Giving Away
A Christian
Wrote a magic book
Don’t ostracize him for it—
Too late, too many
Praise the work
And the worker
And, yes, in the larger family
You might know who I mean
You might know what I mean
It’s everywhere, nowadays
Though the worker
Was confused by
Popularity
He was used to saying
What he wondered anyone might
Want to hear
Though it was all required at the school
C L Couch
Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Unsplash
Nothing Cynical Today, Please
I know we’re all supposed to be
So smart,
And we are
But sometimes don’t you want to take
A breath
Then exhale all kinds of things
That really aren’t necessary
On the inside, anymore
Take in something fresh
I know it’s hard in a polluted world
But there’s still enough air out there
And in a breeze
There’s dreaming
Give that some air as well
I’m going to close up the dark shop
And risk the outside world
Not to get too close
Just yet
But find a sitting place
(you, too),
Not so far away
To look outside and inside
Consider what to keep
What can be let go at last
C L Couch
Shouse Village, Wolf Trap, United States
Short Story Unit
I read a story once
One of many stories
Short stories, in fact
A unit we went through
I think it was in seventh grade
In this narrative,
Told from a boy’s perspective,
There was a stepmother
He didn’t like so much
No, she wasn’t classic fairytale mean
She was pleasant, but she wasn’t
His first mom
The real one
His mom was prettier
And better in all ways
But she had died
Then dad had remarried
The boy was sad, crestfallen
All the time
I don’t recall the lashing out
Because there wasn’t any
But at a dinner out, the boy
Noticed a moment when
His father tucked a loose
Curl up inside her hat,
And then the boy knew that his
Father really loved her
And for his sake
And for his sake,
He should try to love her, too
C L Couch
Image by Jenna Nguyen from Pixabay
‘Til the End of Time
(Ireland forever, as it’s said)
My, it’s a grim day outside
There may have been fog
That is yet lifting
All I see is white and gray
It’s unsettling, first thing
To look outside
Today’s the day for green and
Orange
Remembering all the snakes
Driven out of Éire without
Wondering where they went
Well, Guinness is dark
And celebratory
So despite the virus going ‘round
I should perk up a peg or two
Remember the McAnallys
Look for some colors, since
The Irish own the rainbow
If not the gold where
The magic arc
Must someday land
All are Irish? I don’t think so
But all are welcome
Into the saint’s day
A saint who wasn’t Irish, either
But came to own the land
In spiritual ways
Who is remembered for all
Intents and purposes
As a native
Might we remembered, too,
For something spiritual
And native
Created beings of earth and air
C L Couch
Photo by Wynand van Poortvliet on Unsplash
The Sun’s Indigenous
A treat
The coffee
I don’t have to load it
In my buckboard
Like a settler come to town
On Saturday for supplies
Too easy to fantasize
My house on the prairie
Or my split-level
In the east
How much did others pay
For dreaming?
I don’t mean pioneers
Though for their dreaming
They gave much
I mean those who dreamed
Of earthen wisdom,
Already here for centuries
Imperfect
But here first
First people
In the world, we don’t respect
Indigenous save for study
(bless the anthropologists
in situ)
The land is there
Just needs some brutal scrubbing
Clear it out for destiny
That we own
I’m white
I don’t mind being white
I rarely have to
I rarely have to think of it,
Unless I want to
Call me a lover of dark skin
I am
I have no way to understand reparation
Except that it’s a worthy thought
At least to seek forgiveness
Knowing that each people
Have done each other
That is no excuse for us
Or anyone
To pick up the rope, the chain,
The sword
To take over for intrafamily rivalry
And sin of war that way
Theirs in the first,
Ours in the last
I think that colors merge into the sun
I think that I’m idealist
And most likely, oh, so naïve
But I’ll take it for my vision
Keeping in the daylight
Dreaming of at night
C L Couch
Photo by Drop the Label Movement on Unsplash
Azukar Coffee, Phoenix, United States
The subject of this photo, Hannah, radiates authenticity, joy, and beauty in her jean jacket laced with various pins and buttons. This photo of Hannah was captured by Idara Ekpoh in south Phoenix, Arizona, at Azukar Coffee Shop.
Eccentric Season
A loud single song out the window
For a second day I’m greeted this way
Whom is it calling?
I’d like to think it was me, but it must be
Another creature
Singing to to say hello, come over here
There’s a divot-space next to the air-conditioner
Might make a nice place for a nest
I guess this because it’s happened
More than once
That through the panel I can see bird-shadows
Moving
They come and go for a while
I should worry, and I do, that all goes well
While there is waiting for small, gray life
To emerge—
Usually, they’re gray—
To add their greetings to the day
And the days ahead
I think maybe I shouldn’t look through
The window, down so much at what’s going on
I can listen to some small cacophony
Instead
Life will emerge, and then the nest becomes
Useless, falls apart, not fit
For a sparrow
My odd season with the nesting birds is over
I’ll clear out what remains, maybe there’s
A crack of egg to see
I tried to bring the rounded twigs inside one time,
But they fell apart too easily
A sparrow wouldn’t want it
Such a fragile operation, all this is
To make more birds
Especially in a small space on the window sill
And my own sign in parts that at last the weather’s
Turned into a fecund opportunity
As the planted fields around the town
Will also show, certainly in
Wider, columned ways
C L Couch
Photo by Chromatograph on Unsplash
Heard Outside the Window
Town birds call each other early
For the farmer’s market
In the square
Come on! They drop the good stuff
All morning long!
We can watch from wires high above
All the antics
We’ll have all the fun
And be filled
We wake up at dawn, and we’re ready
We serenade the humans,
And they’re soft for us
Why not, we like the singing, too
Fit for forest still
But we’ll stay here for a while
C L Couch
Follow your dreams!
Not a Poem
This is not a poem:
Poems rhyme
Like using sage in thyme
They make sense
The owl and the pussycat weren’t so tense
The poems have a meter
Ta-dah, ta-dah, ta-dah
Hoorah, hoorah, hoorrah!
Poems are about serious subjects
Racism bleeds the Earth of all its colors
Poems should have long lines
Well, you got me there
A poem takes us places
Helps fill in all the spaces
So if I want to poem
Just to sho-‘em
I’ll have to change my crafting
Or launch myself upon a rafting
So I might be taken seriously
By those who speak imperiously
I say this with a sigh
The worldly bar is set too high
I’ll turn to something else
I have my father’s wrench
Maybe I should try plumbing
(no, for me that would be numbing
maybe you
for a sou?
maybe us–that’s a plus)
C L Couch
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash
a poem takes us places
Prismatic
How
Is it, God,
That you can love all things?
You can
Your capacity is the ocean
And the stars
With all that swims in both
Your depth is above heaven
Down to hell,
Deeper
We think ourselves so much
We move upon a planet
We are cruel
Sometimes we are kind,
Which shouldn’t have to come
Across
As a surprise
Are you sorry that you gave
The rainbow?
It’s a pledge to keep us here
There might be tests of
Floods, and
Maybe they could tempt you
Though I think we have your word,
If anyone
Could keep it
If anyone could stay a hand
Waiting for
What happens next
If there’s anything in a
Surprise
C L Couch
photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash
created with garden hosepipe
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