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February 2023

Chalk Calculations on the Head of a Shovel

(x = space)

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Chalk Calculations on the Head of a Shovel

x

Sunday

Is Lincoln’s birthday

I like this guy

Though I probably

Don’t know why

And don’t know enough

Why maybe

I should not

x

What I know

Is that he was born

In Kentucky

(me, too)

And he grew tall

(not me)

And had a sense of humor

(played pranks)

And could split rails

And was a failure

At nearly anything he tried

Except

The holding of one office

To which he was elected,

The one and he

That we remember

x

Republicans

Were upstarts then

And maybe have their best

In their first

‘Cause he was pretty good

Flawed

Perhaps greatly,

Haunted

By the losses

In his family

And in the losses in

The nation’s family

x

He was a kind of

Savior to that nation

In a conflict

That many folk

Did not take too seriously

Taking picnics

Borne in carriages

To watch the battle like

Watching

A tournament

x

And then the bullets

And the missiles

Spoke to say

There is no recreation

And four years later

(every war is Pyrrhic)

Everyone who breathed

Said for themselves

And for everyone

No longer drawing breath

This is enough

Let’s have an ending

To the ruinous process

We drew upon ourselves

For growing up

A country

Four years

As an age

x

He freed the slaves

Many people freed the slaves

Among them slaves

x

The many battles,

Wounds and deaths

Disease

Formulative scars later

And the war

Was over

Save the carpetbagging

And the agonizing irony

Of Reconstruction

x

But first

By the assassination’s bullet

He was removed

From everything we know

And might improve

x

Johnson tried

But was impeached

Though not convicted

And was left

To practice

What we recall as an ineffectual

Administration

x

The remains

Of Abraham

Were taken from the capitol

To Springfield

For burial

While we’ve had nearly

Eight-score years

To count his steps

And missteps

But he was carried

And placed over stone

And under earth

For silence

x

And shall we say he’s great?

Greatness is

On the inside

Of a life

And then through what is done

And if we can reason there

We may only with

Minimal compunction

Call him great

x

Once we have decided,

We should relate the news

To the President

Maybe

Before his tomb

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Unseen Histories on Unsplash

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0

prosaically yours

x = space

x

x

prosaically yours

more so more likely than versically

x

i’m tired

second cup of coffee

tv for distraction

more senses involved

than music

i should pray

i don’t what to say

could god answer anyway

there’s omniscience

after all

x

my eyes are tired

computer screens don’t help

nor does the time

i couldn’t sleep

rose well

into remaining darkness

wrote for hours

tried to sleep

wrote some more

that would be now

x

so here is

honestly

and what shall happen

next

is up to me

but i must manage balance

between staying in

to raise awareness

or going out

not so far

to run

to drive

some errands

x

like kenny loggins at

pooh corner

there are things to do

that are exigent

prescriptions to retrieve

gasoline to get beforehand

x

you know

i don’t have an

electric car

though i grieve historically

the stanley steamer

while i’ve only

come across

two pumps for electricity

in my collection

of small towns

what is the

strategy

for everyone

only charge our cars

at home

x

there is trash to take out

as well

first or last

and more

you know

always more

x

it’s friday

i should take the weekend

to bear it somewhere

fine

and i want

to say however plainly that

i hope you’ll carry yours

to such a place

as well

x

i should say toward the conclusion

not parenthetically

that I mourn

i talked with my sister for

a while last night

we talked

about our loss

and everything that still needs doing

that she’s doing mostly

my part is to buoy

x

if i pull that off

i should be helpful

which

is an impulse

or an instinct

from which

except in what were

and still might be

extreme and selfish times

it seems

i will not be released

x

not to speak to heroes

for companionship but

as much to say

i come from dust

x

c l couch

x

x

if it’s not friday for you

or even daytime

fill in with your own day

of the week

the weekend comes

or has arrived

regardless

x

photo by félix prado on unsplash

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0

Toll

(x = space)

