I talk you talk we'll talk



Prescriptive Talk

(x = space)



Prescriptive Talk


The pain

It courses through me

I want to feel better

I want vindication

I want acceptance

In the world


Mainly, though,

I want the pain to stop

And feel better in

That way


C L Couch




Photo by Andrey Grinkevich on Unsplash

Meadowlark Botanical Gardens & Meadowlark’s Winter Walk of Lights, Vienna, United States


The News

The News

(for those for whom there’s something new)


Are the fires out?

Where are new ones rising?

We could say vigilance

But not, I think, so much

Against our own

It is democracy, still

When there are good decisions

Made (listen,


And we should listen to

Our neighbors

Excusing ourselves not

To talk so much


There is freedom

To be rung

If all the bells are silent,


There is a time to mourn

A time to repair

A time to do things better

And to celebrate

Memory is fine

Remember them

Who died, and we

Are here


We have the present to repair

With children to look after

Teens to slide into involvement

Or-and they’ll do it,


And should—though they

Should also be allowed to


That’s natural


Do you camp

And leave it better than you found?

Try doing that with Earth

And all the parts we tread

And take

There is a future

Or there better be


Earth-crimes against children

You don’t think the cosmos

Is keeping track?

It is,

And before there’s heaven

With a judgment,

There will be accounting

From all things behind the sky

A reckoning for all

Materials lost,

Lives wasted by other lives,

A universe securing

All there is

From what we had

From what we thought we owned


C L Couch



Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash


Tentatively Yours

Tentatively Yours


If we are to heal,

There has to be a hope

That someday it will be complete

That all the things that festered

Will have finally unwound

From the brain, the heart

Any infected organs

That persistence of pain will

Be replaced

With something like assurance in

Confidence of being well

That the counting that has met

Each day

Now useless

Will give way

To errands, nothing much

A nothing kind of day

Wouldn’t that be nice

Wouldn’t that be lovely

To have a day that’s dulled by

Anything but pain

Not to be morose

For what I have

I’ll still wrap around mortality

Until the glorious surprise

Of the next thing


C L Couch



Photo by Michael Anfang on Unsplash





I don’t know much about the world

It seems

I wish it were better


I’m offended

And I’m angry

Who really wants to care?


We have other things to do, less

Pandering to moods

Chosen when something more promising

Could be selected


Another code pressed on the emotion

Vending machine

I wonder maybe we have a number of tokens

And then the rest are gone

For deciding badly


For too-small convictions

When being noble in an un-ranked way

Would make the difference


Would light the factories

Would illuminate

Pockets and portals of prosperity

Nether (never) world

Intentions hide


Give it a chance

A two-step beneath the table

Smiling for no reason


The joy in dawn-split morning

Or romantic night

The splendid times when

In spite of rusted gags and


Joy breaks free

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