Tag Archives: Curt Stubbs

Curt Stubbs Gay Poet – de Joel and other poems

de joel

by Curt Stubbs

In the April darkness a child squalls,

Abandoned by his mother, put up for adoption,

unwanted for 11 months.  I never knew he was there.

I never comforted his fears. I never held him against the darkness,

but he grew through all the traumas of childhood,

perhaps magnified by his cleft palette,

and I still didn’t know he was there.

I never taught him to throw a perfect spiral pass,

I never taught him to throw a wicked curve ball,

I never taught him to ride a two wheel bike.

I was never there for his teen aged angst.

I was too involved in the pursuit of the perfect high, the mainline drunk.

even so he grew to manhood, pursued and won a wife, fathered little Erynn.

She never cried in the night, I bet,  lonely and not knowing who her father was.

I never even knew I had fathered a son.

By my seventieth year I had calmed down,  I had grown responsible,

learned to take care of myself.

But by then he didn’t need my care, my hard earned lessons.

He had all the things I never had, a career, a family,

a certainty about his place in the world.

Then he matched dna with me, found me

and I was startled out of my complacency.

and I finally knew where he was.

Curt Stubbs

3880 N Park Place  apt. A

Tucson, AZ.

857119 curtstubbs69@gmail.com



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Curt Stubbs Poet- Discussion of Science Fiction Poetry

Curt Stubbs Poet- Discussion of Science Fiction Poetry

Long time TusCon fan Curt Stubbs will lead a discussion of Science Fiction poetry at the Tucson Botanical Gardens (Tucson Arizona) on December 14, 2013 at 10 AM.  This discussion will take place in the other worldly Venus fly Trap Garden.

The Botanical Gardens are located at 2150 N. Alvernon Way.  Tucson, Arizona

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Curt Stubbs Poet- SPIRIT BRIDGES


by Curt Stubbs

We are queers and lesbians,
bulldykes and flaming faggot firebearers,
Fairy kings and fairy queens,
cross dressers and bridges to the spirit world.
To the Ogalala Sioux we were winkte,
boy and girl twins born in the same body,
and we were sacred.
To the Lakota
we were adi-wa-lona
and we were sacred.
To the Pomo tribe
we were das,
to the Mojave
we were alyha and hwami,
to the Navajo
we were nadle
and we were always sacred.
The Zuni called us Ko’thlama
the Chippewa, a-go-kwa,
the Kokiak,ke’yev.
To all tribal people
we were accepted as spirit bridges.
In Tahiti we were called mahu
and cock sucking was our sacred duty
especially before a battle.
The Chinese spinsters who cross dressed
wore their hair short
and acted masculine were forced to work
in factories spinning and weaving silk,
a most holy task in old China.
They were considered to be lesbians
by the village people.
Faggots were mythologized as those
who brought fire to man.
Could Prometheus have been the first faggot?
In secular western culture
we are the writers, directors, producers and actors
who bring magic to stage, screen and television.
We are the hairdressers
who make women beautiful for men.
This stage magic and cross-
beautification of the sexes are
the modern equivalent
of crossing the spirit bridges.
We queers and dykes
are poets, novelists, musicians, artist and priests.
We bridge the spirit world of the arts.
Not all queers and dykes
bridge the spirit world
just as not all basketball players
play in the NBA.
There are different levels of existence after all,
but queers and dykes
have always filled a large niche
and we are sacred.

Curt Stubbs
3880 N. Park Apt. A
Tucson, AZ 85719

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Curt Stubbs Gay Poet- A TALE OF TWO SHOWERS


