2x day, doctors’ faces’ notes
(facing doctors’ notes)
2x day
noon
bedtime
coffee
Coca-Cola
caffeine
alcohol
walking
what else?
tuna mayo milk chicken soup
green banana
what else?
coordinate
pain
follow-up
inspection
don’t drink
long-term
intake
water
what else?
2x day
hook
else what?
retreat
reflection
heart cave
what else?
else what?
This is a poem that I love.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
(published many times by Houghton Mifflin; this quotation is from the first volume—typically, the series is published in three volumes—The Fellowship of the Ring)
I could think of many poems that have meaning: “Church-Going” by Philip Larkin; “Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson; “Diving into the Wreck” by Adrienne Rich; any dramatic monologue by Robert Browning. And so on. But a poem I love?
I love this one. Parts of it are often quoted, so I guess there are others who love the poem, too. It has no title, but it’s in the voice of Aragorn and is sometimes published as “Strider.” And, yes, Tolkien is a favorite writer of mine; and his works have been meaningful to me since I was an adolescent.
I love the poem because it’s wise. It speaks of what’s true and what is good. And what goodness there is to come when things are renewed.
And it’s a song.
O, quiet steps to take—or maybe
kicking rocks to reach the top—to change
it all, once I am over.
Moving, taking steps toward what is next,
for now unseen. The future matters; so does
now: plan, prepare; celebrate, go
But the steps that climb, I climb,
and what they mean. To make the steps
real, ideas must turn with
questions made into commitment: Who
am I? And you? What do we want?
What might we have now, and
what must wait? Here, the steps are life as is,
relenting to what’s raw and incomplete—life
beyond the metaphor, though the metaphor of
steps inspires. And so, dear steps, I talk with you
and thank you. Then turn to the actual one
close by to ask: Will you plan with me? Will
you help me draw the lines of steps to make
a path and then to fill them in?
Will you help me, metaphor in life?
Please do.
I’ll step up or down
for you.
There is a fine service, WordPress
that causes me no end of stress.
It will not make tabs
or accept other jabs,
which makes me revise in duress.
In Skin
The skin I’m in is thin. Veins of red and blue reign through. Freckles heckle purity. Nails take in so much dirt, I don’t know why. I wail; I cry. The spire of this is amiss but for this. What I have, I have. I shave, I clip, I cleanse, I comb. The skin over leg and lip, the hurts I cut on the earth I roam. But this, this, is always home.
C L Couch
Choose a gift not chosen
His is taken from the frozen
Rite from lore of old
Is taken from a place of gold
So real was he at one time
Though what remains is known in rhyme
Or illustrated in the book
Please, new children, take a look
His name, my name
Ever real—that’s the game
Real person, character’s glance
Rarely remembered in the chance
Over anyone reading like a stone
Beyond looking beyond the bone
In finding out he’s real, man
Named in life, in tales ran
As his father can
Hi, coo, hi, hi, hi
hers and his an on-line hate
of screen-hits and hype
clcouch123 
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