Eliot


3 poems about things turning such as certain times of year


hurry up

hurry up

let’s get me out of here

not
to the grave
despite my age that is closing in
on the classic threescore
and ten

but more peace
as I keep asking

which means I’ll need the wherewithal
to get there

which I think means
money
and assistance

more assistance in the way
of people
who are stronger than my heart-disease-ridden
body
can manage anymore

though
I’ve always needed help to move

who doesn’t

though now the urgency
is different
I believe

one more place this time
perhaps
one last place
in which to live
and
you know
hope
to live


please

which goes for a plea
I guess

I mean beyond the wordplay
in that we plea
yet
add a couple letters for more courtesy
with which
to ask

plea
as in deal
as in crime

plea
as in asking because it’s not only desired
but also it is urgent

what we want
or need
or offer in an intercessory
way

a petition
as it were from you
through me

and not that that should make so much
a difference that it’s me
but asking
anyway
on your behalf

of God
or the spirits of the world behind
under
perhaps

even
to add in some miracle
by magic

which isn’t doctrinal
I suppose
but how close the miracle and magic
maybe in the timing
at least

as in
was the miracle the parting of the sea
since by those who
know
purportedly
not an unusual occasion
though parting in the time
to save
the Israelites

and even close upon the enemy
with hurried wheels
following
with many deadly points from spears
and arrows

and yet
whatever passed for armor could not save

but they were
saved
the refugees
those who would become the desert-dwellers
as if to earn the promise of
new land

but
to bring it forward
there are needs
there are miracles
and
(arguably)
of magic

and I wish
	not that it’s a lamp
	inside a cave

I pray
	(more earnestly)
that
what you need you have
possession
or direction
or some healing

as only the one who provides
may provide
knowing
what and how to time
miracle
magic
and everything

my friend


it’s time

another ashy day
goodness
we’ve had a few
days

right
for Lent
I guess

we can wear these days
upon our foreheads
should we wish

late is wan
but shows some color
after all

light gold
a kind of uneasy glaze upon
it all

not that the day is
bad

that’s up to us

and it isn’t hard to look at
but I think the day should have more green
and I’d think you would
too

not only for the sake of light
but the beginning of
you know
that verdant time


note

hurry up
please
it’s time
(titular frame based on a repeating part of “The Wasteland” by T. S. Eliot)

Shantih

photo by Anton Luk on Unsplash

2 poems about, I don’t know, the extraordinary ordinary

don’t unappreciate the day

the trees are gray
now
no longer black
the sky even paler than
it was
and hazy
both being a gift
if dull
a dull gift

and not that there’s evil
so we know the good
so as
a gray so we know the cheering
colors
on
arrival
better

the dullness forms the shadows
after all
and we have need
for three
dimensions
(if
not more)

gray trends sometimes
and do these other
neutral
shades or call
them natural
either way
to call the season
then
to sell

and there is more
for real
in having so much that is
available on
Earth
and to the hearing
smelling
tasting
touching of
you know
(phatically)
so much

please hurry up
(the practical Eliot)*

shall I have more coffee
or
do I dare
to eat
a peach

I could talk about the part
for the hair
though it always seems to go
to the
center
after trials over
years

and did I hear the mermaids song
then from land perhaps
the answer of
another
siren song

and if I walk along the shore
will the competing songs
from land
from ocean
through the air
lead
me to the cave in which
the extra treasure
that
Aladdin couldn’t use
might reside and just for me as if
a spirit said

this is yours
and it’s your time

c l couch

*dealing (over years) with T. S. Eliot, the writer of “The Wasteland,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” as well as the famous book about practical cats; citations are paraphrased (the layout paraphrased from the part about the peach)

photo by Ahmed on Unsplash

Wollstonecraft

I wonder if
Mary felt she lived between
One esteemed family
And the other
And if she
Felt pleased to be there and contribute
To the two of
If she felt
Maybe also felt
That there was not a place that was
Her own

Elizabeth Barrett
(later)
Evidently needed rescuing from
Robert Browning
And
(later)
Virginia Woolf would argue that a
Room of one’s own
Is needed

But for this
Romantic person
For
The time
But also something else
Who wrote of
Human
Nature especially relied on
In extraordinary situations if
There was
An exploration to of
Of how
Might
And could
If need be
Live in parts

Wollstonecraft
Godwin
Shelley

Some parts extended
Maybe some parts broken off
And then if be like
The cat’s third name
She
Had her secret part
Her own

C L Couch

(Mary was the daughter of feminist Mary Wollstonecraft; Mary was also the wife of poet Percy Shelley—and I wonder who was Mary in between, of both, on her own

and regarding Frankenstein, also I wonder and in this case over who is the monster, who is the monster now)

Photo by Branimir Balogović on Unsplash