by Curt Stubbs

There are no truths
Inside the gates of Eden.
Bob Dylan

He was just a soldier
who loved baseball
and whose eyes teared up
at the national anthem.
He also cried at sentimental movies
and giggled at the sight
of puppies and kittens.
In eighth grade he fell
in love with Tom Bailey
a neighbor who was in
his P.E. class at school.
Shower time was a time
of pleasure/pain as he tried
to keep his thirteen year old body
from responding to the sight
of warm water sluicing
over Tom’s naked body.
I will never forget his naked, broken body
lying in the latrine showers,
his face no longer recognizable,
the back of his skull
stove in by a baseball bat.
He followed Tom like a puppy,
wherever Tom led he was sure to follow.
They went to the movies together
but he couldn’t concentrate
on the movie with buddy
beside him in the dark.
They sat together on the school bus
and together hassled
Archie the bus driver,
calling out whenever Archie
missed a gear, throwing spit wads
and being altogether thirteen year old boys.
He joined the army to serve
his country. He thought the repeal
of “don’t ask, don’t tell” would protect him.
And besides Tom had enlisted
at the same time and they thought
they could serve together.
The army had different plans
and sent one east and one west.
In high school he made sure
that he was in Tom’s P.E. class
so he could continue to see that
which was forbidden to him.
He wasn’t sure whether the feelings
he had for the girls Tom
went out with were jealousy or envy,
he just knew he was uncomfortable
when Tom bragged of his exploits.
He told one of the others in the barracks
that he was gay and HE told another, and HE another
and soon the whole barracks knew.
One Friday night he and Tom
cruised Main Street with Tom in the truck
with his arm hanging out
and catsup dripping down.
Officer O’Rielly was not amused.
They each got a $300 ticket
for disturbing the peace.
Jason Swanson justified killing him
with the standard “gay panic” defense,
claiming that he had made a pass
at him in the shower
but he had had his back to Jason
and never knew what hit him.
He was just an eighteen year old soldier
who loved baseball and his country.

Curt Stubbs
3880 N. Park Apt. A
Tucson, Az 85719

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Curt Stubbs Poet- AND DUST TO DUST


by Curt Stubbs

There ain’t much I don’t know about this land,

The smell of it, the taste of it in the summer

when the sweet birthing rains bring bounty

and the lightning bugs glow just past my son’s fingers.

She groans in the deep dark mornings

when the cattle calve and my old cock rooster

rehearses his songs behind the big barn.

She’s a woman still fertile trusting a man who

who can’t get her with child.

She’s a child alone when the powers gone out

and the summer storms but doesn’t bring rain.

There’s something sad of a morning when the bean fields

gulp dew as the hot sun smirks and the still air stifles;

you can almost hear the land dying under my plow,

her death rattle dry, her last thought on another year’s bounty.

This land kept my daddy alive and his daddy as well

And if the dry heaves don’t kill her,

she’ll keep me and my son and his down the line.

If I thought she’d accept them I’d shed tears like autumn leaves,

and if I thought my prayers would save this farm

I’d wear holes in the knees of my trousers

and burn candles twenty four hours around the clock.

It’s a day sad to dying when dreams dry up;

and dance swirling away in afternoon dust devils,

the roots that held a man to his land

clipped at ground level and the clear sky above

singing the hollow shell meaningless blues.

Curt Stubbs
3880 N. Park Apt. A
Tucson, Az 857719

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Curt Stubbs Gay Poet- WEDDING BELL BLUES


by Curt Stubbs

The pulpit grows organically
before the fruited, flowered alter
as I stand with my boyfriend’s heart
in my hand and the King James Bible
swearing full commitment to a man
somewhere near here and now
I pledge my troth in complete and full
ring upon his finger touching the sky
wherein dwells our God feeling
our love and caressing my soon
to be married ass clad in tuxedo
pants complete with bright red
comberbun and he’s dressed so handsome
his tux matching mine in
and color me blind

by love possessed and let no man
put us asunder in a fine church like this
where the pulpit grows organically
out of my league and into the stratosphere
where boys toy rockets red glare
lights up the heir apparent
watching over a child’s crib
and adoption right

to be free according to our natures
before God and Country-
man loving man like
Romeo and Juliet without
the tragic ending in false conclusions
like those four eyed moths who confuse
predators into thinking
they are right about our nuptials
and our lives in the balance
of natural occurrences

Curt Stubbs
3880 N. Park Avenue
Tucson, Arizona

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Curt Stubbs Gay Poet- PRONOUNS: A LOVE STORY


by Curt Stubbs

He was
sleeping so intently that he
didn’t hear the fire alarm.

He was
so aroused by the fire’s heat
that he was rubbing himself in his sleep.

He was
overcome by smoke
and burned to a blackened corpse.

He was
so grief stricken that he
never dated again.

He was
so lonely in his old age
that he committed suicide.

He was
buried along side the blackened corpse
that was his former lover.

Curt Stubbs
3880 N. Park Apt. A
Tucson, Az

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