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February 2020

Today Is the Birthdate of Abraham Lincoln

Today Is the Birthdate of Abraham Lincoln

 

Today is the birthdate of Abraham Lincoln.

Born in a three-sided cabin.  Named for his

Grandfather, killed in a struggle with

Indigenous people.  Abraham (the second)

Grew tall, used his height to play pranks on

His mother.  Used to do math calculation

By the fire.  Grew up, tried many things.

Such as storekeeper, postmaster.  Failed at

Them all.  Did learn to split wood for rails.

Did pass the bar (a win or failure still to be

Determined).  Spent his childhood in Kentucky,

Not so far from Louisville.  Then went to

Illinois, Springfield.  Joined a law practice

As a junior partner.  Ran for public office.  Lost.

Somehow became a candidate in the new

And upstart (liberal) Republican Party.

Possessed an eloquence none could fathom

But all (most all) respected.  Maybe breathing

Air above the rest was an assist.  This is the

Thing he won, became our sixteenth

President.  And the best.  We know what

Happens next.

 

There is a terrible war.  He guides us through.

He dedicates a cemetery with 270 words

(Thereabouts) that come to shiver the whole

World.  For many reasons, he declares

Black slaves free, something the founding

Leaders of the nation could not or would not

Do.  He leads into victory.  He orders “Dixie”

To be played by his band upon the White

House lawn.

 

He wanted to heal the nation.  He never got

The chance.  Surely, goodness and mercy

Follow and attend him.  And he, if any, dwells

In the house of the Lord.

 

C L Couch

 

 

Abraham Lincoln at the dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Lincoln is slightly left of center, just behind the mass of blurry people, facing the camera, head slightly down and tilted to his right (camera left).

David Bachrach – This image is available from the United States Library of Congress’s Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID ds.03106. This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons: Licensing for more information., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5127661

 

7

Penitent

Penitent

 

I want to feel like

Something small

Not shriveled

Rather folded up

Like some leaves while resting

 

I’m hoping for a second skin

(protection,

only natural)

Of noises in a sun-washing field

That kind of peace, no other

 

Just now and for a while

Brief or long

(but it could be long)

May I have this, please

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Gaston Roulstone on Unsplash

West Coast DC, South Africa

A low-angle photo to give an unusual perspective of the wild daisies which appear every spring along the West Coast in South Africa. Nature at its most colorful time!

 

 

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Psyche

Psyche

 

I’ve not had great dreams lately

I yelled at a student

I couldn’t find my way

I argued with my mother

 

Even getting some of my own way

Did not help then, while yet asleep

Not now, when awake

 

Dreams work out the subconscious into

Conscious, first for sleep

And now when we’re awake

There is nothing to do

I have no students now

My mother has been gone for years

So what’s a conscious mind to do?

Be more aware, maybe

 

Readier to withhold a broken branch

And find a whole one to step out on

Spying out the cracks

By the light of day

 

In a plan or in a consequence

In something about which I’ve been thinking

Or letting stew

Like porridge in a story

Within me

 

Maybe not so fast

Or when it’s fast, have something more

To use, awareness

Or withholding

Shut up and listen for a while

Having paid attention to the dream

 

There is association, there

I might miss the whole

Shadowed itself in front of me

With a grayed companion behind

At least I might have cleared the fog, somewhat

Breathing more clearly

 

In a new and waked-up (I’ll

not say woke for the fashion)

Day

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Daniel Hjalmarsson on Unsplash

Marigot Bay, Saint Lucia

Brain Coral

 

0

Red Badge

Red Badge

(Battleground, 1949)

 

Watching a war movie

One of the better in

The genre

 

Everyone is frightened

Winter doesn’t help

Low clouds by day, and

There’s confusion

Even though

There’s order, too

 

How could I survive?

With my heart, I couldn’t

If it is congenital

(which is the current

guess), I guess I never

Could

Have gone

 

I’d miss the songs

The whistling in the dark

The weather that

Never seems to serve

Privation be it food

Or something potable

(who doesn’t need

a drink when drafted

at eighteen?),

Ammunition or the distance

That a letter brings,

A photograph

 

I’m speaking of the past

(the movie’s reach)

Now there are screens

And firm tries at

Armor, stronger missiles

That can guide

Themselves, it seems

 

Still, it’s a hellish business

No one should make

Money from it, then

Or now—It should be

A charity, the kind

That Lincoln said

We should have toward

All, funded through our

Tax dollars, as they

Say, at work this time

As a 501c3

 

Bring everyone back

In that fine order,

When it’s done. so

We all might start

Over, over here

 

It’s Sunday, and

I’m thinking about bullets

The kind that tear

Into flesh and

Malice in randomness

Through windows,

 

Let alone the shells,

As has been shown

While what

Is heard

Is a civilian scream

From the dark

Inside

 

Outside the street

Is burning, around

The pyres a dog

Alone, dodging

 

War tears into streets

There will never

Be another neighborhood

For good

 

This was my Sunday

Morning, sorry

I was not in church

But here—there was

A church scene in the

Movie, a chaplain

With a foot-wrapped

Message (first message

that of having given

boots away to another

soldier in that charity,

remember?)

 

That the Nazis wanted

War (they did want,

as remnants today)

So we, everyone

Who could—Pole,

Italian, Asian, Irish,

Latin, Black, Harvard,

Brooklyn—had

Some saving to do

Pastors, always

Talking about saving

 

I wish I could feel

Better but don’t

I’m tired, and I should

Have been at church

I should be

A better neighbor,

Standing up for what

Is right more often

Not merely

Trust a system

 

Here there were

Ranks and also branches

Stuffed in foxholes

With soldiers sharing

Cigarettes and stories

Chewing on

K rations unthankfully

(and why?)

