?
Capitalism already ignites
“austerity” protests that get

Larger, and longer with tear gas
And back-up police at the ready.
But fighting the system won’t last
Yet growing our food is rock steady.

It just takes imagination
And the ability to grow a team.
Voila, no more job stagnation,
Just hard work and following dreams.

The idiots who own the world
Have sunk us all due to their greed.
Protest will never unfurl
In time for us to be freed.

Energy wasted on change
Should be put into working the land.
Only neighbors can rearrange
To align the Creator’s plan.

Villagers already have fun
While the industrialized work.
Once money has ended its run,
Nature will make its own perks.

><><><><><><><><

 

Rumble on you jets
of money, set the world on
fire.  Death equals life.


><><><><><><

Ggachi squawks, builds a
nest, pecks at sand, warns its friends
of dangerous men.

Copyright 2014, Doug Stuber. 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.

Haiku, April 22, 2014

A girl in stripes walks
Down ferry stairs holding her
Brothers hand. Last time.

XXXXX

The teary-eyed girl,
Eyes darting back and forth is
Alive. No one else.

XXXXX

To live is to die
Spiritual advisor says.
Not so on this day.

XXXXX

The last frogs of spring
Croak, overheated,search, like
Us, for long-lost love.

XXXXX

Ocean’s deep sleep sprouts
Islands. Ice now moves causing
Fault lines to open.

XXXXXX

Thin legs, tight pants move
To start work. Love is a job
In these sad, sad times.

XXXXX

Wet mop moves, rhythmic
Words hypnotize, lily bloom
Observes patiently.

XXXXX

White witches converge
To cure forty year curse. Chants
Radiate shakras.

 

 

Copyright 2014, Doug Stuber. 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.