harvest


more pamphleteering
(3 poems, rebel with a pause or as the cat might say a paws)


Flawed

There are days
When there are
Nothing
But flaws

Maybe the kind of
Flaws
That might be fixed
Or re-trained
Or re-adjusted
Somehow

Or they are flaws
The kind
That remain
About which there is
No hope of changing into
Something good
Or even
Little more
Than barely
Tolerable

The cracks in the walls
And maybe
The foundation
The leaks
In the roof
As well
With divots in the yard

And even cuteness
In the squirrels
Is mollified
By the way they overrun
The feeder
Set
You know
For birds

The wider spaces
Might be grand
The siding
And the brickwork
Nearly perfect
And all the paint inside
Looks
Pretty good

Though what we see
Is the crack
That happened because
Things that have been around
For a while
Develop lines
And sometimes
The lines
Widen
Not minimized
To their resemblance
Of a mischievous
Stream
Upon a map

You might say
Well
It’s all just attitude
Isn’t it
And I have to say
And maybe anyone whose
Flaws are
Evident
Must say
Nope
The flaws are there
They’re real
And they’re lasting

Although
You’re right
There is an attitude
Over
Which to consider more
And
Or course
How to deal with what there is

The flaws that threaten
Should be addressed
Do-it-yourself
(-myself)
And/or
(preferably and)
Done-by-others
To be fixed
Enough
For more than jazz
For life outside
The venue
In the sudden daylight
Too

Some lines
And cracks remain
Which is real
For they are real
Endurable
Even considerable signs
Of endurance
Even achievement
And attraction
As what is
Structure
Shall
Last longer

Attraction
If we understood
That certain flaws are fine
(beyond
fine lines)
And it’s all right
And even good
They last

As if to say
In an encounter
To oneself
This place does not have perfection
As agenda
This place
Is grand with age
This place is welcome
This place
Is home


Denizen

The word
Today
Like the old game
Is
What shall it be

Watermelon
Lamp
Radio
Nostalgia

Love
Intransigence
Toward love
Why don’t we love
Ennui
Fright
Movie
Safety
Home

And are we safe at home
(another game)
And
Well
It’s relative
Against
A dying planet
And those who away
Who
Looking in
Might say
This is
Such a resource
Such an opportunity

Why did they let it go
So badly
There are wars
And also there is
Nature
Aggravated
By themselves
To greater storms
And harsher seasons
So far from
Design
That yet is evident

Maybe we should take over
Maybe we could help them
Save themselves
From of course
Themselves

For we know how this goes
So it went with us
Before the next-to-last crisis
Set us on
The edge
And all we could do
Then
Was try to find a way
To widen the edge
And then
If we could
Build back from either side
Because there was
Our abyss
Of destruction
All around

And that’s it
Isn’t it
We survived
And got
To this place
Where we are here
Cleanly
And with confidence
Today
At home
And in our orbits
Far beyond

And we must leave
These to it
To their Earth
And come back in a while
Should there be
Some unity
And health in unity
To have a planet
Have a world
Wet with life
And creatures

Green
And blue again
As it seems now
But it is pushed
They push it
Their own world
Toward something like
The line
We knew so well


Grind
(for the first day of spring in these parts)

Now it’s a cold
Day
Because we’re into spring

Last week
It was warm
While winter breathed
Hot upon the leaves
And sleeping
Lawn
Beneath

Topsy-turvy
Then

In fact
He says
At noon
It will be colder
Coming days

Sigh
When to plant
When to turn
When
To work
To play
To dance

What should lie fallow
Really should
For variegated futures
In the land
Although
We need what’s planted
Every day
Not merely
Grocery-store expectation
Anymore (that
does not
recognize the seasons
when the berries
or the lettuce
might be ready)
but the need
To feed our animals
To weave our clothing
Out of wool
Even to work the leather
And best-guess
Nutrients
And timing

Year-round
Of course
To feed our children
On our farm
And in the city
And all over
In the wilderness
Made worse
(beyond appreciation
in and of itself)
By droughts
And wars
We’ve heard of

And it’s a guess
But I think it the way
We have them that
The cows
Need milking
Every day
And there’s that magic
In the harvest
(unreal)
That should happen every day
Releasing everything
We want
That we want
To believe
Is always
(anymore)
Fairly gathered in

A world of expectations
Fiercely specific
On a faded Earth
Running out of time
If
We’re not careful
And
We’re not careful


C L Couch


Photo by Yuri Malishenko on Unsplash