many hundreds of miles away with cats
(starting at the window)
fall crept in
as if it hadn’t fallen
really
not quite yet
or
it was mischief as from sprites
or maybe the mischief Lads
of
Yule
come down from Icelandic mountains
‘round this
time of year
with the ogress their mother
and sometimes
accompanied by the great black
Yule Cat
of which there is an enormous rendering
in Reykjavik
times the size of us
looking like an omen
in and of
itself
simply beheld
I mean many times the size of us
and warnings of great fire
for eyes
and all these beings
seem
to play a role like Krampus
in the watching
and the punishing of waywardness
though I’m not
sure
the audience for moralizing
children only
or
adolescents
full-on adults
and
might the creatures go to halls o
government as if one
year’s chastising
should be
enough
well
anyway
it’s blue and gray today
not
so far from Gettysburg
and with our own local versions
of
folklore
for seasons
and for planting and for harvest
for
correction though somewhere there should
be
tales of mercy
and good
humoe
don’t you think
and by the way
Icelanders have a true society for taking
care of
cats
The Cats of Reykjavik
friends gave me
a mug
because evidently people care
for cats
at home or should they wonder
elsewhere
be
actively looked after
not as
communal property rather
as
communal treasure
fear of the legends maybe
though
I don’t think so
except
well
there are stories and there
are
stories with one of the true ones
about cats
on board ships and how they kept the plague
away
by hunting rats that carried fleas
that in turn
carried plague
and
Europe would have done
so much better had they not killed cats
as
signs of witchcraft
which brings on two subjects of doubt
that grown-up people
even medieval Christians
say
should have known not
to have excused themselves
for all the local violence that had
the affecting
of wrecking health
and taking so very many
many
lives
and so for this and other real matters
the Icelandic
are
under aegis to be cared for
which
not I think on it
emphasizes civility
in
how we should be civilized
beyond dissolute
even
depraved
resolute
c l couch
(19 December, third week of Advent, fifth day into fifth night of Hanukkah, and there are planned traditional observations—with the solstice in the after the day after this one, whether planned by us or arriving anyway)
I typed “keept” at first for “kept” and rather liking “keept”; and, let me see, I haven’t slept (sleept?) since the night before this last one, and even then briefly (still breathing foul air); and I have a hangnail, which of course is bearable except there is a bandage on it, making typing more of a challenge than is usual—and this is enough if not excessively an apology
photo by Wietse Jongsma on Unsplash
Hallgrímskirkja
Reykjavík, Iceland
On a Cold Easy December Day
By the way
I’m this brave
Before
The winter storms should come
Like in the moderating days
Of warmth
From spring to summer
I am appreciating
Even the end of fall
When
All pretty much
Has fallen
Covering
What is preparing to go deep
In hibernation
Soon
And now
Maybe in the midst of winter
With whatever’s fallen
Then
I can be brave as well
Even inside
White banks
Long columns of ice
Along the street
As I try to get by
And don’t
We all
In extreme heat
By correspondent measures
Opposite
The frozen time that should begin
Well
Any moment
Now
C L Couch
Photo by Will Turner on Unsplash
Hidden Ice
Hooker Lake, New Zealand
The Last Month of the World
Immanuel
With humans God
Or some such
The point being that
We celebrate
We even
Have some special songs
Only to announce
That God is coming
Though God won’t be here
But
In twenty-five more days
And how shall we fill the time
Decorating
Shopping
Going to the movies
The Oscar-hopefuls will slip in
In time for
Consideration
And the wars and famines
And atrocities continue
Maybe
Unabated
Maybe with a thought
Toward easing up
By the twenty-fifth
As a universal
Holiday
As in
You don’t have to be in the selected
Group
You don’t have to believe
As I imagine there were atheists
Between the trenches
On that eve
In 1914
Though I’m thinking
The world is often an awful place
Awfuler
This year
And I’m thinking nothing will
Change by then
The end of the month
This
Year
Then
More’s the pity
As some say
More’s the loss of life
Of limbs from the
Otherwise-knit living
Of heath through
Preventable disease
Or the lack
Or loss of
Fire
Through more attention paid
And even floods be lessened if
We did not pollute
So much
And there are twenty-five
Days
To fix everything
And
Well
I don’t think it will
Happen
Because it might
Take
Twenty-six days
Maybe even thirty
C L Couch
Photo by Lucas George Wendt on Unsplash
2 poems about the snow that’s on its way
(and now is falling)
x
x
Happy Weather People
x
The sky is full
Nothing surprising there
It should be snowing soon
x
I don’t like where
The car is parked,
Though I suppose anywhere
Along the street
It’s going to be plowed against
When the trucks with the
Big blades go by
x
Records will be broken,
So they say;
The forecasters actually are
Excited on the TV screen
With big maps projected behind
Them—well, sure things
Probably don’t
Come their way so often,
Lucky them
For now
x
x
New Testament
(December, MidAtlantic USA)
x
Yes, it’s cold
For now, I’m not worried
Should I lose the electricity,
I might die
But I’m inside
Not everyone gets to be
And some are inside hospitals
Too many, in fact
Because the disease
Is moving toward a spike, again
x
There is a better message
Still to be sworn in
And better methods in the offing
We’ll all get our shots,
Eventually
And deal with side effects
The chart will have point
And then slide down
The other side
x
At least, that’s the plan
Many people
Even when silenced
Or at least shouted down
Have worked on this
And we need
To trust their skill,
Attested by the numbers
Going down
x
And we can say
This was
Our generation’s 1918 influenza
To count
To bury
And to weep
x
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Andrew Ridley on Unsplash
Cairngorms National Park, Ballater, United Kingdom
National Park, Ballater, United Kingdom
Pile of Leaves
x
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