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memory

I think Jane wanted to do something

I think Jane wanted to do something

remember
or
why would we
except I
do
of
Dick and Jane
with Spot and Puff
and
I guess Mom and
Dad

and they wanted to do things
but had to be smart
about these
and most things worked out
well
I think

and it was maybe to cite
the Think and
Do
program
and franchise for each district

and I guess that was
all right
except that Dick and Jane were awfully white
or
graphically blank but if with Anglo
features

and were they Protestant
as
was expected by the WASPs
in charge

could they be
Jewish
or Muslim
or Catholic or
agnostic

and Nancy Drew
fought crime after church
first
church on Sundays

and these were mentors
I suppose
from school where I was frantic
or home after
the reading chair where and when there’d been
some peace
and
to
get by
acceptably with freedom
if to feel
in summers only

then the next grade to fear
and to endure
unless investing
in
indifference

you know
too cool for school
and
forgetting what I might have learned

fright
then
or ennui
and could we not do better
serving us

and
not
to say that family doesn’t matter
for the dog and cat
and the whole family
needing care

maybe
adding what’s added
anyway
in the world for
faith
and reconstructed families
with
all the colors and the shapes
that Peter Max
elicited
and all the variations in the world
allow and by which keep
teaching for
our
learning

where and
how
Dick and Jane and with all names
to learn

c l couch

photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
“meet my boi”

0

moreover

moreover

a word in Scripture
followed by
“the dog”
and so in a story that the name should
become
that of the family pet
and
like a conjunction
maybe held the group together

I’m
not sure

I remember the dog
and hoped that nothing bad should
happen
and I don’t know if
it did

I can’t recall the story and
maybe
I don’t want
to

if it were one of those
sad tales it seemed
good
for assigning adolescence
for
and as if
tearing bandages off of children spirits
leaving these open
to
how the air
should perform

c l couch


“The Biscuit Eater,” story by James Street, film by Disney; I read a bit of the synopsis then stopped my research; I’m not sure if I desire at all to know

Luke 16:21 in the KJV, it seems—and at the moment I’d rather not look too closely at that part as well

photo by pxslc on Unsplash

a Juneteenth of blessings in the challenge

0

remembering the ducks


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

1

2 poems about Easter



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

0

Get Up

(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

x

x

Photo by Xin on Unsplash

x

0

What Sigmund Freud, Erma Bombeck, and Jean Shepherd Knew

(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

x

x

Photo by Jisun Han on Unsplash

x

1

In My Father’s Now-and-Then Kitchen

(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

x

x

Photo by Daniel Gamez on Unsplash

x

1

poems about early life

(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

2

The Wonder Dog

(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

x

x

Water Flowing over Rocks

Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash

x

2

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