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How Fast a Dream Fades

How Fast a Dream Fades

 

There was something

It was Christmastime

I was arguing with my mother

Over singing music I didn’t know

We went to church

Tim Breithaupt was there

He pointed toward a casino

On the hill

I said we have those, too

(casinos not hills, though we

have hills)

There’s not much more

And there was more

I feel sad about it

I was angry in the dream

I cannot argue with her, now

 

C L Couch

 

 

Tom Barrett

@wistomsin

This photo is taken from my flight to Panama. We flew directly through a storm, and this is what I captured.

Unsplash

 

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Last of the Dog-on-Porch Poems

(3)

 

 

A Lesson from the Story

 

In The Horse and His Boy

A young person is punished

In the way she caused

The wounding of another

Aslan is very present there

In Narnia

Potent and immediate

The good thing is that

Judgment’s taken care of

Neither need worry over it again

 

A moment’s wrong

Another’s retribution

And we are clean with God

Again

Not bad, pre-Apocalypse

Before the book is opened

One last time

For good

 

 

A Grown-Up Narrative

 

Some adults with ADHD

Say they don’t like the medication

I understand

They feel the edge has been

Worn down

Lacking what is needed

Sharp awareness to get through

Each day

I understand

And, seriouser still,

The feeling that oneself has

Been worn down, too

Filed in every way

 

I have a medication that

Calms me down

Cools me

I’m thankful for it

Am I less of me?

I think parts of me that haven’t

Got to surface very much

Now have a chance for rising

And for air

 

Am I less of me?

If I am, is that so bad?

The peacefulness, it might

Be worth it

For the fuzzying of awareness

(I know what’s around me)

The challenge of the

Deeps of spirit I must swim against

I feel for those like me

Like themselves

Who favor the back stroke or the

Breast stroke

When one should not have to be

In the pool

I know it’s more than metaphor

Metaphor’s a pointer

Everything gets real

After that

 

 

Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

 

I’m sorry

I never got it right, you know

I must have a life

To offer it

I must have built something

And I didn’t

Praise and all impressiveness

To those who have

Who found enough for themselves

And to share

That is the way

That is the way of life

It secures the present and

Leans into the future

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by creisi from Pixabay

ecumenical?

 

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Some Dog-Days Poetry

(3)

 

 

Unplanning

 

I’m not sure why

A cool breeze

Always comes across as surprise

I’m thankful, really

I think if I arranged it,

I’d be particular in the wrong way

Overly concerned (if at all)

About temperature, humidity

Air pressure

Something about millibars

 

I’ll simply sit here

In a chair I hadn’t planned

If it rocks, that would be another boon

And if silently,

Would be relief

For my neighbor’s sake

 

 

The Only Kind that Matters

 

Bread used to be square

I saw it in a movie

‘Course then I’d have to say

Bread was black and white as well

I’m not how they pulled it off

What kind of protractor

Tyrannized the baking pans

 

I guess someone decided

That homey bread must have

A curvy bunch up top

But then began the crust wars

We’ve been waging ever since

Maybe after ends of eggs

The Lilliputians take this on for us

 

We’ve got toast to make

And victory in croutons

 

 

Squared

 

I think I sat in churches

And at funerals

For which paper fans were

Handed out

For trauma’s or heat’s

Sake I am uncertain

In our machine age

And cushioning our chairs

The paper fans seem to have

Gone away

Until the other day

When a friend presented me with

One of these, I’m not sure why

 

I hold it now, and I recall

It was the day of our town fair

And we’ve had record-breaking heat

This year

So folk wandered up and down

The street, bearing square

Reminders of mortality

 

You see, the name the favors bore

Was of a certain

Local institution

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Nathalie Ehrnleitner on Unsplash

 

2

I Know What I’m Missing

I Know What I’m Missing

 

When there’s time

And gasoline in the car

(I’d fuel up on air if I could),

I like to drive on roads

That might be new to me

I rarely stop for anything

And I don’t go fast,

If I can help it

To see a house with character

I haven’t seen before

To hum over a bridge

Maybe with a mark for the

WPA on either side

To enjoy a plethora

Of trees

Smell and taste their freshness

Through the vents or

With the windows cracked

I have a clutch

I don’t have cruise control

So I try to curb quite literally

My chances on the highway

Ostensibly, I’m going

Somewhere, but it’s all right

If there’s no arrival

I rarely have to backtrack

So I can say I’m making progress

And like Thoreau, Berry,

Or Oliver who

Blend outdoor living with

Reflection of supernal things,

I am where I am

Without a proper ending

 

C L Couch

 

Image by Josep Monter Martinez from Pixabay

 

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The Wonder Years

The Wonder Years

 

Old age

Is for someone else, isn’t it?

