Uber Man
Nietzsche misapplied
He is insane certainly
Though for the dead
That is no excuse
Merging of A-I with
Devilry (all tragic kinds)
Mythos and job
Conditions
Mindset foundation
Made of broken parts
And images, like
Rock upheaval when
Nature breaks in anger
Or remorse upon the
Earth
The driving’s done
Next civil movements
Decide and, at the
Last, enact
Salve released into
Chasms
Human libation
Offered in the cup
Divine participation
Hoped
C L Couch
eccentric impoverishment
I believe in odd things
in the creeping things of scripture
in the texture of flower petals
that hold the elixir of hope
for nature
in that which doesn’t last but
really does
kind encounters with strangers
(kind when strangers encount-
with me)
joy in small things
joy even on a day that’s dim
with unlined sky
for creative impossibilities
the world doesn’t value the
arcane
things or my eccentric way of
loving them
so how am I to live
in response
I do not know is first
with fear closely behind
how do I live for real I mean
how does a world set so differently
(or I so differently to it) agree
and arrange to pay for who I am
and what I do and how
how do I find my way with
only colors in the corners
if I must direct myself toward
a blander needle point
but I need the life of hope in
creativity with the world
who salaries that
who pays me
for that artful amorphous
life
Lost World
A borough in
Western Pennsylvania
(towns are called
Boroughs) that
Died when steel died
And, unlike the city
Close by (that is only
Called a city),
There was no
Rising up,
No Easter-kind
Experience
Anything that might
Be beautiful is old
From the time
When beauty
Could be afforded
The bones of
Some buildings are
Strong, while
Others stand ready
To fall over
With a sigh
Children attend
A consolidated
School in the area,
Learning to
Leave already
The bar owner
Can’t afford it
But must have
The place
Open anyway
For where else
Can one
Drink hope
Persistence alone
Without substance
Keeps life
Land of the Free
Sometimes
It’s hard to know
What to perceive
As real
It’s a hard time
To be alive,
Though it’s good, too
Welcome home,
She called to her
Spaniel charges
Here they will
Have home
Tired Monday mornings
Notwithstanding
Or lulls in movement
Or going through
The harder times of life,
Home will be here
For small angels
Unaware
(from good news by
Stray Coffee Breaks,
https://straycoffee.wordpress.com/,
Charles and Thaddeus)
Pittsburgh Last Night
Pittsburgh where I grew up
Five persons killed by two others
Using guns for the sole purpose
Of murder
The victims
Hoping without conscious
Thought to take part in the
Open—a backyard festivity
Homiest of parties
Home belief destroyed
Celebration as a cause
Never believed in again
Debates will go on
Who cares
The sides were answered
Yesterday
Talk is over when bullets
Tear through people
Debate done
Not a Trick
Easter is a surprise, the
Rabbit out of the hat, one
Might wryly think
From where and when
Comes the trick-tradition
From Easter and the tomb,
I think, and Spring, generally,
In the land and from the
Time and place in which
Top Hats were popular
Something living retrieved
Out of nothing—something
Drawn out from the void
The rabbit is fecund (rabbits
Always are, aren’t they?),
The hat circular for the cycle
Of mortality, moving in
An immortal way
Hoping that, in coming ‘round,
One will pass the door to
Eternity, maybe to pause
There
Our magic with the rabbit
Is illusion—dedicated that
Way—but here’s what is
Real: the pure, created one
Has escaped the rounded
Maw of death, leaving (this
Time real) magic words working
As miracle
What is lifted now is living
Truth to behold
No applause needed or any
Desired, for this is grace
The cost of admission offered
Always, for all, a price to us
That’s free
From Earth Above
(homage to the title of
a book of wondrous
planetary imagery)
Ridges of Amazonian tress
Is there earth beneath? one
Might rightly wonder
It is an orange time of day,
And the beauty, like Diana,
Looks nowhere to be
Inviting seduction
For all technology, the
Machete is the better
Instrument for maybe
Finding one’s way through,
Searching for a lost city
This is the Science Channel,
And I am grateful to see,
To hear the photographic
Cinematic semblance of
The truth of this:
This place, hidden living
Communities, and quest
For those who can go
There (I have limitations),
I wish safety and exploring
With all respect
Which is deserved at far
Corners of the treasured
Earth
This is the World
The world’s too big, you know;
Even when we stand, too often
Upon others, to shake fists of
Presupposing power, we won’t
Earn a living dot to be perceived
From far away—even, say, from
Worlds known and yet unknown
Is height-to-planet ratio somehow
Universal? On smaller planes or
Habitably larger, are we there
Proportioned in some way so
That our diminishment remains?
And must that make sense to
Have not one of us be tall enough
To overwhelm the rest—and is
This maddening thought or comfort?
Tell the ruler of Babel or the director
Of Auschwitz: they built insanely
High and wide, never valuing
The true size of Earth beyond
Provision of a circular base on
Which to keep the demons’ scale
Tray that they desired to keep
Unbalanced toward their part,
Never mind that justice rode upon
The other side, preparing to upend;
At the last, we are one by one, no
Monument to detect from space
Which has to be enough—we can
Build each other up, thus making
Better, reaching obelisks to scrape
A spiritual sky upon the Earth
To All Nebuchadnezzars
(in the present age in exigency
anywhere, this is the prophecy
of speaking truth to power)
Said Daniel to the king:
You are brittle with power
While I have talent, speak
With zeal, and touch power
That’s true because I know
It’s not my own
You will cast me out and
Throw me down
I will survive the lions, while
You, above, will soon suffer
Suppurating disease
The carrion of falsehood
On which you feed will have
Its way with you, eating
Infected meat of poisoned
Blood that comes from
Your own veins
Why not send me, if you
Cannot bear my presence,
To a new place where I
Might love the people you
Have cursed whom I can
Help, and you remain
Within your rich and sullen
Chamber, adorned in
Shadowed fate
Nothing changes, king; for
I will arise from the pit in
Certainty, while you will
Never recognize how you
Dwell in your own deep
Place without protection
From the beasts
clcouch123 
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