On a Monday Holiday
On a Monday holiday
Outside my window there
Is special quiet
I live on Main Street
Which, here, is
A main street
Much traffic in the
Town goes by and
Emergency vehicles
Yet all action by
Wise or by a fool
Sounds blanketed today
Even the helicopter
I hear now shudders
Through a more silent
Sky—yes, there is an
Air-push on its way
With a storm behind
But humidity rising
While the barometer
Descends does not
Evince, I think, the silence
Outside my window now
Now, where there’s
Muted sunlight, too
Where, fuzzily or not,
Thought is knocking on
The pane, asking for
An invite in—well, why
Not on this kind of day
“Adversity, Misfortune”
(written with all urgency)
Is what it means
Malheur (thanks to
Collins), and there is
A certain story about
That (Mister Thurber,
You can look it up)
But the story that is
Written now can
Only add to the
First meaning
Set fire? No
Imprison any longer?
No
Militia? We have
The National Guard
(I know, national)
Grace, which translates
Closely all around,
Needs abounding here
Not perched in a
Distant tree, an
Observation pillar,
Waiting to return
To normal life
Not to blame the bird
The bird is natural,
Even as a metaphor
Grace is better
It takes “mal-heur”
To render it “bon-temps”
(Sorry if I slaughter French
A language I enjoy)
I am of Northwest
I am in Oregon (check
The names)
My grandfather built
Refuges like
Malheur (though I’d
Like to think he’d have
Checked the name)
All are right in this
All are wrong
Everyone back up
And change the stakes
Then everyone not further
Newly charged (please, no)
In need-corrected wrong
Everyone
Go
And be home
C L Couch
January 2016
Ishi
she is the last
one in her family
a hermit in Siberia
rescued recently
they were religious
they fled the Soviets
(one could name another
group when it oppresses
or suppresses) and
she is the last
when she is gone
from earth
only her story will remain
another ghost of Ishi for
she is the last
Civilizing Shoes
I’ve been wearing slippers now
As I’ve trod through my place
In part, because of the season
In part, because it is a more
Civilized way to live
When I think of wearing shoes,
I think of Huckleberry Finn
Who, when made to lace- or
Buckle-up the things, felt
The fastenings had trapped
Him in a binding and controlling
World and, eventually, he
Must, you know, light out for
The territories
(USA doesn’t have official
Territories anymore, at least in
The lower forty-eight; I guess
Huck would have to go to
Northern Canada, nowadays)
It is the smaller of things
For the rest of my life remains
Unplanned, in piles, and
Unscheduled—it’s still wild
In there
And, for all I know, when summer
Returns to the US Northeast, I
Might simply have to abandon
The slippers again
To live again more Huckleberry-like
More hobbit-like
And, most likely, more like me
Something
If I don’t do something
I shall do nothing,
So I try
To do this much
What is this much?
Not my writing it
But your reading it
And our responding through;
Anything that might come
During or after
Means I am doing something
(For) we are doing something
Ciara
From the news, I wanted to get
The hometown right
Of the murdered girl
The search yielded a
Thoughtful, pretty image
Of the twelve-year-old
I’ll take it down, but for now
I fear to remove her from the
Screen—
As if saying good-bye
This way
Will make death, already decided,
Somehow more deeply
Done
Vaccines
(a polio center bombed in
Pakistan, because of
serving)
I lived in the cities where
Salk and Sabin worked
Which does not matter
As much as the reality of
Vaccines
Diphtheria, polio, small
Pox, and malaria;
Millions—millions—died
From Spanish Flu in
The last (twentieth)
Century
These diseases are now
Resolved and most are gone
With vaccines and other
Helps except for those
Ravages that were not
Cured except through time,
For we hadn’t means to
Cure
We still look at this
Challenge, though it
Seems we’re getting
Better
I don’t know how those
Against vaccination really
Feel, maybe because I’ve
Only experienced the
Good
I’ve had mild symptoms
Of that for which I’ve
Been given shots—that’s
In the nature of vaccines—but
I’ve not suffered fully from
Diseases or conditions
Against which I’m
Protected
Now, due to a condition (not
Vaccine-related), I’m toward
The top of the list of those
Who should receive flu
Shots
Any reservations
Notwithstanding, I get the
Shot
Those who refuse risk
Infecting others, though
I respect the hesitation
If I cannot ally the
Principle
Yet those who turn down
And those who protest this
Medical opportunity are
Not bombing doctors’ offices
Or clinics where these
Serve
Though, I must say, that in
This free land, some
Take issues to extremes
To destroy clinics of
Another medical kind thus
Surrender being human in
Becoming the extreme and little
More
But on a day in Pakistan
I’ve read further in the news
About
Bombing a polio clinic
Addressing a disease that
Can be veritably
Eradicated
If this terroristic vision
(An irony of shots)
Could be realized, then there
Would be outbreaks of laming
And of crippling infection
Without recourse except
The best (the worst) of
Luck
When we can cure, we
Are at our best;
What can be said for
Those who hunt down
All those who can and
Now must more bravely
Cure
History of Terrorism
(after bombings in Istanbul,
killing ten so far, wounding fifteen)
“What impresses your most about terrorists?”
“Their hundred-percent failure.”
I heard something like this in a television
Show, well-written show, an episode
First broadcast in the wake of 911
Now we have murder in Istanbul by a
Suicide bomber, so it appears, maybe in
Fearful avenging Turkish strikes against IS
Is ISIS going to have a state? Will the world
Allow that? Explosions, shootings,
Destroying lives with bodies strapped
With bombs: do these all realize such
A difference? Only in wasting, it seems—in
Exploitation and in scorn and in the
World’s resolve to stand together and against
Not a rising storm but rather in a lower
Continuity of tries at terror and of terror
Acts filled with, terribly and finally—you
Know, Macbeth’s signifying sound and fury
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