I write as if I’m twenty

And I’m not

But still it seems an artifact

Something on display

To view someday when there’s time

I think it’s a problem

When the inside and outside

Cannot balance

Like bank pages,

Come to an understanding

A negotiation between parts as

Parties even though the

Disagreements tend toward

Being mild—

Nothing we want to overthrow

 

Unless divergence has become

A wider thing, a view too far

To see into with any

Clarity or source for contemplation

That is helpful

I’ve been there, so have you:

Off the road next to the

Telescope behind a low stone wall

Feeling air from down below

But discomfited because

It’s all impressive

But it’s new

Nothing to rely on

 

Old age is an eventual visitation

And a visit from which

We can’t walk away

It is inevitable

As it is phenomenal

It is, sadly, not enviable

Even for the lack of youthful

Problems

Elders are respected

Elsewhere where there are circles

We all need protractors

 

We will be that person

In the parking lot who wonders

Whose face it is

We see inside the window

And that will have to be all right

I wish we were so much

Better at it

Since there are stories

Wise, profane, honest, and

Incorrigible

We should seek them out, while

We can

Record them with technology

We understand

 

It is a comfort

And a fear

We of every age

Should deal in both

I’m sorry being forward

But my time’s finite, too

 

C L Couch

 

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Colleagues

Colleagues

 

I heard from my friends about

Their trip to Europe

My cat friends listened with

Me

We enjoyed the stories

Though they’d rather have their bowls

And I was a soft touch for them

While Mom and Dad

Had been away

 

But life returns to older ways

And all are here

I’ll see the images, go home

I’ll think about my parents

For some reason

How it was not

Easy

 

And, if vicarious,

The family I attend to

Now

Only tussles over

Unimportant things

So that negotiations never last

Because remembrance is

For

All the needful things we keep

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by sarandy westfall on Unsplash

 

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Too Technical for Numbers

Too Technical for Numbers

 

The people of the nanosecond

That might be the Japanese and us

The Russians and the Chinese

German timing

Somewhere there might be

Understanding of a season

When were you born?

There was great rain

It was a miracle

 

The Druids were aware of something

Witches, too

They mark the seasons, still

Despite our tendency to burn

Churches change with colors

But maybe not their stripes

I don’t mean to condemn

The vestige of Christ on Earth

But maybe take away

The matches

 

And return the decision made

Long ago at Whitby

Let the Celts ally with nature

In the faith

So that creation’s flow of time

A day that is an age

Shall inherit blessings now

Of peace and mourning

Birth and, so to say

All of life

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

“Eventually everything hits the bottom, and all you have to do is wait until someone comes along, and turns it back again.”

 

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Cats and Dogs LLC

Cats and Dogs LLC

 

Taking care of cats is done

Human mom and dad are home

Now I’ve been asked about

A dog

It’s a cottage industry

Without the cottage

Next time I want a cottage

Maybe a retreat house

Maybe a place for

Pet contemplatives

We could invite patrons to workshops:

Julian for cats

Roch for dogs

Francis for the birds that visit

Via rafters

 

Can you imagine compline

Vigil and matins?

Cats gathered not as

Clowders but choristers

Dogs serving as lectors

Reading from

What else

You know it’s coming

Saint Bernard

 

C L Couch

 

 

Church ruins and a stray dog in Karpaz, Northern Cyprus.

Michal Klajban – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=78240449

 

 

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A Prequel to Aeneid

A Prequel to Aeneid

 

I imagine I’m

On the porch of

An ancient Greek house

There are pillars all around

It’s a warm, airless day

 

And me, I’m doing this

I’m writing

Maybe I’m leaving something for

Posterity, because

By government or commerce

Speechifying’s more important

 

It could be a will

A source for disagreement

When I’m gone

Or mischief in an epic

Something afterward to leave around

Somewhere

For the future, maybe for a conqueror

 

In which I take the loser’s side

And change the tone of

Everything

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Aubrey Rose Odom on Unsplash

 

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