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August 2019

Cat News in Mews

Cat News in Mews

(not meaning stables except I guess as places for cat-gossip)

 

In a recent study

It was on the news today

Arch researching

(not unlike the cats indifferent

arch that is a pose, I’m sure) Found that

Cats can hear us

They know our names

They simply choose

To ignore us

 

This is news?

We know our cats know us

We count on it

As they on us

It’s a round-robin game

(sparing the robin)

The supplicants of Bastet

Could inform you

And all the rats on ships

 

Certainly, they know their names

But what is in the mind

Are silent cues

Scripted by a

God who loves them both

The felines and their victims

 

Cycles for the ages

Worthy of praise

Like Christopher Smart’s cat Jeoffry

Who will, I’m sure, not hear daily

Anything else

 

C L Couch

 

 

 

Study of the Virgin and Christ Child with a cat.

Leonardo da Vinci – The British Museum Database, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11231152

 

“Jubilate Agno”

Christopher Smart

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45173/jubilate-agno

 

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Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Please

Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Please

 

God, what shall I say

Of you today?

You are exasperating

You are all hope

You are the center of my faith

You are the labyrinth

I mean to cross

I take my comfort from you

As I take sustenance from food

You are my food

There are no empty calories,

Which on occasion is my deal

I will die

I am afraid

I think I shall meet you there

Or someone from your office

I had an episode last night

To remind me

Though there’s fear

There will be relenting, too

A last litany with Earth

A first step toward

What you deem is next

 

C L Couch

 

 

Froaringus – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7633775

 

5

A Song for Those Who Don’t Have Much of Anything

A Song for Those Who Don’t Have Much of Anything

 

I don’t know how to praise you

I am not qualified

I am a ball of sin and regret

Smooth outside, worn

By experience and cynicism

What can I do

That you would want?

What kind of words

What kind of song

What kind of dance?

How would you want me glorifying you?

I can’t see it

My senses dulled

My spirit raw

My hope has fled like the bird who

Is at least is credited with impulse

I have no church organ here

(my neighbors thank me in absentia

for what is absent)

I do not sing

I do not practice

I do not dance (don’t ask me)

Unless you want a waltz

(or, faster, a polka)

I pray in silence, wondering from time to time

How much that counts

 

I cannot fathom what would please you

I am afraid to think on glory

For my failure at it

I leave my zeal mired below

 

Maybe I could read a song of David

Or of a prophet—Deborah? Ezekiel?

Tennyson? Nikki Giovanni? Sharon Olds?

Adrienne Rich?

Reaching for these was homework

Still bearing the cachet

Of lack of will

I read them on my own and more

I think they are beyond me, too

 

I could build something

I don’t have the talent

Sometimes I make something from

What is strewn around

These are on display

And are religious

Maybe extra credit

I could read speculation

Of a world that’s better

Help others do the same

Ursula K. Le Guin (The Word for World

Is Forest), Anthony Horowitz

(Raven’s Gate), Robin McKinley (The

Blue Sword)

Tennnyson again

(In Memoriam, that’s hard)

But the spirit-work’s already done by these

I should give something of my own

For all that it’s performance,

I’m not sure church has it, either

Though I won’t blame for trying

(for being trying, that’s

another story)

 

Maybe I will in my halting way

Land on something that will last

Enough for praise

And even pleasure

From the maker

Who counts sparrows and stems of hair

And might not reckon me

And mine

So bad

Close enough for jazz

Slender spiral of

What might pass for praise

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Amy Baugess on Unsplash

 

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How Fast a Dream Fades

How Fast a Dream Fades

 

There was something

It was Christmastime

I was arguing with my mother

Over singing music I didn’t know

We went to church

Tim Breithaupt was there

He pointed toward a casino

On the hill

I said we have those, too

(casinos not hills, though we

have hills)

There’s not much more

And there was more

I feel sad about it

I was angry in the dream

I cannot argue with her, now

 

C L Couch

 

 

Tom Barrett

@wistomsin

This photo is taken from my flight to Panama. We flew directly through a storm, and this is what I captured.

Unsplash

 

0

Last of the Dog-on-Porch Poems

(3)

 

 

A Lesson from the Story

 

In The Horse and His Boy

A young person is punished

In the way she caused

The wounding of another

Aslan is very present there

In Narnia

Potent and immediate

The good thing is that

Judgment’s taken care of

Neither need worry over it again

 

A moment’s wrong

Another’s retribution

And we are clean with God

Again

Not bad, pre-Apocalypse

Before the book is opened

One last time

For good

 

 

A Grown-Up Narrative

 

Some adults with ADHD

Say they don’t like the medication

I understand

They feel the edge has been

Worn down

Lacking what is needed

Sharp awareness to get through

Each day

I understand

And, seriouser still,

The feeling that oneself has

Been worn down, too

Filed in every way

 

I have a medication that

Calms me down

Cools me

I’m thankful for it

Am I less of me?

I think parts of me that haven’t

Got to surface very much

Now have a chance for rising

And for air

 

Am I less of me?

If I am, is that so bad?

The peacefulness, it might

Be worth it

For the fuzzying of awareness

(I know what’s around me)

The challenge of the

Deeps of spirit I must swim against

I feel for those like me

Like themselves

Who favor the back stroke or the

Breast stroke

When one should not have to be

In the pool

I know it’s more than metaphor

Metaphor’s a pointer

Everything gets real

After that

 

 

Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

 

I’m sorry

I never got it right, you know

I must have a life

To offer it

I must have built something

And I didn’t

Praise and all impressiveness

To those who have

Who found enough for themselves

And to share

That is the way

That is the way of life

It secures the present and

Leans into the future

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by creisi from Pixabay

ecumenical?

