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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

(x = space)

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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

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Reading Romance

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Standing there,

Waiting for approval,

The ingenue wonders

If she should

Enter the room

x

Strangers, unaware,

Are dancing to a

Waltz she’s known

Since childhood

Always listening

From the stairs,

A risky place for

Children, though with

Darkness behind

And light pouring from

The party floor,

Sneaking a look at

Parties was

Irresistible

x

I’m sure you understand

x

Now she’s here,

Inside the first

Arc, grown up

Into her story:

Does someone wait

Inside?  Should

She remain inside

The question mark

Or take another step

Step toward

Confirmation,

The start of

Act 5, then

Resolution?

x

Questions demand

Answers; they

Crawl along the

Bannister; she’ll

Take the step

So we might breathe

Into the

Final chapters

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Gothica

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Tarn,

A Gothic word

For swamp

(try moor

in the British Isles)

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I look up through

The window

At black branches

Fronting a sky of unformed

Cloud, tunneling

Everything to gray

x

November’s tilting;

We head

Toward winter’s reign,

Cold and gloomy

All our storytelling

x

There might be a

Ghost—there certainly

Will be ghosts

Inhabiting one place,

One will or another

x

The house that

Has a crack in it,

Ready to descend

With all the

Failing generations

(I think you know

the one I mean)

x

But there’s

A house of every heart,

A sprit calling

At the door or, when

Unattended,

Wailing like a banshee

Uncommissioned

x

Everything will

Open and then close up

At the last

x

A deserted house—the

Tarn shall have it

(the swamp, the moor)

From which may

Emerge new

Heroes to try

x

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

Eltz Castle, Wierschem, Germany

We woke up at 3am so we could drive to Germany. We arrived just in time for sunrise and that’s how this shot came to live. The reflection was made with the reflection of the screen of my phone.

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Missing at Home

(x = space)

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Missing at Home

(Veterans Day, Remembrance Day 2020)

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“A Soldier of the

Great War”

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Let’s not miss the irony

x

While (more so)

Missing the life

All the lives

That used to be young

People (other ages,

too)

Of both genders

Who served each other

And the national

Cause

x

So many who can’t,

Naturally (or unnaturally)

Enough, remember

Anything

x

We must remember them

And for them

x

C L Couch

x

Photo by Cross-Keys Media on Unsplash

Thiepval, France

The grave of an unknown soldier at the World War One British memorial to the missing of the Somme.

Over here, we called it “the war to end all wars.”

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Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(x = space,

because I can’t cut and paste

using the new WordPress editor—

grrr)

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Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(two poems)

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Asking Questions

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After the years,

Asking questions that

Could be left to children:

What do I want to

Be when

I grow up?

What do you want

Of me, dear Lord,

Or anyone (else)

Who cares?

How do I give without

Being taken in?

(okay, this question

more for the grown-up, maybe

embittered)

x

And do we

Always ask these questions,

Or is it more rarefied

To do so?

Or simply strange

x

There is a wider

World of happenings,

Some brutal and, well,

Simply bad

Though much of it

Is beautiful,

Inside and outside human

Flesh and in

The natures we’ve been given,

The nature of ourselves and

The nature of the planet

x

These days, especially, it’s

Not hard to find out

What’s going on,

Though much remains

Hidden by

The agenda-hiders, which

Is regrettable

x

All shall be known,

Eventually

And it might go hard

But, you know, for now

Let’s keep asking questions

Of ourselves,

Our world,

And of God

x

Let’s take lifetimes, then,

To learn to ask

And then be satisfied with

What we learn

When asking,

Because we’re still outside the gate

Often forgetting there’s

Paradise nearby

x

x

Desert Mother

x

I have a sharp pain

In my foot

To distract me

From the headache

x

I guess this is

Negotiation with the

Lord

Who made me

And tasks me

In such ways

x

I am old

And beyond children

Except the ones

I talk to

In this way

x

Whether or not I’m heard

I shall not know

Because I’m here

And they

And you

Are there

x

When I am

In heaven, I still

Might not know how

The children of

Earth have done

Until you are old,

Then sleep

As I have done

And wake to me

And all the rest

Who have been waiting

For you

x

And, yes,

We have other things

To do here

So will you

x

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Michael Milverton on Unsplash

