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John Staub' Profile

Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
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About Me and My Poetry

Born in Los Angeles, California. Attended East Los Angeles Community College '71-'73. Major study: Photography. Lived in Eastern Oregon '76-'77. Lived in Great Falls, Montana '77-'79. Have lived in Beaverton, Oregon since 1980. Enjoy photography and poetry, two very different creative pursuits but with the same interest in sharing views and insights, experiences good and bad, experiencing growth and development in any stage of life. Favorite poets: Robert Herrick, Alfred Tennyson, Henry W. Longfellow, Robert Browning, William Cullen Bryant, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Robert Frost, James Russell Lowell, Emily Dickinson, Katherine Lee Bates, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Walt Whitman, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Christina Rossetti, Robert W. Service, Wallace Stevens, John Robert Quinn, Ethel Romig Fuller, Edgar A. Guest, James Whitcomb Riley, Irene Rutherford McLeod, Antonio Machado, Wilfred Owen, Ogden Nash, Theodore Roethke, Jack Kerouac, etc

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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
'Mid the Holly Berries

It is too cold of a time
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
When the trash man comes
all our troubles are taken away;
the overflowing trash truck dumps
our dreams in the stinking landfill
and they are mixed with other's sorrows:
the aftermath of wrecked aimless lives.

When the bulldozer man pushes
our troubles down the steep slope
what tumbles out of control to the pit
is what we could not accept or reconcile:
daily Valentine's cards stamped but never sent;
faded snapshots of her sweet smile never shared.

When the clean white and gray sea gulls
peck deep in the trash piles for edibles,
they carry back to the distant sea
all the angst and unforgiven sins;
all the failed first loves and cut short apologies;
all the indecipherable poems from salty tears.

When the ocean absorbs our trash
it is slowly transformed into islands
with layers of the darkness and light
of everyday life rooted in symbiotic
sweet fruit trees and birds of peace
that in time bring back our lost love.

("When the Trash Man Comes" © John F. Staub, 11 February 2017).




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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
it was the incomplete and damaged book
that the old pictures were cut sharply from,  
like my dad preparing a rabbit to cook
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
I dropped my camera
and the photos escaped
out the bathroom window
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
Candy apple sunrise on a blueberry
tart sea with bananna split sail boats
the streams of honey sun rays melt
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
Vulture pair against white clouds
decend criss-crossing to unseen death;
a machine wet with rain eats a lawn.  
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
Somedays never want to end
while others end far too soon.
I'm not just talking about light
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
The things that matter
aren't the same as those
when I was a little boy
... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
There are those who cut corners
and end up with a couple triangles that get them nowhere.  

... continued
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Selfportdubrovnikoct14.0486
I have seen cloud formations
march in step across the turbulent
or peaceful sky of God's creations.
... continued
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