Search

clcouch123

I talk you talk we'll talk

Open Search
Tag

poem

Better

Better

 

I don’t know much about the world

It seems

I wish it were better

 

I’m offended

And I’m angry

Who really wants to care?

 

We have other things to do, less

Pandering to moods

Chosen when something more promising

Could be selected

 

Another code pressed on the emotion

Vending machine

I wonder maybe we have a number of tokens

And then the rest are gone

For deciding badly

 

For too-small convictions

When being noble in an un-ranked way

Would make the difference

 

Would light the factories

Would illuminate

Pockets and portals of prosperity

Nether (never) world

Intentions hide

 

Give it a chance

A two-step beneath the table

Smiling for no reason

Than

The joy in dawn-split morning

Or romantic night

The splendid times when

In spite of rusted gags and

Chains

Joy breaks free

5

Five Minutes Monday Morning

Five Minutes Monday Morning

 

Eleven fifty-five,

What’s left?

Coffee made, suburban meaning

More?  Well, make a list,

Check—check the list

 

How much of it’s repeated?

Breathe in, breathe out

Better now the weather’s changed

Autumn’s here at last, I think

Cooler, clearer air

 

Or I can pretend

How much of the difference is inside?

 

But there’s anxiety in the pit

Well, it’s Monday morning

 

I used to read five-minute mysteries;

Five-minute words—I

Believe it could be worse

5

Aftermath

Aftermath

(Matthew)

 

There is a square

Upon the

Ground

That has no sides

 

There were

Three walls more

Like pillars, a

Doorway, and more

 

There was life, and

I could name each

Part: mother,

Daughter,

Neighbor child,

Love

 

Spry forms that

I could see

And touch; now

None

Remains

 

I’ve come back to

The place

 

I heard it had

A name;

I no longer care

5

Joypad

Joypad

 

What the frog enjoys

Each day nascent on the pond

When we wake stories

 

(haiku)

 

Your word for today

joypad

Pronunciation: /ˈjoipad/ Definition: an input device for a computer games console which uses buttons to control the motion of an image on the screen

 

3

The Unforgiven

The Unforgiven

(over three hundred now)

 

Matthew kills

Two hundred eighty

In the place that Papa

Doc abused

Where the recent

Legacy of earthquake

Leaves homes

Waiting to rise

For five years’ passing

 

On toward Florida,

This is not

The succession of an

Apostle but the

Random naming of

A storm

That, anonymous,

Would rise and fall,

Slam and flood, beat and

And take the

Breathing from too

Many enfleshed

Fragile souls

6

Saruman Brings Down Trees

Saruman Brings Down Trees

 

A duel is established between

The organic and the mechanical

 

It doesn’t have to be this way,

Only a demon-ridden wizard must

See it so:

 

The world exists in duality with

Room enough to have everything,

Mutuality in a multiverse

6

Listen to Earth

Listen to Earth

(Sarah Doughty)

 

Listen to earth:

For

She will tell you much

 

Of love on the ground

And underneath

And in the branches

Of the trees,

Sometimes even launched

From there;

 

From the garden, truth—

Wild and perennial,

Knowing no

Cultivation

But the seasons;

 

Tendril-scent of romance

Glides onto the sky

Over water,

Upended in the course

Each time—

 

Thus approving

The cycle

Of immortal love

 

That touches stellar rings

With which Earth sings

 

C L Couch

 

https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/

5

The Ashburn Old School

The Ashburn Old School “on the edge”

of Washington, D.C., Vandalized Last

Night

 

Might I apologize for an entire color?

I can’t—I didn’t make it, nor do I feel

intense affiliation.  But whites (I figure

whites) have defaced an old school on

the cusp of finished restoration.  An

old school that had been inhabited by

black students and, I guess, an all-black

staff.  The problem in apologizing for

criminals is that I don’t know them.  I

don’t know that kind of ugliness in hate.

I don’t get the relish manifest through

stupid, destructive action.  I am sorry

though in a general, human way.  I

apologize for all of us who are blind

when we can only see one color.  I can

praise and thank you who are of color,

as all are, and who make strides by reaching

in and lifting up learning and the story,

however dismal certain chapters must

become.  Learning is triumphant and,

we know, shall overcome.

 

 

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/oct/03/racist-graffiti-historic-black-school-virginia?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+USA+-+morning+briefing+2016&utm_term=193179&subid=16706344&CMP=ema_a-morning-briefing_b-morning-briefing_c-US_d-1

4

The Banshee Cries

The Banshee Cries

 

I split the night, I know

I want to

Further chaos into silent

Human sleep

 

I have neither quiet

Nor rest

Why should you?

 

And when my piercing

Work is done

And I’ve coursed through

Your family

 

I’ll come for you

You won’t see though

You will hear

And maybe at last

Listen

 

Too late to fix your

Prophecy

 

That’s done:

 

And you will come with me

To a place

Where hellish noise is

All you know

 

You,

Betraying man

Who spoke

Curses in love

9

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