Wylie Bay Rd, Bandy Creek WA 6450, Australia, Bandy Creek

Sand Sand Everywhere

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1

Small Matters

Small Matters

(enormously)

 

Small dog

Small death

Dogs grow old and die

Better we outlive the ones

We care for

We are small, too

Not in worth

But then, neither was he

Buddy, Bud, Boo

I don’t know how old he was

He was my neighbor

Now he’s gone

I’m sorry

He was soft

He was funny

I took a nip or two from him

(you know the kind I mean)

I don’t care

I’ve known dogs

I knew this one well enough

 

To me, it came on fast

What do I know

His mouth, by the way,

Was small

(maybe that’s why I didn’t

worry about the bites)

He could manage the small

Tennis-ball type things

I gave him some

 

Well, he’s gone from here

Dog-heaven is a destination

In a country song

And where he is for real

I’ll miss him

Not as much as she will

Her dog

His human

It’s a new connection, now

 

C L Couch

 

Thank you praying and thinking about Buddy.  (Goodness, officious announcing has rendered thoughts and prayers into specious-sounding things, though they’re not when real.)  Buddy died, quickly it seems.  If there’s power in prayer—and there is—then your prayers helped get him to his next home smoothly and painlessly.

Another pet friend of mine died recently.  Like Buddy, this one had a wonderful life, especially as irascible as he was.  This was Old Poodle about whom I’ve written with Old Dachshund (who died a while ago).  About these dogs, my sister often said “It’s a good thing they’re cute.”  I often sat for them and typically found their behaviors more amusing than annoying.  But then I could leave.

I’m sorry for Denise who took care of Buddy and my sister’s family who cared for Wiener and Schnitzel (my brother-in-law, the chef, provided the names).  And I’m thankful for humans who give good lives to pets.

 

 

Photo by Kenny Luo on Unsplash

GuangZhou

 

 

 

11

Peace for All Time

Peace for All Time

(a three-part cycle)

 

1

Machine Language

 

Each moment’s a decision

To exhale,

To circulate some blood

To let the body stir for a while longer

To let the synapse burn

Brightly with mind-fire,

Transactions between what’s happening

And memory

Much of this is done for us

But there’s a partnership, I think

Between all parts

The automatic will take over for

The temporary

When immediacy of thought and movement

Are tired out

Call it sleep

Call it the second cup of tea

Taken on the porch

When for a time there’s nothing else to do

And this has been invoked

Because needed,

The ending of which we’ll debate

 

Peace an invention,

A transaction

Between all partners

Serving on the inside

 

2

Contrition

 

I won’t take it back

Not yet

I need to know the outcome,

Did I get anything I wanted

 

If penance is a prayer,

I’ll do my part

If it’s in bad feeling,

I’m already there

And counting

 

A return to normalcy

And what is that

It takes me out of this

Otherwise, I want

The special moments back

 

But it’s the future, now

Plu-imperfect

 

Please

Say them with me, maybe

All the prayers,

Then let’s move on

 

3

The Answer Is in Someone Else as Well

 

Inner peace

That’s cool

It’s not enough

If I’m in my chrysalis

And have no sight of yours

Or time

 

Where is my peace

If not in you?

This is cheating an invocation,

For it’s not a talk to God

But to you

The one nearby

And not inside

We need transaction, too

And more

 

You need to carry me

And I a part of you

A magic story in which twins

Keep a gem lit by the light force

Of the other

And there’s responsibility

 

In our story,

We will partner differently

That is, for real

Not to prevaricate conditions

But to say push on

Make peace because

We know each other now

To arbitrate

 

And there’s no other way

To build the day

That each must have

Into a present contract

As the future

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jarrod Reed on Unsplash

 

0

White Night, Black Morning

(two poems)

 

 

White Night

 

A single truck moved through

Last night

With the covered sound a snowplow

Might have made

It is winter, but there’s nothing

Wintry happening yet

I’m fine with that

The problem, you know, is extremes

Zeniths of summer have

This problem, too

That it will be too much

People struggling already

Wrestling more with life

I’ll be inconvenienced

They’ll be killed

Many will try to help, I know

And in the midst of it will wonder why

If there’s an answer, I hope you find it

All of us between

The depths and heights

Should be busy only

In the best of ways

Waste saved for parties

The few dollars and the items it will take

To celebrate

But who can have a party while

Breathing through liquid

Without artificial, which is to say,

Human help?