x

x

Toll

x

I started to write

Because it was twelve thousand

Now it’s more than twenty

There would be little left

Of my small town

Which is considering

The numbers only

Imagine people

I don’t want to

Imagine myself there

Would be easier

Because I would be doing something

And it would be awful

And my life would break

Like the earth

Beneath the nations

That might come back

Or we will fill it

Not with the dead

But with material

For building and for living

Apologies from government are fine

Maybe we could stop the war

Among the factions

And the other wars

In the region

To reassemble

Reknit the people

Not as Babel

Fallen

But as the New Jerusalem

A promise

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Jazmin Quaynor on Unsplash

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Ordinaryism

(x = space)

x

x

Ordinaryism

x

Well,

It’s less expensive

To take a table outside

A favorite place

Or to discover

Than to take a cruise

Or fly within

Something wide-bodied

Keeping the moving air

Of the fan

The air out of the nozzle

Going

x

Not that those things

Aren’t fine

They are

And we should like them

Should we have them

But if you have a friend at

Table anywhere

Maybe two friends

Maybe more

x

You are at

The high table in the great hall

Of monarchs

A gilded place

The café

Of your liking

Like the stories

And like Earth’s

And humankind’s

Storied luxuries

x

We have what we have

And let ambition call

And love each day

Find something

Change the quotidian,

If need be

Reach out

Get help

Maybe at that table

(try not

to apologize)

x

Or let the table simply be

An inexpensive place

And a gathering

Without agenda

Part of the joy

The easy joy

In having what the human world

Would say is not a game-show prize

But that you know

And your company

Is priceless

Because there is no price

Except for coffee

Maybe rolls or cake

Or whatever pleasure

The menu

And today

Afford

x

C L Couch

x

x

(I guess such a gathering might seem precious in the days of a pandemic, the reality and process, of learning how to wrap it in like SARS or H1N1 though of a worse disease—but I hope that one day easy meetings with our friends will happen once again; I’m sure the cafés hope so, too

yes, I know, we’re meeting now—I simply wish we’d work that out more safely)

x

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

x

1

The Earth Is Not Round

(x = space)

x

x

The Earth Is Not  Round

x

Four thousand dead

In Turkey and in Syria

From earthquake

x

Do we understand

How many?

x

We could say

We could lost more in the Towers,

But do we understand

What that means

Save for being there?

x

And if there,

How far could we see?

How far would our eyes

And ears

And hands—our

Spirits allow?

x

The bodies piled here,

Now there:

Who understands?

And yet it happens,

All this happens—neither

Is done forever

Or for good

(that is a play on words)

x

We need to know we can

Step back—that

It is all right, the stepping back

x

As for disasters

We go in,

The brave go in,

Bags and boxes

Literal, awful

And sad treatments

That assuage

And do not heal

x

Still, many will be saved

And perhaps there is a plan

For the next time

To forestall the next time:

x

Real homes and towns,

Walls that bounce

And have a chance

To remain

And keep the mortal lives

Inside

x

I don’t have these perspectives,

Though I have come

To certain places

After:

Sometimes generations

Yet in need of fixing

x

Mostly, though,

The blood and gore

Have been my own

x

I do worse with yours

x

C L Couch

x

x

Turkey and Syria earthquake: race to find survivors as death toll passes 6,000 and hundreds of thousands seek shelter – latest

The Guardian via MSN, 11 minutes ago (12:24 EDT)

https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/world/turkey-and-syria-earthquake-race-to-find-survivors-as-hundreds-of-thousands-seek-shelter-and-death-toll-passes-5000-latest/ar-AA17bdhM

x

(I wrote this morning after sleeping with the news last night)

x

Photo by Parker Johnson on Unsplash

x

1

Précis for Aurora

(x = space)

x

x

Précis for Aurora

x

It’s winter

And it’s likable

Because

It’s cold outside

But there isn’t snow

Or ice or slush

Or such upon

The ground;

My car is clear

Should I need it,

And the sun is rising

Making the branches

Look like

Black arms with points

Reaching out,

Beseeching something

And I’m sorry

But I don’t know what

x

What does nature need

But to exist

And have oxygen and room

For existence

And some growth?

