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Dance of Ants

 

Opus 27, 1977, Stockbridge, MA

Opus 27, 1977, Stockbridge, MA

 

Dance of ants compiling sawdust, compels us to

Trample, mow, flee to the inviting woods.  Our short

Caravan meanders, leans against boulder, attached lichen here

Crash down on leaves and rocks waiting for dark,

Bare stars, glowing mosses, a second light show that

Regales millipedes, azaleas, forsythia.  Outdoor sounds

Jar us awake, it’s 2am, we rise in dew-sparkled clothes,

Veering through trees, over rotten wood and rock holes, a deer

Kicks a whip, or jumps, startled by late-night intruders mistaken

For hunters.  You can’t know it now, but this night marks the

Epicenter of your youth, from which all events will emanate

Without outward boundary, but in three hundred sixty

Degrees. Bound into it all, bring that screwgee* low and inside.

 

First Letters represent those in attendance 11/13/2015:

Dave Manning

Tom Hines

Clark Holtzman

Conrad newman

Bennett Myers

Robert Katrin

Johnette

Vanessa Vendola,

Kitty Bergel

Frank Doonan

Elio Soldi

Will Hubband

Doug Stuber

 

*A Screwgee is a reverse curve ball thrown in baseball that spins in toward right handed batters from a right handed pitcher.

 

 

or

 

Art Music Poetry #89

Danny Boy, Kicevo Macedonia

Danny Boy, Kicevo Macedonia

To I.R. From J.D.S.

 

 

Intense rain drops, causes richer black

Bark on trees staring back in orange.

El Nino gives us late fall, late winter

Late drinks and late dinner.  Isabelle

Gave me a jab in the ribs and a wink

Of the eye, when, upon presenting a book

Full of fibs, I told a great-grand non-lie.

So life is good for a month or so, just on

The love I have had, of a woman

So rich with the world, that even a

Moment or two adds up to a visit

With god; or, if you please, one fine human.

Sit back and take in the show, “Blue

Velvet” has never looked better

Than on the back and shapely torso

Of this woman, who must be from heaven.

art music poetry #41

Opus 688, Tarppon Springs, 1980

Opus 688, Tarpon Springs, 1980 “A Flash of green”

The art in Art Music Poetry #19, to #50 represents the debut show at Golden Belt

in Durham NC.  That will be June 19, 2015.  Email for more information.

dougstuber@gmail.com.

Puff Ball Society Gone Bad

Ear-piercing scream explodes puff-balls
still dangling from last year’s trees.
Cracked open, maybe by the ten-month old
yelps that ambulate, lasers through the air,
to chop puff-balls, send smoke and ash
to the ground, fertilize wet clay, seeds
within, sprouting next year’s saplings, all
from the bumped-head scream, indiscriminate
cry, ubiquitous babyhood realized.

Bedouins, tribesman from Islamic lands, also
howl, yelp and cry war. Mission Accomplished:
Shias fight Sunnis, Sunnis bomb Shias, both
turn their guns at our boys and girls: one hundred
attacks per day. These screams pierce amorless
Hum-Vees, dropping unspent seeds, bloodying women
all month, to the cries of foodless babies, museums pillaged,
Nazi-style. Puff-balls explode, white-light pollutes,
citizens targeted. Disgrace pervades, blackens our culture.