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Countdowning

(x = space)

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Countdowning

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It’s Tuesday,

And I didn’t know

This was happening

I follow the news

Though clearly

Not the timetables

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I thought we’d

Have more time

To get used to the

Variance in the crew:

The one with white hair,

The one with shiny

Brown

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Maybe when this

Is ordinary, things will

Be better

Arch-safety

Will be ordinary,

Less frantic for those

Of us

On the ground

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They holding,

Time for nervousness

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Please launch already

Then come back

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C L Couch

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Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash

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Childhood’s Beginning

(x = space)

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Childhood’s Beginning

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Here is the litany of complaints:

My back hurts;

I’m tired;

I’m tired of my back hurting

And my feet

And sometimes my left shoulder

And the headaches

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I should soak my feet in

Medicated water,

Something like the

Still water

We are promised in

The company of the Lord

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You have a list,

I’m sure

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And I mean to be respectful,

But sometimes

The child’s cry is stronger than the

Grown-up’s

Sense of things; and

We should listen to

The child,

The plaintive child,

The honest child

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Sometimes it hurts—

That’s all there is

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C L Couch

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A Silent Little Girl Looks at Camera

Photo by Assad Tanoli on Unsplash

Lassan Thakral, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan

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English teacher’s note

Arthur C. Clarke wrote a novel called Childhood’s End.

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2 poems—pray for me, pray for you

(x = space)

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2 poems—pray for me, pray for you

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Life in 3/4 Time

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I’m sorry, Lord

I spent half my life repressed

The other half aggressive

Now is a time of

Negotiated peace

I’ve tried to give up everything

From each time

Even time

So that now there’s little left

With which to make a new life

Made of acceptable things

For an acceptable time

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Pray for Friends

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Lord,

Watch over all my friends

Send your angels to protect

Them from all kinds

Of things

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There is sickness

There are sick pets

There are jobs

And then no jobs

And sometimes jobs

Not worth the having

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And sometimes things get

Broken, and there is pain

Of all kinds

Sometimes relationships

Are broken and I cannot

Speak with expertise

But eschew all the bitterness

As well

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They are people, mostly

Some are animals

And I pray that where something

Has been split,

You will fill in with healing

And a promise

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Though tomorrow only waits

While today is what

We have

So I must pray for now

For them

For you

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tejash Verma on Unsplash

Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India

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Death of a Coffeemaker

(x = space)

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Death of a Coffeemaker

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The world gets so small sometimes,

Doesn’t it?

I mean, there are real problems,

Real horrors,

Real fears

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And yet this small machine

Has had enough:

For all the pressing,

The red light will not come on

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And now the water in the reservoir

Has run all over the counter

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Sigh, it had been in decline—and

Now I think it’s done

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If I had all the memberships,

I could order something, and then

It would appear

Having been dropped gently

By a drone

Or through the door

Of a pilotless car

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But I’m stuck with old-fashioned

And will have to visit all the stores

At hand

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This could be an opportunity

To stop drinking coffee—

What?

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C L Couch

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Photo by Goh Rhy Yan on Unsplash

Flying a drone at dusk in the city.

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Animated

(x = space)

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Animated

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I imagine a cartoon globe,

The kind of old cartoon

Like old Popeyes or old Mickeys,

A cartoon Earth

Sending explosions into space: from

South Africa,

Afghanistan, Yemen

Cuba, Haiti,

And from certain places in

The USA

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Maybe there are soldiers

(now we’re talking cels

for newsreels)

Marching through this cartoon

In perfect lock-step,

And maybe rockets are fired

With animated

Accuracy

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And maybe the moon

Looks down with tears

As parts of Earth

Burn up,

The tears maybe cartoon-falling

From the face

On the fires

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C L Couch

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jah$tar printed graphics for animation. ammo stilo. grounded media. May, 2021.

Photo by Matt Moloney on Unsplash

Philly, PA, USA

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How They Carry the Good News

(x = space)

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How They Carry the Good News

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I’m not sure what I’ll

Write today,

But there will be something

Something about me

And you

God and the whole world,

Which we sing is in

God’s hands

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I suppose an earthquake

Might mean

That something is slipping through

The fingers,

A flood might mean

Too many tears

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The birds might carry news

Carried by the wind,

Another agency

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They hear the talking

In the trees

And what stones say

Between buildings

Some shining,

Some in ruins

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I guess there are words

From all over Earth

While the moon

Sings in response

And the stars

Oscillate their notes as well

For any

Who are listening

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Let those who hear,

May—not

With ears

But with supernal apparatus

That repression

Or suppression might affect

But is with us, still

Too deep, perhaps

Though there is

A law of freedom

That

I’ve heard about

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C L Couch

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“How They Carried the Good News from Ghent to Aix” is a poem by Robert Browning.

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Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash

At a gymkhana show in Warner Springs. These two make a formidable duo, galloping across the arena and then coming to a sliding stop to make a sharp turn around a pole (out of range to the left). They take my breath away.

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Catbird

(x = space)

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Catbird

(recalled)

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I’d like to speak

Of God

But sometimes silence

Is called for

To listen to the maybe

Maybe something grand

Maybe single

Bird-call

Can one hear the dawn

Or the vibrations in

The setting sun?

Hearing apparatus

Is not required

So much as to

Open up whoever we are

Enough to gather in

What the quiet Earth

Has to say

A gift for any, all the senses

We may have

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Speak through the Earth

If we are mute

Savor unimpeded,

Unreconstituted wind

If we have lost our

Sense of taste

Let the sun move us through

The day

If we have no movement

Otherwise

What we’ve had,

What we’ve never had,

What we’ve lost

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We have so much

To take in

Then contribute

To the cause,

Nourishing

And strengthening

All our

Good communities

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C L Couch

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On the Road from Stanley to Boise, Idaho

By TonyCastro – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83018649

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The A T

(x = space)

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The A T

(from Maine to Georgia)

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The trail goes

Uphill and down

Around big cities,

I imagine,

Nearer to small towns

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There is a station

Near me,

Which must be

A welcome sight

To trail-goers

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I should

Go in sometime,

Though I’m

Not qualified

Having only walked

The trail

For an hour or so

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I doubt

There are brandy kegs

Or Saint Bernards

To go with them

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There might be

Maps,

Maybe words

Of encouragement

Left by other hikers,

Other errants,

Other pilgrims

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Who wanted to

Accomplish something

Or own some

Really long spells

For thinking

Or simply

Had to take

A long, long walk

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Safety can’t be

Guaranteed,

As it is an adventure

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C L Couch

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We hiked up Blood Mountain in a thick mist, the air sharp and refreshing as the clouds shifted around us at shoulder height. When we reached the summit, we found ourselves perfectly sandwiched between two cloud shelves. For the most part, our view was white and void for a nondescript distance, but for moments here and there, mountains and valleys emerged, both in the blankets of clouds and visible briefly beneath.

Photo by Mitchell Griest on Unsplash

Blood Mountain Shelter, Blairsville, United States

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Appalachian National Scenic Trail (U.S. National Park Service) (nps.gov)

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Appalachian Trail Conservancy

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Sigh

(x = space)

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Sigh

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Something less dangerous

I wish the world could be safer

But we don’t build with

The best materials,

And too easily we go to war

And the virtue is not not-cheating

But not getting caught

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C L Couch

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Scrap Yard

Photo by Taylor Grote on Unsplash

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