By David Stallings © 2004
Long after I left for work
each morning, my housemates
explored groovier, more imaginative
paths. They found me stiff,
uptight. I chafed
as my records were
mishandled, my stereo never
turned off.
When my girlfriend’s old
lover came calling,
I reacted blindly, with swift
passivity.
I stuffed her sneakers into
the fridge.
This desperate act resulted
in my further
ostracism.
Bantry Bay, Bainbridge Island, 1973
(No. 91 in a series [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
I made my worst mistakes
because I was so afraid
of being alone.
It was unusual for my mother,
then in her 80s, to name a personal
demon.
She sat to my left on the couch,
my grown daughter to the right.
Certain as a strand of DNA,
the named fear snaked through
us. It left the same steely flavor
in our bellies,
and we each [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
Awake from a dream
of failure as a college professor,
I get up to pee.
Settling back into bed warmth,
I find that in my absence
demons slipped in, and they mean
business. Tonight, they employ mind
swirlers and leg tremors,
leaving brain and guts wrenched.
What’ll I do what’ll I do?
Work, relationship, future–all shit.
With effort, I herd them
from mind to belly. [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
Red-winged blackbird strides across turf,
crimson escutcheons flared. Conk-a-reee!
But here comes a rival,
a bandit at twelve o’clock!
Scritch!
Knocked to his side,
he’s back up, ready
for hot feathered
battle and
love.
Once my ex-wife told me,
You’ll follow your cock anywhere.
Despite my decades of loyalty,
she was, in a way,
right.
Conk-a-reee!
(No. 52 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
By David Stallings © 2004
for Andrea
Swimming laps,
I shared the university men’s pool
with a small child and his dad.
Near the end of the three-meter plank,
the boy confronted an abyss.
Somewhere below, his father treaded
encouragement.
I held to a gutter, resting,
watching.
The boy pulled
at his tiny butt cheeks,
feet churning on the rough surface.
Forty years later
I still feel that splash
as I seek the courage
to love [...]
By David Stallings © 2003
When the call of the flicker
on a lonely ocean beach
is heard in my belly;
When above and below the heavens,
only I am the world-honored one,
having nothing to do with myself;
When flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtle dove is heard
in our land;
And when the time I am most [...]
By David Stallings © 2003
Climbing on the rocks
love is felt as a tension.
But the danger of a fall is slight,
the cant of face and torso
against the sky,
timelessly sensual.
Always, my love,
The purr of the sea, odors of the tide,
and jutting rocks
will remind me
of this day
and of
You.
(No. 63 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
By David Stallings © 2003
Thirty-five years ago
I visited this rocky coast
with a long-haired hippie woman.
Skagit-eyes filled with the sea,
she ran along the shore,
far to the south.
How long was she gone?
Long enough for me
to become afraid.
Time looped,
anxiety pitted me.
Toward dark she returned, salted, alive,
thanking me again and again
for time given.
I managed a smile,
concealing fears
that shaped me
long after
her final
departure.
La Push, February, [...]
By David Stallings © 2002
It runs
the dark road,
often coned by my bike light.
The steady line is my focus;
I breathe with it like a woman in labor.
Downhill it is my trusted guide,
but its deeper meaning is in the long uphill.
With its counsel I have reviewed my deepest concerns:
divorce, health, life course, the world.
Patiently listening to arguments
with myself and others,
it remains [...]
