- Home > Archive: November, 2018
About a man, naturally.
He said one thing and did another.
Like all men do, he lied.
He said he loved her
and then left town with someone else.
He’s a monster. A monster with a heart of stone.
And he had the gall to come back
all full of conquest and bluster.
She never wants to see him again.
But he wants to see her.
And can’t understand what he has done.
She won’t answer the door.
He waits outside all night in the rain.
Calls from the street below.
The neighbor tells him to shut up.
He apologizes, and is brought coffee and bread.
“Let him starve”, she says,
closing her shutters and going back to bed.
The musicians were playing.
And Papa was playing guitar and singing.
He was always the life of the party.
And women loved him.
Sometimes, I had to wait until he had been with them.
I like this story that I saw online.
It’s about these animals that live on a cement wall.
They all remember their past lifetimes.
There’s a whole colony of feral cats.
They all come from different classes.
One was a rich boy who died in a car crash.
Another was a famous actor.
A third was a grunt, and he was so happy to be free.
There’s also this fat old possum,
he’s the sage and he explains all the lifetimes.
He gives them context.
I think I was a football player
in my last life.
I scored so many goals.
And I was on tv, you know in the locker room.
And all the women loved me.
Everything has potential.
Don’t get in her way,
She’ll turn you into a photograph.
A gifted eye,
An eye that sees shapes and ideas.
An eye for beauty,
A beauty also.
When the moon hits your eye
Like a big pizza pie,
Click, she’s gotcha.
When you have tears in your eye,
And you’re a fool to cry,
Click, she caught it, in secret.
When you’re laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Click, she made you.
When the place your in
Becomes a stage set.
Click, she’s got that eye.
MR Stuik 2018
Sofia had left her lipstick on the glass.
He found it the next morning,
as he was cleaning up.
He had wanted a photo of her,
but had forgotten amid
all the excitement and laughter.
And she was gone before he had a chance.
Instead, he got a kiss on the glass,
an imprint of her lip,
a memory of the evening plastered there.
He hadn’t even noticed
that she was wearing lipstick.
He had just focused on her smile
and listened to her voice.
She had spoken about remembering
a former lifetime.
It was the 16th century and
She was dressed in beautiful clothes.
She was being taken through
a past life regression and
the man leading it instructed her
to remember her final moments of that life.
It came to her almost like a dream,
she died young, in childbirth.
Died giving birth to a new soul.
“I was sad to be leaving, but also proud
for bringing my baby into the world.” she said,
“And now I think in this lifetime,
I’ve come back to help others.”
“Tea?” He asked, wanting her to stay a bit longer.
MR Stuik 2018
She could see the way
things were interconnected.
The circus rings, the wheels,
The bowls and glasses,
The bottles and crowns,
The rings, orbs and globes,
He thought of body parts,
The tits, the round ass,
The nipples, the circle made by her lips.
“Sex ruins everything”, he said.
“You’re so right, it does!” she agreed.
“That’s why I’m glad we’ve moved on.
Now we can have something better.”
She wanted a gramophone,
To play old vinyl records of Mozart,
With the amphitheaters, the coliseums,
The bubbles, the dew drops,
The movement of water and
He knew she was right,
In love, out of love,
Not the way he wanted to be loved,
But neither was it the end.
Their love had come full circle.
MR Stuik 2018
Riding bicycles in the rain in Lucca.
Had to buy some gloves,
It’s cold in November.
Round the top of the wall
That hugs the city.
The walls they refused to part with.
Loyal to them to the end.
They laughed and remembered
the joy of riding bikes as children.
Out on your own,
Into town with the dog
Or hitching a ride on a friend’s bike.
Balancing and not falling.
They had fallen in love
And then out of love.
And here they were on the walls
of Lucca in winter’s embrace.
Friends to the end.
The roof tiles are alive.
Living breathing ecosystems of lichen, moss and dirt.
They respond to your touch
And have stories to tell
Dating back centuries.
You can’t run across the roof
Like a crazy cat burglar.
You have to walk gingerly,
Carefully and pause to ask permission.
And they’re slippery
Especially in the fog.
When it doesn’t need to rain
Because you’re already in the rain.
Barbosa ran across the roof
After drinking too much wine.
Slipped like an idiot
And nearly went off the edge.
The bag of jewelry and coins he had
Fell out of his pocket and
slid down the roof tiles to the street below.
A Carabinieri happened to be walking
down the street and the bag almost hit him.
He picked it up and looked up at the roof.
Barbosa lay flat on the tiles,
Hands clawing to keep from falling off.
MR Stuik 2018
Birds are better than
any other species.
Because they can fly.
I’ve tried to fly,
It never ends well,
Always ass over tea kettle.
Face planting in pain.
They have adapted for flight.
Feathers, wings, hollow bones
That are extensions of their lungs.
They have committed to flight.
Their relationship to oxygen
And they have made friends
With the wind.
I have done extensive amounts
Of research and the wind is never wrong.
Birds are better,
And many of them like to eat bread.
MR Stuik 2018
Jack arrived in Florence after dark.
Rented a little black manual bomber
and got seriously lost in the fog.
Blasting Aretha singing Amazing Grace
live at a Baptist church in LA.
Didn’t care one iota
about being lost.
It all felt like magic.
Meanwhile he had drunk
6 cups of coffee
when all was said and done.
In order to be fully present for the entire trip.
And he chose Dunkirk
as his inflight movie
because there’s nothing like being overly caffeinated
and watching repeated
and staccato gun play
to really make the turbulence
of the flight pop.
Finally, he made it to her house,
he was greeted with vegetable soup,
rabbit, cauliflower and potatoes.
It was the best rabbit he had ever tasted. “Wine?” asked Emila.
“Per favore.” he said,
hoping it would help him sleep.
MR Stuik 2018
Life is just as crazy as fiction.
George wasn’t sure
how he felt about
being referred to as a factotum.
Here he’d stayed devoted
even after their separation.
She had moved on
and married Max.
It was awkward at first,
and still swept the front,
brought her coffee every morning.
Then it came to her,
he would become her general factotum.
Jack of whatever it was she needed done.
It made perfect sense.
She could trust him,
he would do anything she said (or asked?),
and he wasn’t leaving anyway,
so why not put him to work?
“Idle minds are the devil’s pillow”,