Ciara
From the news, I wanted to get
The hometown right
Of the murdered girl
The search yielded a
Thoughtful, pretty image
Of the twelve-year-old
I’ll take it down, but for now
I fear to remove her from the
Screen—
As if saying good-bye
This way
Will make death, already decided,
Somehow more deeply
Done
Increase nature’s hand
Nature deserves a better
Play and we can help
Vaccines
(a polio center bombed in
Pakistan, because of
serving)
I lived in the cities where
Salk and Sabin worked
Which does not matter
As much as the reality of
Vaccines
Diphtheria, polio, small
Pox, and malaria;
Millions—millions—died
From Spanish Flu in
The last (twentieth)
Century
These diseases are now
Resolved and most are gone
With vaccines and other
Helps except for those
Ravages that were not
Cured except through time,
For we hadn’t means to
Cure
We still look at this
Challenge, though it
Seems we’re getting
Better
I don’t know how those
Against vaccination really
Feel, maybe because I’ve
Only experienced the
Good
I’ve had mild symptoms
Of that for which I’ve
Been given shots—that’s
In the nature of vaccines—but
I’ve not suffered fully from
Diseases or conditions
Against which I’m
Protected
Now, due to a condition (not
Vaccine-related), I’m toward
The top of the list of those
Who should receive flu
Shots
Any reservations
Notwithstanding, I get the
Shot
Those who refuse risk
Infecting others, though
I respect the hesitation
If I cannot ally the
Principle
Yet those who turn down
And those who protest this
Medical opportunity are
Not bombing doctors’ offices
Or clinics where these
Serve
Though, I must say, that in
This free land, some
Take issues to extremes
To destroy clinics of
Another medical kind thus
Surrender being human in
Becoming the extreme and little
More
But on a day in Pakistan
I’ve read further in the news
About
Bombing a polio clinic
Addressing a disease that
Can be veritably
Eradicated
If this terroristic vision
(An irony of shots)
Could be realized, then there
Would be outbreaks of laming
And of crippling infection
Without recourse except
The best (the worst) of
Luck
When we can cure, we
Are at our best;
What can be said for
Those who hunt down
All those who can and
Now must more bravely
Cure
(the second)
Play It for Me, Sam
Maybe the romance of the song
Is that it’s sung in war
When all is danger and
Shadows bear the ominous
With secrets and white-shot
Reports inside the dark
Attacks that frighten
And that thrill the bravery
Some dare, we dare, to own
(two follow the last post—this is the first)
You Must Remember This
(sorry, it’s a wonderful song that
should be sung in safer times)
Terror is not Arabian, not
Muslim—not Judaic, either
It is not Christian or Hindu
Buddhist, Taoist, Jainist—
Choose a tradition or a people
Or those who have none
Not to blame our entire selves
For insanity extremes
But terrorism is human
(Tradition notwithstanding
Or lack thereof)
It has precedents with us
Select an age, select a place
There was terrorism there
I wish it were not so, but
If we understand a terrifying
Truth and need, maybe we
Can address an appalling
Human calling (not divine)
With righter resources
Not necessarily kind but
Complementing what we know
Of us, of them
Of us when them
History of Terrorism
(after bombings in Istanbul,
killing ten so far, wounding fifteen)
“What impresses your most about terrorists?”
“Their hundred-percent failure.”
I heard something like this in a television
Show, well-written show, an episode
First broadcast in the wake of 911
Now we have murder in Istanbul by a
Suicide bomber, so it appears, maybe in
Fearful avenging Turkish strikes against IS
Is ISIS going to have a state? Will the world
Allow that? Explosions, shootings,
Destroying lives with bodies strapped
With bombs: do these all realize such
A difference? Only in wasting, it seems—in
Exploitation and in scorn and in the
World’s resolve to stand together and against
Not a rising storm but rather in a lower
Continuity of tries at terror and of terror
Acts filled with, terribly and finally—you
Know, Macbeth’s signifying sound and fury
(drafted before an officer was shot
many times in Philadelphia, the
shooter claiming the cause was Islam)
Muslim Tribulation
We live to follow God,
to know the will of God
and continuously prepare
our lives so that we might
follow that sacred purpose
and intent.
There are religious
destroyers everywhere
in every tradition. But those of
us in unreasoned extremes—
these are sadly, specially alight
in the world just now.
We want peace. We believe
most do.
We want to be neighbors and
to welcome those into our
homes. But our hospitality is
challenged now of its
authenticity.
Do you want to be defined by
The remnant cause of woe?
Certainly, you don’t.
And neither do we.
We want our lives of faith
to delight our friends and
all those near us. Please
remember this.
We want to think
and believe
the best as well.
(what we celebrate)
The Farm Show
The Farm Show is happening
in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania,
the state capital. If you’ve
ever shopped, looked at the
markings on a package of food,
and seen (you may say penna-
dept) “Penna. Dept. of
Agriculture,” that’s us.
That’s Pennsylvania. With
standards so high for food
that theirs is an approving
agency relied on
‘round the world.
Not local mythology (not
yet), this state (my state
for now) is important for
food—and the annual
Farm Show is a celebration
of this.
Is there anything better
to recognize than organic
eatable or otherwise livable
selection? I know there’s
a classically brutal aspect
to farming of most kinds.
Animals are raised to
die, lands are turned under
losing ancient undergrowth
and artifact, and now
there’s the tension of
losing farm land itself to
other development. But
for now and anyway, we
celebrate what we need
to eat.
Sheep-to-shawl (alpaca-
to-shawl) and field-
to-shelf, the process of
feeding, clothing, and
sheltering America and
the world is exhibited. Yes,
there are statues made
of butter. Enjoy! (A PA
celebrity famous for saying
that, although he said it
twice.) And there are
auctions for animals.
Many shows of the rodeo
kind abound, and many
buy the food there as well,
which I’m afraid refers to
some snacks better-suited
for carnivals. Though baked
potatoes don’t sound so bad.
Even loaded. Even chased
with a Pennsylvania dairy-
made milk shake. (Sorry, Mister
Weldon Johnson, but for these
Bits of cooperative creation:
That’s good!)
These festivals take place
elsewhere, certainly. And
so might we agree that
raising up the cause of
(say viddles) victuals is
worthy for all? (To borrow
again:) That’s good!
Missive. Truly yours,
from Harrisburg’s
(one-hundredth)
Farm Show.
C L Couch
Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania
January 2016
Second-Storey Moor
On a misty-morning
Winter January day,
I look out the window
All I see is fog and
Lack of definition
Except for one tree
Of bare branches
Reaching black into
My windowed sky
I didn’t expect the
Art and science of
This: skillful, narrow
Firm and slender
Branches reaching
With a clarity that
Startles a black vision
Against smoky
Pervasive mist
Grey behind each
Branch, rendering
All else vague
What is familiar
Now is mystery
And invitation
clcouch123 
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