Art Music Poetry #92

Opus 1700.Done at the Art Hotel Artist Colony, Kicevo, Macedonia, 2010,

Opus 1700.Done at the Art Hotel Artist Colony, Kicevo, Macedonia, 2010,

We’ve woven a web, you and I,
attached to the world, for no matter
how long, inscribed, though poorly, for
scant eyes, still, as bright a love aura as
has ever glowed, tightly wound around
our hearts, yet soaring miles above
Moodeung’s fog to warm cold February.
Sparks fly off a round-rock fire rarely seen
in these parts. We laugh, it feels like we
shouldn’t be here on a cold winter night,
just a few meters from trails so packed
during the day. This charge will never
leave. We’ve marked this space but must
go to where the stars shine, deer run, art springs.
Keep my heart in your brain, words in your hair.
Matched lifelong yearning bursts in my hand,
fluorescent. Quick, pack what you need, let’s
flee! live life in the positive zone, expand
what we enjoy together, bound by the luck
that brought us this far. Where to next?

Fish Window Number Two

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.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1988. 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.

Fish Window Number Three

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.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1988. 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.

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