Kermitage
I’d like my alone place
To have
Green
I’d like to sing
And ride a bicycle
And live
Some parts of animated
Miracles
I’d like some time to contemplate
And then I’d like my green self
To find
Company with others
Maybe on a sunlit street
Or on a grander set
Or if a pond
A pond
That might be a homecoming
Anyway
Some place small or large
With people small
And large
Who look like me
Or never shall
And so be wonder to me
Maybe to
All
All the time
Green
And otherwise
My being green
At
Least in part
Forever
C L Couch
on Palm Sunday
Photo by Jack Shen on Unsplash
Fish Mint
Is a plant
Called Chameleon
And someone thinks
Smells like cat
Urine
It has strong
Roots
Extremely so
And it’s not enough
To pull the green part
Or the stem
Or the first clump
Of roots
You see
You have to go down deep
And find all the root
Pieces
Take them out of the ground
So that the only thing
Left in the earth
Is earth
This is the only way
To clear out the intrusive plant
And plant something
Kinder
And what of us
Except that when we have deep roots
Of things also intrusive without
Allowing
Other hale things in
Say
Fish mint roots as
The isms that invade
Try to take over
Racism
Classism
Misogynism
Ageism
That will kill a healthy thing
Such as a human spirit
That could grow
Into a
Viable
And sun-lit
Being
C L Couch
Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash
(x = space)
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Secular Benediction
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It’s Friday
And you should have a good day
You deserve it
Yes, because you are
And because
You make it
For yourself
And if circumstance allow
For you and someone else
Or others
x
You do
You are
And so this Friday is for you
In all suburban glory
The pub afterward
Or coffee klatch
Or whatever fun and healthy thing
(there are these)
At hand
Or with a small investment
In play
And for the forty hours
Ahead
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And if you don’t have a weekend
Maybe Monday and Tuesday
Shall be yours
There should be laws
Why, there are
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C L Couch
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Photo by Bob Chisholm on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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The Glass No Longer Darkly
(for All Souls’ Day)
x
I’ve been too busy
With the living,
Not to praise that
Habit
x
The dead have frightened me
When they are active
With the living
Like the Twilight Zone episode
That used to scare me,
The one with the telephone line
Fallen against the grave
And the dead calling
A living relative
Or the one in the Old West
With the peddler selling
Magic to bring back
The family members
To the living
In a town
And then charged more
To keep the dead, dead
And they return,
Anyway
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That sounds comic, I suppose
But the dead used to scare me
Not so much now
Experience, I guess
And a constructive belief
In afterlife
And the agenda of their own;
They will be busy,
After
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The sacred and the secular
All Saints’ comes ‘round
It doesn’t have to be so somber
In fact, there will be picnics
By the graves
In Mexico
And elsewhere
Commemoration
Remembrance
By the families
Who know how to love
On either side
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C L Couch
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Fotografía de una calavera de azúcar, típica en México.
By Pedro Moga – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22536159
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