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.





More Haiku

More Haiku

Smoldering pencils
Led us to pathways charted
In last year’s winter.


Furry tree lips sway:
Call to new lovers and say
"Take the path of dreams."

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1998. 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.

More Spring Haiku, Copyright 2014, Doug Stuber

Expressionist clouds
add no contrast in spring dust,
your dreams are not their’s.


Two ninety degree turns as
novice looks
determine expert
status as the day’s
batch of cakes arrive

at Paris Baguette,
the one place
sanctuary is
assured. Sweets and coffee now

as satisfying respite.
Three Ficus
emit oxygen.
Apron-boy follows
his leader without

doing anything.
Large doses
flow in sugar fiends:
make such luxury jobs a
common sight

in post-war,
post-colonial Gwangju.
Han River,
miraculous, gives
a free life to young

dreamers: three
times more creative pursuits,
eight times more
cars, and micro-dust
suffocating us.

Spring Haiku, Copyright Doug Stuber, 2014

Cherry blossoms lure
creaking knees. Tired eyes see
mountain’s April pink.


After the shapely
twenties, way
after, when cool weather coats
in floral patterns
are the same, every

from New York to Bonn
finds grandmothers in
full chat, canes leading,

days the purse
swinging beauties don’t even
think about. Why, when
all male eyes

move with them
and horizontal
stripes do no harm to
perfumed eloquence
disguised as

novice nymph?
A full bag of expensive
ginseng hangs,
dangles in the wind.
Skirt shakes in tempo

over heels.
The gift must be for an aunt
but she’s dressed
for some party she
won’t want her to guess.