remembering the ducks
I think about a duck pond
which might be across street from
where
my grandparents lived
a place we were allowed to look at from
afar
or am I thinking of what’s called
the Children’s Lake
in a small
like mine
town
that like
across the street had
ducks
and geese that had better scurry as
folks drive through
and the ducks
and geese there have
in fact
their own speeding limit
I don’t know
the ducks are pretty
and
sometimes seem to me
too fragile
as if God forgot to give them
armor
more than the chemicals that
keep them floating
I don’t know
maybe the chemicals are enough
as are
memories
that come to the surface
and
sometimes have ducks floating
upon them
c l couch
photo by Haberdoedas II on Unsplash
2 poems while thinking about Easter
Aslan again
was re-maned
once rising
with all wounds save mild scars
now
unremembered
new life
new joy
wanting to roar
and so roaring
and then playing
with
the children
on a hillside
where rolling
descending and ascending
make
sense
in mortality
again
(recalling that passage in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe)
green-grass Saturday
made of plastic
even though there’s cheer
in memory
said memory to find itself in corners
through
the coming year
once making beds
to dye the eggs with vinegar
hot water
everything is nestled
for a while
and
as of yet
no chocolate has appeared
though we are
ready for the hunt again
on Sunday
for the same eggs
now
we cannot find
and then the chocolate
and there will be photographs
appearing of the day
and
of the day again
then in pastels
off
to church
c l couch
photo by Birger Strahl on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Get Up
x
There was something
I don’t have it
That happens more and more
I could fear dementia
Or being tired
Living near bad people
Being bad myself
Mixtures of denial
With remembrance
Corrosion
Over time
With late-night promises of products
Ready to shine up all the leads
Again
For the cost
Of philosophy
And exorbitance
So buy in
To something
Try to wear oneself out
For better sleep
To match the abstract way in which
A length of life
Keeps everything
Worn out
In style and manners
Lumping on the way
Another morning
Toward the coffeemaker’s
Totemity
Of dreams
And hopefulness
Having wrestling with an angel
Through the night
Near the water
And the waking land
To either side
x
C L Couch
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x
x
(x = space)
x
x
What Sigmund Freud, Erma Bombeck, and Jean Shepherd Knew
x
Some memories
Are childish
Because they come
From children
We might cringe
From the foolishness
More so from
Childish behavior
From adults
From the adult
Inside
x
Well, I’m not sure
If memory can cleanse
Embarrassment
Though it could teach
Humility
Or another understanding
So that’s why
I said or did
The thing
x
Otherwise, we cringe
Again
When something no one else
Can see
Because it’s in
The mind,
A symbol of regret
Passing by
x
C L Couch
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x
Photo by Jisun Han on Unsplash
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(x = space)
x
x
In My Father’s Now-and-Then Kitchen
(and backyard)
x
My father could cook many things
Well, six things
The rest were disasters
Like shipwrecks on rocks
On waiting shores
x
He could make—combine,
Stir, apply, bake—apple pie
He taught me how to have
Cheddar cheese with that
x
He could make blackberry cobbler
Blackberries, maybe, because of
Growing up
In Olympia
Where there were
Berry trees and bushes in abundance
Real crust (back to the cobbler)
Made from many ingredients
The right amount of sweet and salt
To savor
x
He could make bean soup
Ham and bone kept from another meal
Beans soaked for days
It seems
He might have made the cornbread
That came with it
Maybe my mom made that
x
Have I got to six?
Well, he could grill adept
If maybe nothing challenging
The usual suburban fare
Meat and vegetables
I’m a plebe
I like hamburgers
I was satisfied
x
My mother cooked everything else
Too bad you can’t taste
Her corned beef with cabbage
Carrots and potatoes
With the cornbread
(Southern)
That she made
x
I can’t taste it anymore
For many years
Except to remember
I’ve found nothing close to hers
In waking time,
Since
Sigh
x
What else my father cooked
Was awful
(shapeless shapes
on plates)
He was the only one
To eat those things
He made
x
C L Couch
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x
Photo by Daniel Gamez on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
poems about early life
x
x
around the green S chair
(Rick and me)
x
there was an S chair
green, upholstered
with that kind of hard,
bumpy brocade that was
uncomfortable
kept in the basement
and there were other things
as basements tend to have
and around the chair
and through the other things
there was an oval
made that we would run,
my older brother and I,
while the Three Stooges
ran on television
and we ran in opposite directions
to each other, and when
we passed each other
we would whoop in high-pitched
voices like the
Stooges whom we thought
must be having fun
in black and white
as we were
around the green S chair
and everything else
pushed to one or the other
in the basement
x
x
a child’s Sunday night
x
everything was difficult
except sometimes on Sunday night
when we were downstairs
after baths or showers
pajamaed, robed
slippers over wrinkly toes
the TV set warmed up
Disney about to start
x
x
the younger ones on Friday night
x
on Friday nights
we often would
gather ‘round the kitchen table
with popcorn
and malted, chocolate candy
playing The Game of Life
sometimes Careers
we were taught Rook
the Southern person’s bridge
x
we played many games
and were okay
as long as my dad was winning
x
x
I never sang for my father
x
my dad took it on himself
to ridicule me
so that he might look bigger
somehow
whatever is in the mind
of the bully
I don’t know if that worked
inside
for him
while inside of me
as you might expect
there was resentment
and it grew
I had to win
and when I did,
I no longer cared
there was next to nothing there
and in the nothing
no relationships
x
x
C L Couch
x
x
I Never Sang for My Father is the name of a play and a film.
x
Photo by Amanda Jones on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
The Wonder Dog
x
I used to let
The dog go
In the creek
Taking off the leash
Once we were behind
The houses
What a happy dog
Upstream was all right
There was freedom in that,
Too
x
Muscles got used
That needed using
The shaking of the chain
Hanging in the closet meant
That
All this could happen
x
Once released
x
C L Couch
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Water Flowing over Rocks
Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Gift Exchange
x
A moment for a moment
An exchange for something better
If it had to be a memory
A moment when things seemed right
In the world,
Then I’d have to ask for something better
Something beyond me
Something good for you as well,
And the circle
That we are
And live upon
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
The Boy Who Knew Something
x
A spark of something
Blown on through the breeze
Of time
What did he know?
Something about dreams, perhaps
That dreams try
To work out something
And something about wandering
That loneliness
Is good
That reactive loneliness is hard
But being on one’s own
As a decision for oneself
Is not so bad
Bicycle
Riding across an empty schoolyard
Creeking
Climbing rocks
Falling
There’s a bruise
One survives
x
The working out of dreams
When dreams are ridiculed
That’s when it gets hard
Harder than the stones
One fell upon
Growing up will help
x
If only there could be an arc
So many things
Could be worked out
x
Call it memory
Call it inspiration
Allowed to last
Let it last
x
C L Couch
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Photo by Hugo L. Casanova on Unsplash
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