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clcouch123

I talk you talk we'll talk

Author

clcouch123

My name is Christopher. I use C L Couch because it is a form of my name that's genderless and easier to write out. I have severe writer's cramp. I am a career educator and writer. I also enjoy (other) fine arts. I am semi-retired due to disability. I live in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania (USA). The main photographs at this site (of the road, of me) were crafted by photographer and friend Debra Danielson. A variety of her work is available for appreciation at http://www.debradanielson.com/.

Dog Days Days of Dogs

(x = space)

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Dog Days Days of Dogs

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I imagine dog days

In August,

But it’s been so hazy

And it’s been hot

I think of dogs

Such as bloodhound

Dogs (whatever looming,

drooping species)

Owning dropped places on

Front porches,

The kind of porch that drapes

From end to end

Or side to side

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And the dogs, they are

Listless shapes of

Tired, teaching something

To the rest of us

About not being

In the way

When the way is not

A deal

And we do better

Owning places

Away from doors

And under windows

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Like the dogs of summer

Something for

The cats of winter, too

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C L Couch

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Photo by Francesca Albert on Unsplash

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5 July

(x = space)

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5 July

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Post-parade

As we must be

After battle

We have to count the wounded

On the field

The dying

And the dead

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In Chicago

And across New York

Wherever we commit

And find,

To make the discovery

Again

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That we are bestial

Worse than,

Since we weaponize

Our extensions

Limb

Tooth and claw

For killing

Over distances

And up close

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Conviction is an odd word

That cuts at us two ways

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C L Couch

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Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

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Birth of a Nation

(x = space)

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Birth of a Nation

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It’s the Fourth of July

In the USA

It’s hard to miss

What with all the sales

In the computer

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And all the local booms

That will happen

Between buildings

In the neighborhood

This evening

Upsetting dogs

x

The bell did not crack then

And the document

For the assembly

And the criers

Wasn’t ready then

More like the sixth

And no one need worry

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A day was selected

For the start of freedom

And a nation

Approving thirteen groups

That did not want to fight

But would fight

A famous army

With a storied king

From faraway

Now home

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Home needing freedom

From political

And corporate interests

That took more and more away

Until at home we said,

Enough

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And war is war

It would not be kind

Or clean

Though ranks set on the field

Were tried

And when to start the battle

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Really

How farmers

Children died

Holding guns

Or something enough like

To draw fire from the foe

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There were strategies

And spies

And those with local knowledge

Of terrain

And somehow

Against the European mind

For monarchs

The war was won

By merchants and farmers

Fugitives and foreigners

Identified

Foregoing slaves

To free

Only to count

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With vision to admire

Yet with fractures

Like the bell that was fractured at

Other times

Now we had to form a nation

With all the blunders

And the cheating

All the buildings

And the farmland

All the expanding

All the settling to come

With treaties

Skirmishes

And battles

We borrowed names

America

The United States of America

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We asked for God

Too often after everything arranged

Maybe we could do better at that

Now

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God is known in many ways

Inside this land

The values of the heart

And mind

And neighborhood

Remain the same

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Reasons abound

For trying God first

Each day

In every time

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In a nation born

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C L Couch

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United States flag painted on the side of a Saturn V rocket.

Photo by Brian McGowan on Unsplash

Kennedy Space Center, Merritt Island, United States

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on the altar

(x = space)

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on the altar

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lord

what shall we give

but everything

and what is everything?

if i offer myself upon an altar

then will you send an angel

to stay my hand?

if i offer up my part in relationships

will you have an angel

tell me

not so much

before i am alone?

if it’s my wardrobe or accounts

or the corporation or the army

(like saint francis)

or plans

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earthly luxury

or earthly victory

will you send a hallelujah chorus

to tell me, no, not that much?

or will you tell me to keep

going:

my body to begin with

as a living sacrifice,

my mind turning only as you turn it,

the sadness of

living against the world

for the renewing of my mind

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my body as a sacrifice

in worship

without sacrificing animals

or the worldly counterparts

but sacrificing me

the only thing to set apart,

holy for you

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could you ask that much

or do you ask that much all the time

while i do not hear?

then i should listen with the

hearing that you gave me

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c l couch

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romans 12:1-2

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photo by ricardo gomez angel on unsplash

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Qwerty

(x = space)

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Qwerty

(minus w, minus t)

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What do you want of me,

God?

