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2 songs

(x = space)

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2 songs

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Song of Innocence

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If innocence

Means free from guilt

Well, that’s really

Not enough

Innocence must be

Something on its own,

Not the absence

Of anything

Something desirable

A sense of peace

Of grace that we can

Walk with through

The day

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Substance

Not a reflection or

Wishful thinking

Something that knows

The world, the score

And chooses innocence

Knowing,

Even skeptical or cynical

Strong innocence

Elastic

Durable

That knows the score

Not absence of guilt

The born-with quality

Is fine

But the knowing quality

Is better

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Song of Experience

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There’s so little

That I’ve done

Enough to hurt some people

To have been used

By people, too

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Here I am

So tired,

Breathing through

A microphone

A torch song

Emanating

Is that all there is?

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But it isn’t

I think there’s more

More sufficiency

More grace

More life

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And if it seems I’m whining

Or whistling through

My teeth

The saddest tune

Well, I’ve been

Around

Some

With so much more

I’ve never known

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And yet I think

In splinters,

Having this and wanting that

Wishing I’d done that

Wishing I hadn’t

It’s a maddening calculation

At the board

On this side of the gate

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I hope

The tally’s adequate

Or maybe we could

Toss the numbers

Into the moving water

Dividing worlds

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C L Couch

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Hope Valley, Peak District, UK

Photo by Magda V on Unsplash

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Place Setting

(x = space)

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Place Setting

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Monday, Monday

Now the song is in my head

I see a cityscape

Microsoft has placed on the computer

There are no people to be seen

But they must be there

Taken at sunrise

While many are asleep

(the photo, not the people

though one never knows)

The television drones

The coffee murmurs,

And it’s mainly done

And I sit cross-legged

In obeisance

And thanksgiving

For the time I have to write

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C L Couch

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Photo by Grant Durr on Unsplash

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Anything We Give Each Other

(x = space)

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Anything We Give Each Other

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What shall I give of

Myself today?

Many skin cells,

Loose strands of hair,

Carbon dioxide

Naturally

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Thoughts as I write

Or should I talk

With anyone;

Or will a few drop down

Onto the page

Made of cells

And electrons

From me

Or the machine?

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And we will each give

Of each one

Exchange

Like inhale for exhale,

As close as

Sharing across

The boundaries

Allows inside the rings

Of a mortally fixed

Universe

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pavel Neznanov on Unsplash

Saratov, Russia

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For Real

(x = space)

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For Real

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Ouch

It hurts

Somehow my foot

Was traumatized

In a sort of

Accident last week

I like to think

It’s getting better,

But that might be

Wishful thinking

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I’ve been hobbling

While I’ve been,

Well, hobbled

Maybe there’s a lesson

In this

That I don’t know at present

All I’m thinking about

Now

Is ouch

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C L Couch

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Photo by Max Bender on Unsplash

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Finally, an Affirmation

(x = space)

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Finally, an Affirmation

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Sometimes to dream

Is stupid,

Because

I think that

Of myself

Who am I to dream?

How can I make the waked-

Up version happen?

Who smiles on

Me to make it happen?

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Dreams spark on the

Inside

(where there is heat);

They are

A matter of

The inner life, the life

We have when we

Are at our best

Or at our rest—sometimes

I’m not sure

Which is which

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I share this with you

Because

Our dreams have value,

And we should have them

(some we’re

going to have, anyway)

And the truer ones

The ones that form,

Form again,

Take hold

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The dreams that we

Should have

That the ideal revelation of

The universe

Approves

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C L Couch

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Gloomy Forest in the Fog

Photo by Jay Mantri on Unsplash

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haiku

(x = space)

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blue day turns gray with

rain to see and hear and then

lightning and thunder

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C L Couch

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Carbon Copies

(x = space)

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Carbon Copies

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Sometimes I don’t know

Why I believe in God

Because God is unaffected

By my question

Or the doubt

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God’s existence being

Unpredicated by my

Belief in God

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It’s not the best start

To philosophy, though Voltaire

Speaks of our need

To invent God, where the

Need seems to have been

God inventing us

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The universe

Cosmos, anyway

Might be a random

Set (set randomly)

Of chemical reactions

Given the first state

Of ephemera

Something or place we

Might have called

Etherea

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Without a place

Or calling it,

God could be

God of random

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We set the first

Dichotomy as chaos

And order,

When it might have been

Void and substance

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Our having what we have

Through design

Or the lack thereof

That could explain the

Platypus or

Emu

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Genesis

Out of genesis,

More than ex nihilo

While God cogitated,

Then declaring to the host

That more

Company was needed

Like the first,

The universe before

The universe

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C L Couch

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Photo by Michael M on Unsplash

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Onces and Futures

(x = space)

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Onces and Futures

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I used to have a script

It wasn’t very good

Stitched-together parts

Of B-movies and what

I overheard

I could have used

A mentor, you know, a

Merlin—but then

There’s expectation

What do I bring

But nothing, what will I

Find but everything

That is the rule of Camelot

And the crystal cave

I would have

Done my homework, I believe

Looked forward to

Some lessons while

Slogging through the rest

I would have

Listened, such as a young one

Can

But that was an age

And several castles ago,

Each castle dwindling

Until only one

Remains and then only

The tower made of gray, weathered

Stone but standing firm

Through what we call

Good bones

And there might be

A teacher inside, still

Good morning,

Myrrdin

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C L Couch

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Photo by Ian Simmonds on Unsplash

Flatiron Building, New York, United States

This was a lucky find, I was running between destinations on a work trip and spotted the puddle. Everyone else stood on the corner looking up to take shots of the building. I waited for the ripples to settle after people had crossed the road, then got snapping.

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The Once and Future King by T. H. White

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Poem 181

(x = space)

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Poem 181

(thanks for the Poetry 180 Project)

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Where are you?

I’ll miss you for the summer

Billy Collins, thank you

And the Library of Congress

They are contact days, I know

Or contract

The days in a school year

By the number

And the project of a poem a day

To keep us sane,

To give us something to talk about

In class,

Who knows, maybe for extra credit

To write companion pieces

Illustrate them, turn them in

Tack them to a board

Somewhere (but in a place

of honor)

And for me, the poems give this

Once-and-future teacher

Something good

Once a day, especially

When nothing else seems good

Something to carry me

A thought, a momentary inspiration

New words, new ideas

Or simply confirmation that

I should keep reading (writing)

On my own, too

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thank you

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C L Couch

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Poetry 180 is designed to make it easy for students to hear or read a poem on each of the 180 days of the school year. I have selected the poems you will find here with high school students in mind. They are intended to be listened to, and I suggest that all members of the school community be included as readers. A great time for the readings would be following the end of daily announcements over the public address system.

Billy Collins
Former Poet Laureate of the United States

Poetry 180  |  Poet Laureate Projects  |  Poet Laureate  |  Poetry & Literature  |  Programs  |  Library of Congress (loc.gov)

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Nazaré Wall Art

Manolo Chrétien

Nazaré, Portugal

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