A new page

A blank slate

Shall I say it,

Tabula rasa

So my college wasn’t wasted


It isn’t real

And it is

There’s no paper

Or a quill

No bowl of ink for a brush

To make

Beautiful Japanese characters


No illuminated manuscript

With notes in the margin

A mischief illustration

Of a supervisor of a monk

In the scriptorum


No cutting into tablets

Made of Sumerian stone

Etching marks into the rock

We still try to decipher


Who were the scribes,

Who are they now?

Who keeps the records now

Seeds in a depository

To the north


The banks, the potential

All the things we were

And might be

Even better


The phonograph

The library


Whose work we can enjoy

From the originals


I have a card

I have a flash drive

I believe in what was

Revel in it now

That’s for today

Tomorrow there’s a plan

Well, enough of one

For jazz


C L Couch



Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash

Leuven, Belgium