Search

clcouch123

I talk you talk we'll talk

Month

June 2020

Oh, Dad

Oh, Dad

(Father’s Day 2020)

 

Hey, Dad

Poor Dad

We’re changing your lifestyle

And we’re feeling really bad

 

It started about five thousand

Years ago,

When fathers learned

They were responsible

For physicality in the home

And something more

That something more kept catching us

Feelings for the children

Dynamics in the group

Be it hunting or the farm or town

Obeisance to the seasons

To leave some art behind

Find something called a god

 

Where were women in all this?

Except for vulnerable times,

I imagine they were hunting, too

Foraging

Protecting the home

Feeding the family dog

Making allowances for the cat

And were left

To home the home

While men were charmed by

Exploration

Or other commissions taking them

Away

 

If you watch Hallmark movies,

You’ll find women are sharp

And adaptive

While men are typically dense

Making five thousand years

Seem not that long ago

You see, outcast Eden laid upon the men

Something by Freud called ego

A promise to break promises

So that the wrong part

Of the spirit might

Be sated

Women have it, too

And sometimes play like men

Though their spirit, good parts and bad,

Have been wounded over ages

Now coming into their own

 

Call it a hundred years ago

Men fought in war

Discovered there was no romance in it

And needed something more

Jobs were lost across the world

There were plagues, too

No provision for the family

The older means, mostly trusted, gone

How does one keep another

On an arid, empty farm

Or in a city walled from caring

About applications?

 

There was dire need

More war

And on the other side of war,

Those not of the millions who were dying

In the outside battles or the inside

Found jobs

Some schooling

Identical homes along the street

Marriage and children, once again

But this time with differences

Our children got some schooling, too

And were well cared for

Relative to depressing times

They got smart

And started asking questions

War had gone underground by then

Undeclared though the dead were just as dead

Bad time to be secret

Sending youth to die

For an abstract against

Really dying

So our asking youth

Receiving no good answers or

Tissued assurances

Began to protest

 

Look around now

Our fathers and our grandfathers

Wouldn’t know the place

Surprisingly primitive in some parts

Even and especially

At home

Sophistication breeding self-interest alone

A time of hate and anger

Fanned by the group that wants

Distraction so secret profits

Will out

 

Lifespan is longer

Healthcare is better

When not strangled by those

Who think it’s fun

To string along the funding

Awareness is more possible

And potent

Though democracy is threatened

By control

Who has it, who wants it

Who might relent not to talk about

But really go after peace

Before the crust is melted of the Earth

By insanity hovered over switches

 

This is your world, Dad

We’re sorry

Be angry, be frightened

Or, better, rest your ego

Allow yourself to love

And be loved

Even in what must seem a maddened place

A paradox to ask for

But here is still where the magic happens

Brought down to Earth by

God in many names

And no name

Who says, go for peace

And don’t neglect to play

When there are pauses

In the action

 

Mom must have her day

But here is a day for father

Here is a day for you

Don’t forget the other day

Remember all the days

 

C L Couch

 

 

Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feelin’ So Sad: A Pseudoclassical Tragifarce in a Bastard French Tradition

by Arthur Kopit

premiered in 1963

 

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

 

The Originals

The Originals

 

We create and re-create

We must do this,

I think

The way animals return

To reproduce

It’s close work and

Intimate

Actions in a studio

Or on the line

What might tragedy encourage

Into making

Or a comedy?

I’m not saying it’s a law

It’s not

Sometimes a commission

Even patronage

Sometimes, though, merely

A happy accident,

As is said but really happens

 

Call it invention

Or an invention

Making and remaking

What is made a complement

And compliment

To a living and a breathing

Sometimes fierce, sometimes

Fanciful

Planet Earth

 

With places in the cosmos

When we’re ready

Though we’ll probably

Leave too soon

To find the faces

That have been

Quietly challenging

Wizening with age

Maybe waiting

For the far more mortal

Upstart young

To launch

To find our way to you

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jenna S on Unsplash

“Painting the Summer”

 

June Teeth

June Teeth

(19 June)

 

Don’t worry,

The current administration

Has no part in this

In fact, it doesn’t like you

Very much

Tips outside an open door

While behind it,

All the cronies gamble

For what’s left

 

In the real real, however,

You are wise

And rising

Except for violence—everyone

Stop doing that

There is greater power

In peace

(you know this)

And change that lasts

 

It is an important day

Make tomorrow important, too

And as your gospel roots

Might say

Do say

(because roots can speak)

Love one another

 

C L Couch

 

 

