(x = space)

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Life in Concordia

(three poems)

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This Day Looks Like Yesterday

(for youth)

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It takes time

To construct a day

All our rituals,

Commingling

Sometimes combatting

Expectations

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We want to get to

The interesting part

Do we know where that is?

Something better than

The dreaming was,

Than waking up

All warm, relaxed

From a night mood that

Finally worked out

Enough to give us rest

Or, as they say,

A facsimile thereof

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Now we’re awake

Maybe it’s breakfast

Maybe it’s what we will wear

Maybe it’s when we

Throw water

On our faces,

All the other parts

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To face the fact that waking up

Is here to stay

There should be something good

Maybe in a book—yes,

The touchpad kind

Maybe in what we say

To other people

For real, mostly

In the hallway

At the table

Finally, on line

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Have you been to

A farmer’s market?

You can smell the fresh

Maybe that’s what

The day deserves

Some fresh

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Joe the Fire

(for grumps)

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Here’s the problem with

Mister Coffee

I’m sure Ms Tea has it right

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The clock never worked

Forget the programming for

Coffee when I want

There is a tone

To signal that the coffee’s done

It only works at the wrong

Time

A beep that tells me

It’s alive

I can respect that signal

From a machine

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It sputters as I understand

Old cars used to do,

Which is all right

Sometimes I am an old car

You know, I couldn’t read the numbers

Anyway

They’re all in gray

The numbers on the cups

Are hard to read

There’s an angle when I hold the pot

That likes to spill

And I haven’t had my protractor at the time

To suss that number out

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Then the coffee holder likes to spit

Hot water on the plate,

Which makes me think I’m blamed

For doing something wrong

Sigh

I’m on my third machine, I think

I’ll be ordering another

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Maybe it’s masochism

I think it’s that I know my devil

And at last I have some coffee

Nearly every morning

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Now,

Here’s the thing about the toaster

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[title inspired by the song “Maria” from Paint Your Wagon]

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Thinking Like Dawn

(for everyone)

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There is a reason

For the rising

I’m not sure I know

What it is each morning

Or whenever anyone

Might rise

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For me, autumn is enough

Though that leaves

Three quarters of a year

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When I have the TV on,

Sometimes I think

White teeth must be enough

While I wash mine

With sour grapes

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I think for many more

It is faith in something

Morning itself

The sun that graces sky

Another time

Or the moon coursing at night

With stars for its veil

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Yes, certainly it might be God

However God is known

As long as we keep

Pulling at the mask

The devil bears in disguise,

            Which is not hard

            Don’t let a gnostic

            Sell you in a book

            A program

            An ego

            In a meal

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God is a circle

That, as is sung,

Will not be broken

We miss a note

We miss a step

And that’s all right

An error is an error

Things can be fixed

There is repentance

And then reconciliation

To bring us back

Or, better, move us on

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I don’t think there’s harm

In believing in each other

In finding reason

So appealing

Or impulse or instinct

As a guide

There are ways to follow

And, when called,

Ways to lead

Remembering that virtue

Might be old

But isn’t dead

While the community has need

Then, like Cincinnatus,

Returning

To the farm

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Join

Reunite

Or for the first time, gather in

The Earth is reason

And a system

Showing us that organic and inorganic

Have a way

Veins in leaves and

Human capillaries

Wind and rain

And synapse firing

We belong together

Chastising greed where we must

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Celebrating into night

And day

Resting when we might

To rise

To have it all again

New days, always new

Like a hobbit’s birthday

Receive

And give the gift

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C L Couch

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photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

small painting (part of a larger project)

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