 

Contrary to our practice

To be poor,

Help us restore the rest

Of hope

Hope for today

Bright hope for tomorrow

Finished for now

In another night

 

The last words are yours

Before we all can speak

The truth through lips

No longer dry,

No longer hungry

 

 

Black Morning

 

You are so beautiful

Yes, she is

He is

You are

In ways we don’t begin to understand

Like the moving parts of diamonds

That don’t move at all

Unless we have some help

To see

 

Somehow, the lovers have to live

The stories try

To make that impossible

That’s what they serve

In worldly expectation

And it’s the twist

The turn in the dark

A sprig of hope

Against the scabbed tree-trunk

That give us spring

That keep us reading

 

That keep us believing

Things we really need can happen

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash

 

5

two poems about associating

two poems about associating

 

 

(drafted today)

Loony Like a Tune

 

I don’t know much

But I know this

Carson City is the capital of Nevada

Bugs Bunny told me so

I think he was being pressed

By Yosemite Sam

 

I don’t mean to push a copyright

This was the stuff of childhood

I remember things

Associations

My older brother and I once

Ran around the basement,

Making woop-woop sounds because the

Three Stooges were on TV

 

And because I read about the Hardy boys

I found something good in reading

Read other things

And became the English teacher

 

Who owns these associations?

I have to wonder

We own our minds

In spite of agendas toward dystopia

And sometimes cultic ravings

 

I think I still need my

Cartoons and my easygoing stories

Found in books with little weight

We never know when a bad,

Mechanistic idea might

Come along

One response

To act like a fourth

Stooge rather than a minion

 

That last stanza looks like Minnesota

I wonder what cartoons

They need up there

 

 

(drafted yesterday, I realize)

Allusion

(an argument I’m never going to have)

 

You think I do this because

I don’t know enough words

Please

It has meaning

You know this when you use it

Home of the brave

The seventh-inning stretch

Lady Macbeth

She doth protest too much

(who is not that lady)

The referencing ties us all

In ties that bind

Silken cords, I imagine

(and I borrow)

And we refer to Genesis or anything

To say like Whos to Horton,

We are here

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Mark Olsen on Unsplash

Panther Pond, ME

Mother Loon Shakes Off

 

 

6

a cycle with some silliness

a cycle with some silliness

 

 

Late Fall in the Hall

 

There is a little mouse who comes to call

And I don’t mind at all

Sometimes it brings a little ball

I don’t know where it lives

Inside the wall

 

 

Toothynessnessness

 

He has a toothy grin

He is on TV

I think maybe Andy Griffith had one, too,

With which he meted justice from

Atop Mount Airy

 

There are many such white soldiers

In a line

But I mean

The grin that’s broad and happy

To meet us

With a couple of the sentries

Maybe a little out of line

(too tired from the night before,

these guards)

 

I like teeth

I know we need them

Maybe in the next round of adapting

Not so much

The tearing of

What was foraged in the wilderness

 

They don’t need to be bright

The face together is

More important

They should remember that

 

Chomp away and like the riddle

Champ

Have fun with

What you have

Enjoy the need

 

 

It’s Time, I Need to Practice

 

There is a tune in my head

Oh no, it’s a Christmas song

I think

A new tune, I don’t know the words

Woe is me for falling

And in ignorance

Moreover

I can’t sing along

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Duffy Brook on Unsplash

This with the other two shots with Santa hats on puppies is from a shoot I did to promote a local puppy rescue organization: lisaparkerspuppies.com. We’ve fostered over 30 puppies with LPP. The pups inspire me to get out and take pics! Remember to adopt—don’t buy your next best friend.

sorry, dog (for the hat—maybe you like it—nah)

but Duffy’s right—the message is not silly

 

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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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