Susie King Taylor, known as the first African American Army nurse

detail, frontispiece of book published in 1902. Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Division. https://www.loc.gov/item/2003653538/

photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash

 

Born Ready

Born Ready

 

There are two

Quite often

And some more

We work in company

Best of all,

It seems

I guess we’re made that way

Porous, with no corners

But with openings

Ready in the making

To receive

Atomic intentions

Molecules that move

From skin to skin

One by one

We each remain intact

But space and matter have

Determined

All the places on

Each one of us that

Are ready to receive

Like sponge to sponge

Life like water

Fuller for the moving

And arriving

Tidal pools that live

Along the shore

Of every cosmic

And each metaphoric

Ocean

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Marcelo Rivas on Unsplash

Tide pools, La Jolla, California, USA

 

Causation

Causation

 

It’s dangerous out there

I know

(sometimes in here)

Sometimes in

All the things

That do not sensibly

Go together

Illusion of peace

While there is war

Freedom while many

Are slaves

Breathing in

What seems a pretty sky

With all things we’ve put in it

Do you get it?

I’m not sure I do

So many killing things

With industries to keep ourselves alive

 

When they arrive

Extraterrestrials will wonder

What we’ve done to ourselves

And why

Unless they speak among themselves

Yes, we remember profit

We remember cheapened life

Thank goodness

And our gods,

We grew out of that

Discovered what they really mean

To have

And have not

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Artem Labunsky on Unsplash

 

Summation of the Heart

Summation of the Heart

 

Whites kill blacks

Sometimes blacks

Even the score

But when it’s four centuries

In one place

(there are other ages,

other places),

How can the pit be cleared

And turned over when

What we fill

Never bury

Is horror for horror?

 

Charity

Forgiveness

May we start again?

Will blacks offer it?

Will whites accept?

There are more races

Hatred, fear, and anger poured

Into pale ears

And, yes, sometimes in sable

By a devil poisoning

Thought,

The varied arts in creation

Rather making a mob

(this is not protest)

That has no sight

Or strategy

 

Asian, African,

Australian, Caribbean,

Flesh from Europe’s people

Not white enough, the

Subcontinent

First people in America,

Australia

Any native people whom

Developers have eyed

And power-mongers

Calculated

This is race

The human race

Racing humans

 

There is crime

Sometimes it’s organized

Maybe it’s exciting

To put one’s life on the edge

Of a knife

And live along mortality

Easy money, maybe

For a life

For a life

 

There is disease

The flu, Ebola, AIDS

The virus we have crowned

There is no treatment

No vaccine

There are measures

People are tired of following

Them

So don’t, and the sickness

Spikes again

We cannot learn

We cannot go back

All we want to do

Is go back

 

The children of the world

The world that is our child

Those of us in charge

Fully grown in measure

Also charged

To leave a planet

To the generations after

Who watch us now

Who see corruption, profiteering

(another word for politics)

Cutting, razing everything

 

We should retire

Giving them a chance

With all shame in leaving them

A world they saw us taking down

Our best option

Waiting for another

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Lara Puscas on Unsplash

281 – ATOMIUM, 1020 Bruxelles, Belgium, Bruxelles

The Atomium

 

Exhalations

Exhalations

 

I like the process

Glad it’s automatic

So many things can leave the body

Things we don’t need

 

Things in the brain stay there,

I suppose

We need exhaling in the brain

But we don’t get it

We have to learn what to keep

Up close,

What to file

 

The thing about a file, though,

Is that they’re not closed

For good

Mental welding doesn’t help

 

So open up the stacks

From time to time,

Letting air breathe through

The folders

 

We might need

Companionship for this

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Elena Kloppenburg on Unsplash

 

Sometimes It’s Penance

Sometimes It’s Penance

 

I’d rather write of beauty

In unlikely places

Alleyways and freckles

Left-handed people

Curved things

Where everything is straight

Wild violets and dandelions

Saved before indifferently

Cut down

 

But there are people doing

Ugly things, who

Must be chastised

If not by me, by someone

And then there’s me

And the ugly things I’ve done

I’m going for redemption

Within my grasp

Like the exceeding heaven

In my faith

And literary tradition

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

St Marys, Tasmania, Australia

A red poppy pops its head out through a park bench in Saint Mary’s in Tasmania Australia.

 

 

The Irony of Summer

The Irony of Summer

 

After the first official day

In late June,

The daytime will be

Narrowing toward winter

 

My child mind

Thought the long days

Could not end, and might

We have some more, please?

And we did

 

My grown-up mind

Is, however, taxed

Imposing accuracy and will

Since the longer light of summer

Will go more briefly

To each sunset

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash

Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Spain

 

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