Wanting chocolate and

The Stars and Stripes

To tell them beyond

The shoulders of

The next one

 

That war was

Over, peace declared,

And all go home

Maybe to another

Generation lost

But home it is

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Kony Xyzx on Unsplash

 

4

Pent-Up

Pent-Up

 

I hate the feeling

Nothing good will get out again

I gave up a lot

Not to live this way

And took on therapy and pills

With the condition, breaking surprise,

That tries to kill me every day

Flood my lungs, press the heart

Into submission

Of a final stillness

 

For freedom

I once visited

Because I could

And then again a panther

In a gray-steeled cage

It made the only choice

To live, to pace

In sullen majesty

 

Until finally I saw the jaguar spots

Beneath the black

I knew there was complexity

In what should be

And freely

 

I could cry now (it’s welling up

from a deep place) from ever having

Known the panther

At the zoo, which sounds

Romantic, yes

 

It was released, at last,

Into a habitat, an artificial valley

I live on machines

I guess

We each know something

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Mélody P on Unsplash

 

2

Spray-Painted World

Spray-Painted World

 

Victims get so tired,

And they cannot sleep

 

They have night enough to say

To themselves, who wants it

Where is the day that offers

Vitamins and company with

Expressions on faces we can see?

Beaten from outside

Or deep within

One might be a consequence of

The other

How to find the lowest rung

When certain clouds and darkness

Have an agenda to obliterate

All hope in rising,

I don’t know

As in I can’t guarantee

I can say try, try it to myself as well

Dodge the stroke of perpetration

Push away the smoke,

Ignore the mirrors

Rise above ignominy and presupposed

Punishment from sin that

Circulates, unclaimed, looking for a

Target

(while we’re made of adhesive

you know the childish insult)

Turn a better word to action

Reach for the saving step

To start

It’s there

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Andre Hunter on Unsplash

Just Mad

 

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Love Is More

Love Is More

 

I should write of love

Though I don’t feel it

But it’s more than feeling

You know that

When all the shiny parts have

Been rubbed raw

And not renewed just yet,

There is something harder

And more lasting

Like the core of many

Planetary things

Firm even when molten,

Moving

 

There is something better

Down below that rises high

Over the surface

That will restore

What needs restoring

And keep the rest

‘Til newer-older things than us

Gild everything like

Armor over flora

All renewed

More lasting, amazing-strong

In miracle of what was

Fragility in beauty

 

Such is the skin of love

Even now

That doesn’t always feel

Smooth but lasts

Though nether something-else invade,

Infect with thorns

 

Something better went

Deep first,

Invested in the marrow

The body will come back

The better parts, in fact,

Had never left

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Andrey Grinkevich on Unsplash

Meadowlark Botanical Gardens & Meadowlark’s Winter Walk of Lights, Vienna, United States

Spikes

 

0

Something for Wednesday

Something for Wednesday

 

Here’s something short

Because it’s Wednesday

And in the USA, Wednesday means a lot

Wednesday is the top of the rollercoaster

Rounding third

Frosting the cupcakes

Pulling the turkey from the oven

Hoping all the food and all the guests behave

This is what Wednesday means

It means a lot

 

And if we get through it and the next two days

We believe we should be issued

By the gods of seven days

Some weekend passes

 

C L Couch

 

 

photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash

 

2

Color Us the Painted Desert

Color Us the Painted Desert

 

 

a service

 

God of the wilderness

God of the wildness

Except that we’d need kitchens

And bathrooms

And storage for our things

This is not camping

Not a hotel experience, we know

Where is the wilderness

On my street?

Maybe it’s out back

Maybe it’s the outfield at the school, which

Often feels a deserted place

I have too many things

For wilderness

Even if they got me

Some of them

To this place where inside-outside

I want there to be less

And in the open

A driveway sale for

Shriving

So I might have

A Lenten lifestyle

Of my own, for keeps

No takebacks

No giving as we gave to Indians,

Which is what that phrase means

 

Talk about the wilderness

I don’t care anymore

I’d rather draw a picture

Wish to throw myself inside

Wait for the sky I drew to move

The grass to bend

Pebbles from the pathway

Fall onto the table with the pencils

You tell me I don’t have to go

There are many things here

That indicate

That even point the way

Yes, I could visit

Then come back

Bring a few mementos, talk about

The cairn left behind

Though people shouldn’t make those

Somewhere else, anymore

It’s a process:

Read more

Talk with these people

Listen—always good advice

But I’m tired of suburban circles

The kind that form a wheel to nowhere

Really an excuse for coffee

And conversation about anything

And I’m glad to participate

 

I am missing one thing

Companionship

For the journey

I’d rather you came with me

Some say such things must always

Go alone

The spirit quest, the walkabout

Though the wolf we meet is not alone

Might wonder what I’m doing there

Before returning to the family

The pack

And loyalty

 

Well, where am I going, anyway

And how?

I am here where doorways rarely open

To the sky

Where quiet contemplation

Is a fiction when the neighbors start to yell

And drop things, heavily

Upon my spirit

God, I can be so tired

Couldn’t you pick me up

Maybe in an old blue car

Take my friend and me

If she says yes

And with your friends we go west

Or east

Or wherever

You live and keep a house

Of wood the trees knowingly gave

And where the wind sings gladly

Where all around we understand

At last

The wilderness

 

 

after benediction

 

Stay or return

Or take up somewhere else

Maybe we’ll have a pack

Talking about other things

Another way to live

There will be loyalty

Because it is the source of joy

Not a grim reality

Or fighting words

Respect, freedom, something

Of our own

The love of life no more forfending

We will laugh our way

Up the valleys, over mountaintops

Truly, modestly

Celebrating all

Because we’re pack

Because we’re family

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash

Colour Cluster!

 

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