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Our Days

(x = space)



Our Days


Yesterday was

Ocean Day

And also many people

Many of them


Wore orange not for


But for an end

To violence

By guns,

The bullets inside



Two days ago

Was D-Day

When by the thousands

Soldiers landed

To take back

France from Hitler

And the rest of

Europe on

Which he had

Had his eye

And after a year

Of slogging

In a blood-soaked way

Town by town

Bridge by bridge


Was restored

If Germany divided


Days for marking–we

Have so

Many now

With added reasons

Each cause

And each remembrance


And exigent

Even the silly,

Days for doughnuts

And cat breeds

We need the breaks

Sometimes we need

The money

Come from



Sometimes we

Simply want the break

An excuse for


Or for ice cream

For a ball game

A parade


A walk

A conversation

Or simply

To stop

And think about things

Differently for

A while


C L Couch



Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash






Creation’s green

And blue and yellow

And by extension

Brown the tree

And gray in shadow

Black the city street

Red the bricks across

Silver steel

On buildings, too

I’m not sure what to say

About the color glass

No colors

Or all


C L Couch



Photo by Jessica Ruscello on Unsplash

Treasure Island Flea Market, San Francisco, United States


Crazy Boy

Crazy Boy

(get cool)



One word

Cat tails

Two words

When referring to the actual

Cat’s tail

Don’t pull at it

Cattails might not hit back

Cats with tails do

They should


That’s as much advice

As I have for you

My head hurts

And my nose


I know they could be the other thing

I’m hot from moving things around

And I wish I had all my pills

In this uncertain time


There’s sun today

I hear the virus doesn’t like the sun

If it had preferences

But also doesn’t like cool weather

So my MidAtlantic spring might be

Salubrious for a time


Cool, sunny days?

I could wish them ‘round the world

For health’s sake

Light for buoyancy

Of skin and spirit

Enough cold, not too much,

To relax our ninety-eight degrees or so



C L Couch



recently, I read about the sun and about cold air in two different places where I think crazy people do not write or otherwise contribute

I am not a doctor and don’t play one on television


“Cool” by Leonard Bernstein


Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Fenton, United States


Last of the Dog-on-Porch Poems




A Lesson from the Story


In The Horse and His Boy

A young person is punished

In the way she caused

The wounding of another

Aslan is very present there

In Narnia

Potent and immediate

The good thing is that

Judgment’s taken care of

Neither need worry over it again


A moment’s wrong

Another’s retribution

And we are clean with God


Not bad, pre-Apocalypse

Before the book is opened

One last time

For good



A Grown-Up Narrative


Some adults with ADHD

Say they don’t like the medication

I understand

They feel the edge has been

Worn down

Lacking what is needed

Sharp awareness to get through

Each day

I understand

And, seriouser still,

The feeling that oneself has

Been worn down, too

Filed in every way


I have a medication that

Calms me down

Cools me

I’m thankful for it

Am I less of me?

I think parts of me that haven’t

Got to surface very much

Now have a chance for rising

And for air


Am I less of me?

If I am, is that so bad?

The peacefulness, it might

Be worth it

For the fuzzying of awareness

(I know what’s around me)

The challenge of the

Deeps of spirit I must swim against

I feel for those like me

Like themselves

Who favor the back stroke or the

Breast stroke

When one should not have to be

In the pool

I know it’s more than metaphor

Metaphor’s a pointer

Everything gets real

After that



Not Tonight, I Have a Headache


I’m sorry

I never got it right, you know

I must have a life

To offer it

I must have built something

And I didn’t

Praise and all impressiveness

To those who have

Who found enough for themselves

And to share

That is the way

That is the way of life

It secures the present and

Leans into the future



C L Couch



Image by creisi from Pixabay



Psalm 27, a birthdate song

Psalm 27
a birthdate song

My day once a month,
Nine times three or
Thrice three multiplied

Such numeric niceties:
How much do they

I make special one day
In my own way, taking
The number to own

My little arrangement,
My small deal, to
Negotiate in the world

A little something
Shadowed that is mine

Small possessions, Lord,
Do you mind?

I’m guessing not

We all need to remake
Certain days

Journaling at the Start of 5 February

Journaling at the Start of 5 February

Added coffee to the canister. Drank from a
Mouthwash bottle nearly empty with a full one
Beside. Same with toothpaste, when it’s time.
These small abundances matter much.

It’s a bunch of days. So the television tells me.
Something to do with weather, with a kind of
Food, and with the heart. Maybe something pre-
Valentine’s. I slept five or six hours, which is not
Enough. I slept under a throw, which is not enough
Though better than a blanket making me too hot.

Too hot in winter. (In a cold-winter clime.) That
Should be a blessing.

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