a place to talk so talk I'll talk we'll talk



Land of Treats and Water

Land of Treats and Water


Old Dachshund and Old Poodle

Will one day find this

They look for it all the time

I hope in the kairotic way of keeping divine time

We will be there to meet them

To walk on grass that rolls just right

Up to the edge of heaven


C L Couch


Before the Formal Feeling

Before the Formal Feeling


When there’s pain,

Everything enwrapped that might be good

‘Til sight is pushed down toward the ground

And placing arms around

Takes nothing but

Dust and air


And ashes that rise to sting the face

And render bitter tasting in the mouth

What then is left

That’s hale or promising

The hope of life for

Tomorrow or even in time that remains today


I think I’ll have the drink that bites

And chew on some bread that’s burnt:

Salt and ashes

Herbs that sting,

Spells of ordinary stuff

Quotidian magic


The miracle in the day might be a breeze;

Some of the dust of flesh


Might rise off the nightmare,

Lets gazing up to see some yellow light


Falling on new leaves

Caught in early spring

First breaths upon the earth


C L Couch





Where, reportedly,

Our sons are murdered

They will not sin anymore

Or commit the crimes

The states say are capital

They will not bring

Us down with them in shame

And loss of standing

Though we are prostrate in

Outrage and


In grief


C L Couch


Crime Scene

Crime Scene


She was asleep

And it fell upon her

Trapped from life

That left her never

To wake again


It is a still scene, now

Xes on the trees

Still riddled with disease

But will not

Fall now except to mortality


Her home crushed

She will not live there again

The roof is gone, and

The better home will not have her


Unless haunted in memory


The bitterness in life

That will go on

If in arrhythmia

A halting step to pace

The life that will persist

That must


C L Couch




I shouldn’t write when sick

I shouldn’t do much of anything

I shouldn’t commit myself to what

Might need defending

From ignorance, later on



When I write some truer part of me leaks out


And that seems good

Maybe healthy—I don’t know

Because I am not whole


Because I breathe in parts


C L Couch





I know the children

And I know the children die

It happens every day

All the time

In real fires and in our strategies

Denying food

Denying safety

Denying home


Do we turn away to say

Not mine

Or do we look at it

To say

All ours


C L Couch





I open the cupboard

It smells like meat and spice in there

Does the bread turn into meat and bone

Flesh of my God?


God under the sink

It is dark with known and unknown faces

On cartons and bottles

Pipes that traipse and current on

To who knows where

A filtration plant

So that water might return someday


Water, wine, and blood

The earth weeps I know in

Native sadness

Lands bleeds into water

Ocean’s tears and sadness of

The distance from creation


When molecules

Were shiny and new

And compounds yawned themselves

Into existence


The car is outside

Waiting to carry me temporarily


There is a crease in back

Over which “forgiveness” in a decal

Declares pardon for the small

Collision that nonetheless

Threw me into the intersection

With enough brake force

Applied so that

Only I, my car, was hit


Where is God in this?

God is in the civil conversation

That we had after

In the gears and fluids of the car

That still work and convey me

Thence and whence

In the shadows of the house

Whose objects I don’t

Know so well


God is in the corners

And the spotlights

Of our lives


C L Couch


Easter Saturday 2017

Easter Saturday 2017


Grey house near a sodden hilltop

Under a sky of ashes

We all live there from time to time

One by one


Our own Golgotha

Gehenna, Calvary


Our own ordinary crucifixions

Bereft of hope

And faith

Waiting for life


C L Couch


Choose the Day

Choose the Day


I write about the world I haven’t seen

What else is there to do


Places in photographs and other images

Bits of sound that cannot spark a memory

But will become a recollection

A safe recalling of details


But if I don’t take in the world this way

And stultify my senses

What good


Is all the patter in my head

The galloping the heart takes

The state of caring for unknown


Sibling places of my own

The people I am

One of

In striving above the rim

Of need

That cries and presses

Issues that are real


Eschewing abstract

I care as if I know

You, too


We are species-creatures, after all

Created with a will

To have overwhelm compunction to go through it


Each of us, our discrete ways

To manage each cosmos

Of consequences


All of which to say, it happens

Over the China Sea, I

Breathe it here

The cyclone ruinous in northern Australia

Abandons me as well


You see me in another room

We add dimension

We have

The future of each other


Hazelnut or a grain of sand—the

Molecule metaphor of

Julian or Blake

The making of a world we can contain

Not to box the heart

But render viable the sanity

Of conviction in the worldly act

Perception’s generosity

Minds alert


We act


C L Couch


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