ripe mildew and mold
how to clean the room of these
requires owned know-how
c l couch
photo by roland deason on Unsplash
after Nagasaki
we had learned to bomb
the world
war ended by avatar
of I am death to
cite
and
secularly
to benedict
by us
to bless an industry
of
products that should never
be employed
and so
inutility
as the market must stay glutted
with inventory unused
by
desperate hope
bad for business
bad
for sickness
bad for all the death
from
skin softened from bone
all senses blinded
and
then
a memorial to haunting pain
the ghosts of one by one
and of
the nations
we could claim ignorance
we did not know
or
appreciate the scale
we only wanted victory
a conclusion
if
at a cost
of febrile Earth
c l couch
photo by Sajan Rajbahak on Unsplash
masks of course that smile
(Monday after goodness from sabbath times is done)
I’m tired
tired of playing the game
goes
the satiric song
but tired
really
don’t you know and
maybe you could share
from
everything exhausting
which sometimes is the blur
and not much more
and
sometimes is the imposition of
the expectation
that busyness must reign
the real
virtue
and by image
don’t you know
we have
so many things to do
which
is why
there is no real time for you
and
don’t worry
we are teaching children
if not how
but by the show to live
frantic
and frenetic
in the way
for generations
c l couch
“I’m Tired” sung by Madeline Kahn in Blazing Saddles
the road
I have a friend who got
to walk the trail
across northern Spain
the Camino
that
takes one to Compostela
I can imagine only
though
she affirms
the discoveries
and changes
it is a dark day here
the streets
are
dull
c l couch
photo by Mor Shani on Unsplash
uneasy under the sun
(maybe a Prufrockian telling)
it’s hot
I drive under the sun
hoping to leave the car
once
parked
to get inside
before the heat
sights too directly and too
much on me while I
in turn am
targeting
the heated keyhole
with
keys already warm
so
it seems
and hopefully soon out
of my pocket
on
their way to
the old
dense
green wooden door of
the eccentric-angled yellow house
with the broken portico under
hopefully
again to navigate
which
is not the heat
but every day
and there it is the rounded poorly-matted
stoop
the lock
key inside beneath the wave
yet
breathing
maybe to sneeze
in fact
from the central air
only on the first floor
not
on mine
(sadly the solar crests do not
engender
mermaids on waved rocks
or
on my street by
sunlit bricks)
c l couch
photo by NASA on Unsplash
simpler green day near
solstice calls the summer start
then shorter green days
orange autumn day
equinox incites the fire
by red longer night
winter silver blue
longer days the promise bear
by solstice we met
spring the ground awake
spring equinox pale-promised
pastel growth begins
c l couch
photo by Bozhin Karaivanov on Unsplash
central Texas
one death we struggle
getting over
so
so how to comprehend a hundred
deaths and
more
storms and floods
destroying
like Time’s rolling sons in
the old hymn
taken
the material and
lively
debating over quick response
especially in a time of
cutting funding
for
all kinds of services
mostly
though a matter
now
of rescue
and the dreadful counting
receiving
aid
enduring then
to take
on
against all pushes of despair
considering
instead how to rebuild
“O God, Our Help in Ages Past” by Isaac Watts
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the op’ning day.
(excerpt)
flooding town next over
(from mine in Pennsylvania)
Carlisle
one day
for storm floods
that were
severe
boating on streets
through town
no chance to pass through
radiating intersections
all the trees and parts of trees
that fell
and the delicate
dangerous dance
with
electricity
now nature helps to dry
in its irony of
having
delivered all the water first
the human focus next
on
taking
finding stock
and then rebuilding
c l couch
photo by Wes Warren on Unsplash
imagining heatwave accommodation
(3 poems)
having a green day
when I think on Robert Louis Stevenson
his verses for children
I imagine a pastel illustration
pale colors of
children at play
there is a swing
which might mean there a book
I’m thinking of
with the picture at
the front
or with
the title
a green-bound book
it seems
though what other color
to represent the liveliness
of play
a green day
washing the gloom away for
children with
a swing to play on
and
with care
summer accommodation
and shall we say
let’s have
a day
get out there
if
shaded from the sun
so that only the light of life gets
through
an appreciate of the colors
paled
beholding all the surfaces
the textures
sights and sounds
things to smell and taste
leaving
what
why
to hear in the surfaces and textures
too
and course through the hours
with a purpose
do our jobs
then toward earned play
(if
a child then with
the understanding that it is
the child’s
job)
to have some trusted company
trustworthy enough
for jobs
and play
a fullness in
the day
accrued regardless of intention
but
but the mind and body worked
into completion
then
the fullness of the night
with rest
while third-shifters
must go
the other way
