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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

(x = space)

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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

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Reading Romance

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Standing there,

Waiting for approval,

The ingenue wonders

If she should

Enter the room

x

Strangers, unaware,

Are dancing to a

Waltz she’s known

Since childhood

Always listening

From the stairs,

A risky place for

Children, though with

Darkness behind

And light pouring from

The party floor,

Sneaking a look at

Parties was

Irresistible

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I’m sure you understand

x

Now she’s here,

Inside the first

Arc, grown up

Into her story:

Does someone wait

Inside?  Should

She remain inside

The question mark

Or take another step

Step toward

Confirmation,

The start of

Act 5, then

Resolution?

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Questions demand

Answers; they

Crawl along the

Bannister; she’ll

Take the step

So we might breathe

Into the

Final chapters

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Gothica

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Tarn,

A Gothic word

For swamp

(try moor

in the British Isles)

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I look up through

The window

At black branches

Fronting a sky of unformed

Cloud, tunneling

Everything to gray

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November’s tilting;

We head

Toward winter’s reign,

Cold and gloomy

All our storytelling

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There might be a

Ghost—there certainly

Will be ghosts

Inhabiting one place,

One will or another

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The house that

Has a crack in it,

Ready to descend

With all the

Failing generations

(I think you know

the one I mean)

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But there’s

A house of every heart,

A sprit calling

At the door or, when

Unattended,

Wailing like a banshee

Uncommissioned

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Everything will

Open and then close up

At the last

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A deserted house—the

Tarn shall have it

(the swamp, the moor)

From which may

Emerge new

Heroes to try

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

Eltz Castle, Wierschem, Germany

We woke up at 3am so we could drive to Germany. We arrived just in time for sunrise and that’s how this shot came to live. The reflection was made with the reflection of the screen of my phone.

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Favors

(x = space)

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Favors

(in pandemic time)

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The toilet’s broken

Thank me for sharing

Since I rent,

It’s up to someone else

And someone else to fix it

Meanwhile, I wait

As best I may

And all my systems

It’s not as if one can run

Down to the gas station and

Use the loo, since

The disease is keeping many things

Locked up (as it should)

It’s not the worst of things

I’ll tell myself as I

Keep waiting through the day

My brother’s home from the hospital

To rest and improve

From what was diagnosed

To say the least,

He is more important

And I’m thankful

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C L Couch

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Photo by Gilles Desjardins on Unsplash

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Jitters

(x = space)

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Jitters

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Too many things

To contemplate

That are unpleasant

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My brother’s health,

The exit of a losing

President (You’re fired!

were he a contestant

in that show),

A broken bedframe

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Heart health generally and

How do I renew my

Driver’s license in

The lockdown? How

Is the rest of my family?

x

Well, I make too much

Of each thing,

I suppose, and

Altogether let the

Weight press down

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This is maudlin (sorry)

As I’m sure there

Are good things

Everywhere and

Even here; maybe I

Can find some; maybe

They will remind me

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pete Nuij on Unsplash

British Columbia, Canada

Porcupine with flowers.

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News about My Brother

(x = space)

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News about My Brother

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Something’s wrong

She says it’s not COVID

Maybe something

With his heart

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They’re waiting for a bed

As all hospitals are

Currently, especially

Challenged

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This is my brother

The ablest of us:

Muscled

Well-groomed,

Building a life

From the Army to the factory

To executive positions

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Then when corporate-raiding

In the ‘80s ruined so many

Lives, he built a business

Helping children

Learn

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He married Beth

They have two children,

Sons (nephews) who

Are themselves husbands

And fathers now

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This news is not about me

But him and them,

And they are far away

Though hearts string us together

And certain rituals

From time to time

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Not me

But I am shaking with the news

And the frightened parts

Of my imagination

x

Earlier this morning

(before the news),

I threw salt over

My left shoulder;

If it could help

Or a voodoo doll

Or a contract with a witch,

Then let it

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In the mean time

I’ll be praying

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In the mean time,

Please be praying for your own

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C L Couch

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Photo by Dušan Veverkolog on Unsplash

Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain

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Missing at Home

(x = space)

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Missing at Home

(Veterans Day, Remembrance Day 2020)

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“A Soldier of the

Great War”

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Let’s not miss the irony

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While (more so)

Missing the life

All the lives

That used to be young

People (other ages,

too)

Of both genders

Who served each other

And the national

Cause

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So many who can’t,

Naturally (or unnaturally)

Enough, remember

Anything

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We must remember them

And for them

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C L Couch

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Photo by Cross-Keys Media on Unsplash

Thiepval, France

The grave of an unknown soldier at the World War One British memorial to the missing of the Somme.

