Folks

The Game of Life

(x = space)

The Game of Life

I’m not ready

I wasn’t ready for my

Comprehensives

I did fine

I wasn’t ready

For my mother to be sick

I did what I could

I contributed

She rallied

I won’t be ready

For the next big thing,

I think in children’s media called

The NBT

I doubt we’re ready

For most things,

You know?

They happen anyway

And we respond

We do well

We don’t

We try

We retreat

We come out again

We are changed

For the next time

Though it might not be

In kind

But we pick up things

They get tucked away

Consequently,

And whether consciously or not,

We can reach into the drawer

Of the file cabinet

Pull open the door

Of the mind palace

At a little more

Since in the keep

As in the world

There are treasures

Set from the beginning

And we’re always

On the hunt

Solving the riddle

Finding other puzzles

Finding keys

Life, folks

That’s what we got

In all this

C L Couch

A Game of Concordia

Photo by Karthik Balakrishnan on Unsplash

September 20, 2022 2

Black Life Matters

an opinion expressed potently
in a White House meeting about
murdered Blacks, the living
marginalized—here’s my response

Black Life Matters

Do I even need to say it
Yes, I do

My best friend was Black
He died too young—
Complications from surgery

What a teacher
And a humorist as well
At least, to me

I am not Black, part
Native American according
To a family historian,
Which is good, though
Looking at me, I doubt
That you could tell

I am not female; I am
The enemy: an older,
White male

I eschewed the ol’-boy
Invitation and have
Often paid the price

Not in my life (though
Maybe there, too)
But in my work
In which I’ve lost the
Favored political place

Maybe each one has
A circle drawn around
From fear and politics

Leaving that (or never
Entering) means that
Protection from the
Core is not available

And some measure of
Persecution too easily
Is acted on

“Loving Engagement”
From a better Black-drawn
Circle of union and
Society change—I don’t
Know if I’ll be let in,
Resembling and, appropriately
(Regrettably), perceived

I’d stay in the back
And write my verse
In which I argue that
All are free

And should be free

That to usurp the job of
God in assessing human
Worth is about as wrong
As this world can get

Black folk (Black discourse
Uses that word; and,
Being from Kentucky, I like
Folk and folks, though I’d
Change the old state-song
Lyrics, too)—Black folk are
Self-determining, of course

I cringe to have to make the
The claim, as all persons,
Being made, are free and
Free to choose

(http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/feb/20/barack-obama-black-lives-matter-meeting?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+USA+-+Version+CB+header&utm_term=157937&subid=16706344&CMP=ema_565)

February 23, 2016 4

Duck

(my brief cycle of nature poetry,
fractured and otherwise, ends
with this animated entry; maybe
I have been stir-crazy or simply
become, you know, duck soup)

Duck

I know there’s Aflac
And classic Disney Donald

But I tend to think
On Daffy of Looney Tunes

(TM and circle-R, I’m sure
And circle C for these icons)

Remember when he
Wanted to be rich (well,

That would be always)
And then he angered a

Genie?—in the final scene,
Bugs Bunny opens up an

Oyster, discovering a
Pearl; then a transformed,

Tiny Daffy runs up Bugs’s
Arm, cradles the pearl under

The ceiling of the shell
And, while the shell (and the

Episode) is closing, mutters in
A high pitch to himself,

“I am a wealthy miser.”
Now, children of any age,