 

1

More Poems for Dog Days

(4)

 

 

Fortune Favors

 

Because the day looks so good outside

And the a-c keeps things cool

I am thankful

If I lose these, one by one

I’ll still have the day

Even in blank hours

 

 

Let Sleeping Dogs

 

Cats are good

(yes, they are)

And dogs have their pedigree

For service

For licks that land in time

The paw that finds the sadness

In a soul

 

 

If You Please

 

If God allows

I will have coffee now

A quiet moment

With the sound of toast

These will be the monuments

Of my day

With some work

Unmeasurable accomplishment

The book of small things

Will record

So that nothing fine

The stuff of molecules

Is lost

 

 

Sometimes It Rhymes

 

I’d like to think my spirit

Has a rest

When all is said and done

Something that is bless’d

 

In all things, one by one

I like to think when heaven’s come

‘Cause everything was done

I will approach the dome

 

To find that nothing will abate

I cannot face a test

Surprise, the lock is off the gate

Not caring who was best

 

And I will have a place, a room

With high windows, please

Ruffled wings, a sonic boom

I am at ease

 

My better angels reassigned

To know that it is good

Everything is realigned

A could become a should

 

And so the sleep is over

Four leaves in a clover

Departure to arrive

We know once again, alive

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Lac de Malsaucy, Évette-Salbert, France

(Unsplash)

 

0

Some Dog-Days Poetry

(3)

 

 

Unplanning

 

I’m not sure why

A cool breeze

Always comes across as surprise

I’m thankful, really

I think if I arranged it,

I’d be particular in the wrong way

Overly concerned (if at all)

About temperature, humidity

Air pressure

Something about millibars

 

I’ll simply sit here

In a chair I hadn’t planned

If it rocks, that would be another boon

And if silently,

Would be relief

For my neighbor’s sake

 

 

The Only Kind that Matters

 

Bread used to be square

I saw it in a movie

‘Course then I’d have to say

Bread was black and white as well

I’m not how they pulled it off

What kind of protractor

Tyrannized the baking pans

 

I guess someone decided

That homey bread must have

A curvy bunch up top

But then began the crust wars

We’ve been waging ever since

Maybe after ends of eggs

The Lilliputians take this on for us

 

We’ve got toast to make

And victory in croutons

 

 

Squared

 

I think I sat in churches

And at funerals

For which paper fans were

Handed out

For trauma’s or heat’s

Sake I am uncertain

In our machine age

And cushioning our chairs

The paper fans seem to have

Gone away

Until the other day

When a friend presented me with

One of these, I’m not sure why

 

I hold it now, and I recall

It was the day of our town fair

And we’ve had record-breaking heat

This year

So folk wandered up and down

The street, bearing square

Reminders of mortality

 

You see, the name the favors bore

Was of a certain

Local institution

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Nathalie Ehrnleitner on Unsplash

 

2

I Know What I’m Missing

I Know What I’m Missing

 

When there’s time

And gasoline in the car

(I’d fuel up on air if I could),

I like to drive on roads

That might be new to me

I rarely stop for anything

And I don’t go fast,

If I can help it

To see a house with character

I haven’t seen before

To hum over a bridge

Maybe with a mark for the

WPA on either side

To enjoy a plethora

Of trees

Smell and taste their freshness

Through the vents or

With the windows cracked

I have a clutch

I don’t have cruise control

So I try to curb quite literally

My chances on the highway

Ostensibly, I’m going

Somewhere, but it’s all right

If there’s no arrival

I rarely have to backtrack

So I can say I’m making progress

And like Thoreau, Berry,

Or Oliver who

Blend outdoor living with

Reflection of supernal things,

I am where I am

Without a proper ending

 

C L Couch

 

Image by Josep Monter Martinez from Pixabay

 

0

The Wonder Years

The Wonder Years

 

Old age

Is for someone else, isn’t it?

I write as if I’m twenty

And I’m not

But still it seems an artifact

Something on display

To view someday when there’s time

I think it’s a problem

When the inside and outside

Cannot balance

Like bank pages,

Come to an understanding

A negotiation between parts as

Parties even though the

Disagreements tend toward

Being mild—

Nothing we want to overthrow

 

Unless divergence has become

A wider thing, a view too far

To see into with any

Clarity or source for contemplation

That is helpful

I’ve been there, so have you:

Off the road next to the

Telescope behind a low stone wall

Feeling air from down below

But discomfited because

It’s all impressive

But it’s new

Nothing to rely on

 

Old age is an eventual visitation

And a visit from which

We can’t walk away

It is inevitable

As it is phenomenal

It is, sadly, not enviable

Even for the lack of youthful

Problems

Elders are respected

Elsewhere where there are circles

We all need protractors

 

We will be that person

In the parking lot who wonders

Whose face it is

We see inside the window

And that will have to be all right

I wish we were so much

Better at it

Since there are stories

Wise, profane, honest, and

Incorrigible

We should seek them out, while

We can

Record them with technology

We understand

 

It is a comfort

And a fear

We of every age

Should deal in both

I’m sorry being forward

But my time’s finite, too

 

C L Couch

 

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