Over here, we called it “the war to end all wars.”

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Indian Summer

(x = space)

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Indian Summer

(in 2020)

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It’s hot now

In the Northeast, and it’s

November

I recall something called

Indian Summer to explain

It

I don’t know if

That’s an offensive reference

I always thought that

It spoke to knowledge that

Native Americans had that

Those of us who only

Knew suburbia

Did not have,

Could not

Maybe not a secret knowledge

But a close knowledge of the land

And all the agencies

Of nature

x

I could look it up

But today some Republicans are

Fighting the results of elections

That were won by millions

And their surrogates

(where applicable)

And I’m worn out over biases,

Even though they tell us who

We are on a good day

Without the evil platform

Others try to make of them,

One side or another

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So I’ll keep the second summer

For a little while,

Get smarter tomorrow

Issue apologies, if need be

My bias, by the way,

Is for a return

To chilly autumn

And wanting to believe

In election

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coda

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Okay, I looked it up

It is a term applied

By colonizers

(so is evident)

But so is Indian

That, I must admit, even

As a child seemed odd

To me:

Once the mistake

Columbus and the Europeans

Made was understood,

Why didn’t we change

The term?

And here’s a thought—we didn’t we

Ask them?

And why don’t we now?

They’ve got a term

An understanding

They refer to all of themselves

As “the people”

(translating and transcribing)

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We the people,

Fancy that

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C L Couch

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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An Inadequate Understanding

(x = space)

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An Inadequate Understanding

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The Torah tells us how to live

The Talmud makes it real

The Jews worship on Friday

And on many other occasions

Their community has its

Not so pleasant parts, I’m sure

But I find it beautiful

I find them beautiful

When I was invited to

Rosh Hashanah services by a

Friend, because my birthday

Coincided as it sometimes has

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Also Yom Kippur

But anyway,

Talk about evangelism

Accidental maybe, since Jews

Don’t promote for converts as

A rule

But living out the faith in friendship—

Not bad, not bad

Christians of the children faith,

Take note

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tetiana SHYSHKINA on Unsplash

Kraków, Poland

door to the Jewish cheder in Krakow

(a kind of school that sadly I have not attended)

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Congratulations, Mister Biden and Ms. Harris

(x = space)

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Congratulations, Mister Biden and Ms. Harris

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Dear Diary,

I’m sore today because

The bed frame broke last night

And, yes, I was in it

Though the soreness comes

From having to remove

It from the mattress,

Then try to fold it, then

Put the remnants by the door,

Hoping there will not be a fire

To cap off the drama

x

It was like the done-up

Broken bedroom scene in

The Quiet Man and other

Comedies

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Several parts fell on the

Floor all by themselves, and

I should say half-parts, meaning

I guess that the disposable

Economy has won again

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And I am resting on the

Mattress on the floor,

Having a hobbit’s perspective

Of the world;

I have to reach for things such

As a lamp switch or a book

Or my pills

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I’ll have to drag the broken

Black metal to the trash

And then, I don’t know,

Look, shop around

For something new

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I’ll have to let my muscles

Smooth out some

While hoping for

The unfraying of frayed nerves

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At least,

I don’t have to worry about

Who’s President;

I guess that’s it—thanks,

Diary, for listening

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coda

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I’m now closer to the

Perspective of

The dust bunnies—maybe

They’ll invite me to a party

Just outside

Their secret warren

x

C L Couch

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Photo by noslifactory on Unsplash

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Layperson’s Weekend Liturgy

(x = space)

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Layperson’s Weekend Liturgy

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Everything seems

A little off today

There are dry spots

In the roll,

And the coffeemaker

Appears to have made

Less coffee

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The sun’s a little

Too bright, the blue

A little too pale

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I see the dust too easily,

Which I’m sure

Is no one’s fault

But my own

x

I’m not sure why

The hazy and hard

Parts are the ones

I focus on; maybe they

Are focusing

On me, though

By and large

I think that nature and

The world really

Don’t care, nor should

They have to

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So I’ll take this day

In my dusty, unclear

World as a gift,

Something bestowed

By what caused me

To sleep last night,

What woke me up

This morning

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C L Couch

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Photo by PJ Gal-Szabo on Unsplash

Baseball catcher with the dust of his mitt in the air.

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