more
(for which Oliver might ask)
more love
more
peace
I’d trade my gold
my medals
pins
and keys for this
for these
a lesson of age
or
Ozymandias
c l couch
(“Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley, Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens)
photo by Brands&People on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Get Up
x
There was something
I don’t have it
That happens more and more
I could fear dementia
Or being tired
Living near bad people
Being bad myself
Mixtures of denial
With remembrance
Corrosion
Over time
With late-night promises of products
Ready to shine up all the leads
Again
For the cost
Of philosophy
And exorbitance
So buy in
To something
Try to wear oneself out
For better sleep
To match the abstract way in which
A length of life
Keeps everything
Worn out
In style and manners
Lumping on the way
Another morning
Toward the coffeemaker’s
Totemity
Of dreams
And hopefulness
Having wrestling with an angel
Through the night
Near the water
And the waking land
To either side
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
machine time
x
repeating numbers
for today
ones and twos
the sun is shining
angled beneath
clouds
mist that has risen
and such
above it could be blue
and then the black of space
with all our trash
and earnest vehicles
in orbit
x
look down
and there’s the floor
to the left
is cooling coffee
right in front
is this machine
with a screen that challenges
endurance
still so much easier to use
than typing through
a master’s degree
on Olympia, Corona,
and my sanity
x
remember paper?
that’s what we used
for turning in assignments
before the imposition
of electrons
paper, sticky stamps
other adhesives
it was a world, then,
that we could touch and hold
and know we’ve used
x
c l couch
x
x
photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Yesterday’s Statistics
x
Only a few hundred died
From COVID yesterday
Only a few hundred
We must be getting better
And maybe we are
Except for the families
Friends and neighbors
Of a few hundred people
Who died from COVID
Yesterday
x
But who’s counting
The CDC is counting
WHO is counting
Sometimes it’s on the news
But even news programs
Want for ratings
Vie for them
x
One more day to help;
Live as if
x
As If
x
As if tomorrow is a question mark,
Which it is
As if love is uncertain
And life the mystery
With or without a number
As always
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Yuval Zukerman on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
These are haiku. I understand that haiku go untitled. Maybe the series itself could be considered “The Modern Theban Riddle.”
x
x
[haiku on old]
x
I rock without a
chair and dream of golden age
when I’m nearing done
x
x
[haiku on youth]
x
I am new to Earth
and of my own volition
prizes on the way
x
x
[haiku on middle age]
x
they are on either
side, and I don’t know my own
inside anymore
x
x
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x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
Nowhere People
x
I rock sometimes,
Seated cross-legged here
Between bouts of writing;
x
It works out my lower back
And keeps me in motion,
Which seems important
In the smaller ways
To do so;
x
I might like the rocking chair,
I don’t know;
There is an association
That could be revised:
x
Saving the rocking chair for age,
For those still in motion
Not going anywhere
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Morgan Vander Hart on Unsplash
x
Benevolence in Apocalypse
(4 parts)
1
God,
I wish you’d take us out of this
The way you took us out of Eden
Bring us back
But all of us, please
No one on the world’s side of the gate
Except maybe so many angels
Restoring everything
To where it was
No, where it will be
2
Maybe it happens every age
A garden and a promise of plenty
And forever,
Then we ruin it
Because will is more important than
Whole people
Eden is closed off again
The angel with the flaming sword returns
While we are exiled
On the other side
‘Til in the next era, Eden is offered yet again
While human discretion
With all good and bad proclivities
Cannot work it out
Especially in numbers
We are cast out again
3
Comes an age, there must
When human will
Becomes a complement, at last
We understand we have a place
It is not owning everything,
Which is too jarring on creation
And creation will,
As it does,
Push back
But we knew we are a part,
It is sufficient, and there’s always room
To have what we should have
And to grow
Throughout the age so that
There is no need for the next one
All will not burn in fire
Or die upon the ice
We will have instead
The drama of a fitting universe
With enough unknown to hold us
Wrapped-up wondering inside
4
And should there still be
Curiosities, even evil, out there
Should we be surprised?
There was a war in heaven, after all
Maybe it will not have been worked out
Everywhere we go
Meaning pre-heaven we will have
Important things to do
Discoveries to make
Victims to rescue
Cosmos, maybe cosmoses, to save
C L Couch
scratching the sky
Gospel According to Rubbermaid
I just opened a box
A small container
I breathed old air that smelled of
Cinnamon and dust
That was all right
That was special
I was thinking of ancient mummy wraps
This was so much better
I guess I had it in the kitchen
Or maybe not
Maybe the box had become
A certain gift over time
Of its own
A sweetness mixed with age
I hear that happens
C L Couch
Photo by Aditya Joshi on Unsplash
A picture taken at a spice stall in the famous spice market in Dubai showing an interesting pattern created by cinnamon sticks on display. With a limited light falling on the subject, the background automatically became dark creating a deep effect.
The Wonder Years
Old age
Is for someone else, isn’t it?
I write as if I’m twenty
And I’m not
But still it seems an artifact
Something on display
To view someday when there’s time
I think it’s a problem
When the inside and outside
Cannot balance
Like bank pages,
Come to an understanding
A negotiation between parts as
Parties even though the
Disagreements tend toward
Being mild—
Nothing we want to overthrow
Unless divergence has become
A wider thing, a view too far
To see into with any
Clarity or source for contemplation
That is helpful
I’ve been there, so have you:
Off the road next to the
Telescope behind a low stone wall
Feeling air from down below
But discomfited because
It’s all impressive
But it’s new
Nothing to rely on
Old age is an eventual visitation
And a visit from which
We can’t walk away
It is inevitable
As it is phenomenal
It is, sadly, not enviable
Even for the lack of youthful
Problems
Elders are respected
Elsewhere where there are circles
We all need protractors
We will be that person
In the parking lot who wonders
Whose face it is
We see inside the window
And that will have to be all right
I wish we were so much
Better at it
Since there are stories
Wise, profane, honest, and
Incorrigible
We should seek them out, while
We can
Record them with technology
We understand
It is a comfort
And a fear
We of every age
Should deal in both
I’m sorry being forward
But my time’s finite, too
C L Couch
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