Something Short and Sweet
(tout suite)
Goodness
After tortuous lines
Something short and sweet
Not even counted as
Haiku
Haibun
Or other
Legitimate
Domestic or exotic form
And are we exotic
Half the world
Away
While what is
Fringe opportunity
Here
Is
Ordinary
There
I guess it must be
So that
When the world comes together
We have something
Both
Amazing
And quotidian
And with some peace
Could have
Delightful things
Enjoy
Extraordinary essences
In all our hours
Everywhere
C L Couch
Photo by Edge2Edge Media on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
over 40,000
x
who is left after
are
the broken-hearted
inside broken-bodied
those left who
never believe
in anything
anymore
x
those who have no buildings left
houses or offices
or warehouses
and so sleep inside
if supplied
canvas or nylon
maybe with a floor
maybe not
or in a wide and tall shelter
that might have been
something else
in days
that we do not believe in anymore
x
earth for ground
which for many
isn’t new at all
x
my city’s count
of people gone
razored rubbled stones too big
for anyone or a small group
to lift
even though a noise is heard
or sign or life is seen
or was it imagined
x
we must wait
for healthy people
big machines
waiting on either side
clichés belied
a fresh hell
too late
too little
though
we will get to each other
whatever
living status
notwithstanding
x
there is a border
do we care
tribes
as we knew tribes
who lived in places
x
without places
where
is home
x
it’s nowhere
there is nothing
not even peace
of a flat nothingness
there is so much
cracked rock
torn sheets of metal
splintered glass
and
split ground
x
metal, plastic, cloth
pieces to remove
maybe to inventory
but first
to look and hear
and touch and taste
and smell
for signs of life
x
if there are signs of recognition
(sounds official)
any part that was alive
a writhing shape
or something
monstrously creative
for flesh
and bone
and everything that
moved
in health
not designed
in making
x
it’s visceral
and horrible
to contemplate
x
and here they are
he
she
they
and us
then lifted up
and carried
to wherever
whatever
might be left of us
to carry
and to set down
by the victims
walking
driving
bearing
with newcomers
myriad
with everything inside
that should be inside
shelters
and bodies for shelters
x
time for work
and for embraces
and feeding pets
that also
have been found
x
we must count
though all
for help
if horribly
piecemeal
whole
in-part
surprises
when we find
each other
as we find
each other
x
miracles
or awful
(without awe)
revelation
x
two nations
and all families
in shock
material and flesh
therein
all rived apart
enormous pieces
and so small
like mortal
or like venal
sin
x
we are tired
we are so tired
marrow-tired
yet we lift
like eyes to hills
with all the senses
sensing
and our muscles
weeping
like our faces
and our souls
x
hoping
fearing
to find anything
for what we’ve found
and know
so far
x
the definition
of a living hell
new definitions
ghastly or ghostly
(grim humor
or humors
medieval inquest drawn out)
for the victims
and the victims
x
nature and people
where is evil
maybe nowhere
maybe do not care
but as we can
and for the good
with what we have
get over there
x
c l couch
x
x
photo by xander ashwell on unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Shadowlands
x
Plato
C. S. Lewis
My hand by
The computer light
Shadows with shadows,
I suppose
With something firmer
On the other side
That could be relied on
For an eternity
Something waiting
Something inspiring
An ideal
A world of ideals
That’s what we learned
In school
So what have we here?
Which world shimmers
For the other
Though we presume
The other world’s better?
What do we sense here?
What do we make?
What lasts?
We have our treasures
And we try to keep them
We use guards
We have alarms
Things might fade anyway
Or break
And we keep making
Stockpiling art
With care
In both kinds of caves
Like those who aren’t so well-
Obsessed with money
Or better
With a hope for all
The way we might stockpile food
And why not
Against the day
Except for exigent hunger
(there should be enough
for both)
x
Yet if they’re right
We’ll have it all again
Art and food
Anything of profit
By virtue,
Perfect there
And permanent
And with ourselves, perhaps,
Polished and redeemed
As on this side
We sometimes polish
Precious metal with
Satisfaction after
That self-effacing
Might be and become
A shimmering
Evangelism:
Grand art, you see,
And easy,
Arduous science
For both
x
C L Couch
x
x
the verse alludes to Plato’s allegory of the cave
x
the title is a term that is a metaphor for mortal life
x
x
‘Scape
A knoll of pine trees
Tops too tall to see
A circle implied
Because there is a seat
At zero point
And snow falls:
Flakes congealed into comic blobs
That fall in quiet plops
On branches and,
When straighter, onto
The granite surface
The needly floor,
Covering a sleepy earthen
Solemn way to
Narnia or Middle Earth
No lamppost,
Elf, or orc, either, only a winter
Day on planetary sides
Where worlds meet
A place made up
And does exist
For I am here
C L Couch
Recent Comments