Maybe the next hour

Or tomorrow

Or the moment

That is the only thing

I know for sure

There is

And now the next one

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What is your will

And should I ask?

Maybe I don’t need to

Maybe knowing is for

Greater ones

Than I

The ones for histories

Who rated visions

The certainly

Of steps to take

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I muddle

And you, reading,

Muddle like me

If you’re like me

Maybe it’s easy

There is an easy need

For something

And we move

We save considerations

For contemplation

Conversations

That may never happen

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If a bomb

Should crash this wall

If should be in bed

Because of illness

Then all there is to think about

If thought is clear

Is to survive the time

Allowed

Against sadnesses

Even the world’s evil

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Hunger

Should affect me thus

Or thirst for something safe

Or doubt for faith

Should that be the exchange

For everything vile

That may come upon me

Come upon us

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Since, actually,

I might be moved with

Greater intensity

Should it happen to you

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I shall believe

And ask

Even as confidence fades

That I shall ever know

That you shall ever tell me

What would please you

What would serve you

Not in an epic

But small verses

That could

Make

At least delineate

A life

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C L Couch

while I’m typing

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Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

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two poems for July

(x = space)

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two poems for July

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Watch Your Dogs

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Dogs don’t like fireworks

Many veterans don’t

All kinds of people

Be with them

Sit with them

Support K-9 programs

Support people

Not everyone likes fireworks

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Photo by Yuki Dog on Unsplash

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Hello, July

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Hello, July

It’s hot and humid here

Not much more to say

But, well

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There’s a lot of green

And other colors, too

Not like fall

But everything that lives

Does fly and otherwise

Visit us a season

As if

Forever’s come to call on

Bees and butterflies

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The fireflies

Still have a season

Though, like strawberries,

They flourish in June

Around here

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Storms appear and fall

Blow things around

Hot and wet fronts bumping

Around

Generally, we say

We need the water

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Flavor of Hibiscus

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Flavor of Hibiscus

Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

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C L Couch

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End of June

(x = space)

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End of June

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Six-thirty on six-thirty

June is ending

In the north it’s bright

There might be

Evening cool

And somewhere nightingales

Calling to the larks of dawn

July rising

Count the days

June hath thirty

The next month one day more

The summer count of days

(south it’s winter)

Continues

So green in places

Not yet time to think

Of turning into autumn

A peak of season’s glory

In our minds,

Trying to soften

Angles and edges

Of a hardened world

While green means life

And some might say retreat

Shade is good

And breezes, too

Moments for gratitude

And summer supplication

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C L Couch

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Photo by Karl Hedin on Unsplash

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Sorry, Uncle

(x = space)

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Sorry, Uncle

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I haven’t

Liked

A thing

All day

Not the rest

That was

Too brief

Not the clothes

That are too worn

Well, in need

Of cleaning

Not the food or drink

That was too sweet

And filled me up

So that

What’s inside and

The rest of me

Are getting along awkwardly

At best

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Not the words I’ve set down

Drawn lines

Through

Made spaces

Tried to write again

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What to do on such a day?

Maybe nothing

I can take a break

Some might want me to

For one reason

Out of

Many reasons

I can pray

Prayer is an attitude

Telling me

I don’t have to write

To give, to send

Outside of me

Today

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It’s late

I breathe

The breathing’s warm

My body’s warm

It’s June

How much more

Revelation

Do I need?

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Oh,

I’m not angry

Parentally to say

I’m only

Disappointed

Twist the blade

Why don’t I?

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Well, I’ll pause

And look

Here there are

Words

And sorry for conceits

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I understand the beasts

In La Brea

Never got out

On their own

I’ll be with you

Tomorrow

Unsucked

From tar

Unstucked

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The bones of writing down

Enfleshed again

And on the move

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C L Couch

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Smilodon at the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar Pits

(image) by Dallas Krentzel – Smilodon at the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar PitsUploaded by FunkMonk, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18649097

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An Angel Drops the Mic

(x = space)

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An Angel Drops the Mic

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Show’s over

Time for applause

Be impressed with me

The talent

And the portent

The agency

I am

And represent

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This was fun

Next time you see and hear me

The show will be the last

And best

And afterward

Maybe a revue in

Our new place

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C L Couch

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Photo by BRUNO EMMANUELLE on Unsplash

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