Rescue
The Coast Guard in alliance
With Texas Parks and Wildlife
Rescues six (among these, two
Children) from a sinking ship
Off the shore, out into the
Sea-like water, near Corpus
Christi (a city named for
A savior)
It happened—it really, really
Happened—and it will take
Place again
There is good news
And, somewhere near you
And me, there is good news
As well
(my brief cycle of nature poetry,
fractured and otherwise, ends
with this animated entry; maybe
I have been stir-crazy or simply
become, you know, duck soup)
Duck
I know there’s Aflac
And classic Disney Donald
But I tend to think
On Daffy of Looney Tunes
(TM and circle-R, I’m sure
And circle C for these icons)
Remember when he
Wanted to be rich (well,
That would be always)
And then he angered a
Genie?—in the final scene,
Bugs Bunny opens up an
Oyster, discovering a
Pearl; then a transformed,
Tiny Daffy runs up Bugs’s
Arm, cradles the pearl under
The ceiling of the shell
And, while the shell (and the
Episode) is closing, mutters in
A high pitch to himself,
“I am a wealthy miser.”
Now, children of any age,
Aren’t those words
To live by?
That’s all.
Folks.
Keystone Groundhog’s Day
Tomorrow—that’s 2 February—
Is, well, Groundhog’s Day
And since I am in Pennsylvania,
Maybe I should say something
(Maybe not)
The groundhog is a creature
With variants: prairie dogs out
West (USA), like Texas
Armadillos in attitude and in
Treatment, so I’m told
Nuisance-being that somehow
Makes a hole we all attend to
On this day
Origins are fought over (the day,
That is, not the groundhog
Itself, made in the perfect,
Chortling humor of the mind
Of God), though likely it’s a time
And rite of spring brought up
Into present cultural moment
There is a town, and here it is
(Here’s how it’s spelled)
Punxsutawney (too bad—Spell-
Check defeated me again, this
Year by only one letter)
Here in top hats people (not
The beast—and I don’t know
Why anyone wears the hats)
Will withdraw the toothy animal
From its artificial den atop a
Hill in or near the town (pardon
Me, the borough, there being
No towns in Pennsylvania,
Municipally speaking, save one
Town for another day)
And then winter’s prophecy-
Predictor takes over the day via
Shadow—and that’s all
But I like the day because, unlike
Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving
Or Memorial Day, we have not
Wrecked this one
There are no Groundhog-Day cards
(I know of), so you must make your
Own—and thus enjoy the day (or
Maybe not) in whichever way you
Groundhog-like
(Legend has it that on this morning, if a groundhog can see its shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter. If it cannot see its shadow, spring is on the way. InfoPlease.com.)
ShenandoahNPS / Foter.com / CC BY via Google Images
Mammoth Find
Something fantastic was
Found under OSU—now,
In my part of the land,
OSU stands for “The”
Ohio State
Here, however, we’re
Talking about Oregon,
Where by the way members
Of my family have
Attended
Though none ten thousand
Years ago, which is the
Counting of this find—
Generally, we (and I
Mean you and me) were
Around as early wanderers
And inhabitants and so
Might have run from the
Massive body of the bones,
When enfleshed and nature-
Armed, we have now
As a mammoth—you
Know, the woolly kind
We’d have eventually
Turned and hunted down
The one in stone calcified
That we treasure now
Free away from
Primal scenes and needs
We may make friends
And maybe make amends
With its bones dryly,
Comfortably
Without tooth and claw
To rend in red our fragile
Skin
We (less bravely, perhaps)
May say:
Welcome, Ice-Age ally, to
Our better art and science
(“Nature, red in tooth and claw”—In Memoriam, Tennyson)
Willow, on Three Legs
Willow, on three legs—
A wolf, one leg ruined
In a trap
Willow protected now
In sanctuary
We had a feline with
Three legs, one leg
Caught in a trap
She was purebred,
And the vet reasoned
That, once marred in
The trap, the cat
Could not be shown
For ribbons and so
Was discarded
My sister gave the
Siamese an exotic
Name, Scheherazade
(“Shahrazad,” the teller
Of one thousand plus
One tales, the tyrant’s
Wife who lives), and
For seventeen years
We lived with her
She was a gentle cat
Except for one trait:
She was the best
Birder in the cat pride
We kept then
Tragedy turned cat-
Happy life (well, not
So much for certain
Birds): Well done!
Well told,
Scheherazade
May Willow live as
Happily and as whole
(Willow introduced
To me, as with so
Many things, on PBS)
Tree Kind
I fell from one
Once and again
And in the breath
I struggled to take
Back again
I still called you
Friend
I cannot make flesh
That has its own
Or invent a spirit
When already imbued
The tree breathes
Out its own
31 January 2016
(in the global north)
I still wake up with jittery feelings. The sun is bright. The snow is melting down. Maybe I need it gone. But is that the boundary of my fear? I sit and look outside to see the beauty. I am inspired to come back and write a verse of two. Still, fear jumps inside me. At least it doesn’t leap. I’ll feel better, once I write a bit. Drink a hot drink, maybe take a pill or two pills. I know that on a good day my heart still operates in an iffy way. I know that what happened here was momentous. It’s momentous, still, outside. As in ancient Arabian architecture, I cherish space and righter light. Not simply looking out into amorphous glare. Rather the view of a virtuously bright and blue-skied world above with earth of desert browns beneath. Through arches made of genius and of grace, numbering the stars within each stone’s embrace.
I dream this is all easier, if not delightful, in a desert paradisal scene. Where arid becomes beautiful and free air moves through all, spirits borne and carried along. Maybe heaven’s healing wind will pause and wave upon me there, and I will feel and know something of the serene aspect of God.
Too much romance and earthly-bound, I know. But I need this. My fear frankly needs it, as does my hope and peace.
clcouch123 
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