We could help

Or get in the way;

We conquer nature

So we think

To have our grand

Plans realized

For things above,

Below

The water table

Or some other

Primordial impediment

x

Do we cooperate

I wonder,

Ever:

Do we like our trees

And clouds

And ground and stones

And deeper things

Or

Are they only things

In the way?

x

We have a dominion

Theory,

Saying that

We are in charge

Of all of it

The flora and the fauna

And everything

That doesn’t move

Until cracks in the ground

Or volcanos

Dictate; I’m not sure

How our commission goes

Should we be

Evaluated—what kind

Of grade would

Watching angels

Grant us?

x

I say all this

Because it’s early

And the trees along

The street

Must manage with

Vehicular traffic;

The cars and trucks

Are noisy

While the trees

Are quiet (no wind

to show a

protest, either)

x

I wish you well today

And us

Us together,

Since the CO-2 and

O-2 arrangement

Keeps us going

And we are ruining

The Amazon

And I don’t know

How we’re doing

On Main Street

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Renting C on Unsplash

x

(I actually do live on Main Street; maybe you do, too)

x

2

Honestly

(x = space)

x

x

Honestly

x

O God

You are so good

I say this when the sun is out

Will I say it

In the storm

When I am losing everything I’ve had

Maybe a person

x

While my people are shattered

Or even when the sun

Comes out

After

x

I won’t believe the sun

May I believe you

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

x

1

A Kindness

(x = space)

x

x

A Kindness

(Rosa Parks)

x

Because she was tired

And had enough

Of being tired

And the bus was not a charter

It was public transportation

She paid her money

Not a special fee

There was a seat

And she was tired

And had had enough

Of being tired

x

The kind of pain

Inside and out

And all she wants to do

It have it

Live it

Normally

The way

Anyone might bear

The pain

Of living

x

Though especially

The colored people

Colored brown

And paying for it

Without payment

In a place they did not sail to

Like Europeans

Who told the stories

Of their difficulties

Forgetting

(looking away)

About the holds beneath

In which the colored people

Had been pushed

And chained

And many of them

Died

On a journey of abduction

x

Can you imagine

Starting out this way?

This is their legacy

So let her have the vinyl seat

That she had rented

For a while

x

Let her have the whole bus

A fleet of buses

Let the people ride for free

And charge admission

For the lighter folk,

Which might began

To pay her back

And all her people

Who had the worse luck

Like the Indians

Already living here

x

Everyone with un-pale skin

Who met the Europeans

x

Not me

I wasn’t there

The rejoinder

Fair enough

But you’re here now

We’re here

We’re all here

Now

With small choices

And enormous ones

For how to live a country

Filled with all the colors

Hearts

And minds

And souls

x

You know,

Sometimes we stand

To let the lady sit

Or someone older

Someone bearing burdens

Or simply to be kind

Call it

Chivalry aside,

We can live this way

Kindly and civilly

Again

And for the first time

x

Might bring peace

(yes, there will be disgruntled)

On the bus

At the doorways

Going in

And going out

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Peter Orsel on Unsplash

Intersection in the Middle of the Desert

x

4

Invitation to a Wake

(x = space)

x

x

Invitation to a Wake

(with a toast)

x

We invite ourselves to

A meeting of ourselves

To celebrate a life

No longer with us

With all the possibilities

Frustrated to resolve

This side of things

And we can’t drink ourselves

Into oblivion

Because oblivion has form

And so frustrates annihilation

Of our senses

Besides, we want

To remember

And with gratitude

Share memories,

Enumerate mortality

Until the count and everything

That counts

Is ready on both sides

x

To one or those no longer

But an absence,

Here are drinks

(one of these

per one of us)

To aid sensation that

We hope will aid selection

Of desired sun-and-shade

Remembrances

Of memory

To tell

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

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