to
have the filling hours
should we get there
I recall
a picture of a fountain
at La Alhambra
adding imagination
with
the wish to be there
if a moment
to let the spray strike me
the lavishness of
water
for play
in a dry land
how many tour
while I can only hope each time’s
a
treasure
c l couch
photo by Sebastian Yepes on Unsplash
like inhalation-exhalation in a day
the eternals
breathing
an accomplishment
that mostly our conscious selves
have nothing to
do with
which
is good
or we’d suffocate by distraction
God bless autonomics
though
they were God’s idea in the first place
like
species diversity that course through
the multiplicity of kinds of
media on and of
the Earth
on
or in land
above
below the water
in the sky and as a by the way to feed
our inspirations out of
flying
and then in the vaporous places between
and
who knows maybe dimensions
too
our own multiverse
an interplay of quanta differences
could be helped
by
canalwork of blackholes
(all
sizes)
all of which to say
we might barely know the wonders layered
large or
infinitesimal that sounds close to
infinity
an eternity of
animated
animating choices if
well
fourteen billion years or so
[from the window]
yellow on the trunk
leaves dark green in shade by blue
angled panes look black
there is some green wind
behind it all that is blue
ether wanderland
something old or new
borrowed and the something blue
quasi una fantasia
thinking summer’s not
so bad
until dust and heat
blow in from the street
and I wish for cold of fall
and
could it come
by miracle
tomorrow
and better still tonight
I have some plans that hot
are melting like the water on
the witch
who
ironically has asked before how about
a little fire
well
it’s not bad in that
I am not burning
with flames
anyway
but still I’d like a similar distinction
to the comedy
if sardonic
in that
this one is not for burning
(The Lady’s Not for Burning by Christopher Fry)
things that don’t matter
melted ice cream
if you can get some
or
it’s only on the sides
with firm-enough substance
in
the middle
yelling
unless it’s about traffic
and the thing that’s big and stumbling
uncontrolled in
your way
war
except that the effects are
hyper-
real
as they are horrifying
institutions that grow beyond
their purpose
to serve and instead require if not
demand
serving of them
a wilted flower that matters
but that as detritus
may
feed the next generation
from
the Earth
things that speak to some kind
of annihilation that
be purposed
like the wilting
or
without decent aim
like
the warring
effects to the side
I’m hungry but not hungry
and I try failingly
not
to eat for boredom
but the medication gets
to me
and my digestive systems cries
unfun and
something like how dare you
quaint salvation
(Sunday or Saturday or Friday or another)
today’s for God
but
then
distractions of the devil
ah
we didn’t think so sly
to feed excess as the virtue
thus quietly destroying
or to render
quaint
virtue by its sponsor
truth
which is not
to say
the sabbath should be punishing
quite contrary
the day is for the positives
of
rest for
re-knitting of one’s own
plus
good for sharing
easy play
reflection on
the life one wants
the lives we all
want
a grip
I write in the dark
I guess
I think it’s less distracting
but
(the teacher
shudders)
I have the TV on
and must confess that’s
how I’ve done
a
lifetime of homework
though now the noise and images
are balancing
tinnitus
with insanity
too late
to get the condition
well
impairment
to hope for adaptation
so my daily invitation to go
mad
and trying to create as an alternative
though I hear
craziness might be
required
by great tradition
for
the art
some progress
how much time is left
and
how shall it go
the challenges accumulating
the ones
overcome
the others that add hellish
layers
to
the shell of
consciousness
free movement through
and
through
and when the crises go inside
as if to stay
and years go by
and
breathing’s labored in
its ways
and also all that means
so time
gets harder to go through
much
less command
while maybe years are lessons
that so much control
is either
an illusion or
best kept by someone
from
the start
wherever
and
yes
divine always
the first noel
(Christmas in July)
the angel did not say
but God
to God
and the host
let’s make things
and
by things that must be good
and so the days for
and in
the rings of creation
and all moves in orbits
of creation
the first song
imbued with sacredness
being sung
by
the sacred
source with perhaps more
supernal voices
joining
then comes the new age of noel
the second song to
sing
that after so much time
of sad and tired revolution
more like
a civil war within oneself
drawn
into partisanship
there should be hope for peace
and God
to God will buy that
for you
so we might have purchased
ransomed
dealings with the devil
freedom purchased
like our own
created
created once again
as if Eden recalled
the angel with the sword
finally
permitted to stand
down
then we
as prophesied
might rise
c l couch
photo by Geronimo Giqueaux on Unsplash
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