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Ghost Walk

Ghost Walk

 

The past haunts it,

Doesn’t it

It walks with us at night

Well past the witching hour

Sometimes I am awake

On my side

Fearing that my heart might sometime explode

Figuratively but

A crisis with literally arrhythmic parts

It can be a problem

How do I stay awake

(too easily)

And how might I fall asleep again

(that’s hard)

 

There is an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show

When, for fear of something, Laura doesn’t want to

Sleep, and so she flips up

All the switches in her house

Plays music and the television

And gets the neighbor to stay up

With her

And there are other alterations

 

And, you know, I’m sure

There is some resolution

(it’s a half-hour show),

Though I have no idea what that was

 

But the black-and-white imaging is invoked

When I can’t sleep or think about

The lack of sleep

In the middle of a night and wish for rest

 

C L Couch

 

 

CC0 Public Domain

https://pxhere.com/en/photo/697047

 

Autumning

Autumning

 

On a Sunday night,

we walked some streets in Cambridge.

It was fall.  The streets were wet; the

air was chilled.

We actually found a small place

that served chowder.  It was cheap,

and it was good.  And I

imagined a hundred places like it in

the town.  I think I

was right.

That was my first and so far last trip there,

though she came once to me.  But

at the time, we were set at odds against

each other; there was no way

we could get it right.

 

C L Couch

 

 

cambridge mass

Bicycles in the Rain

Mark Hornbuckle

https://www.cambridgema.gov/traffic/Permits/residentparkingpermit/residentpermitphotocontest/2015residentparkingpermitphotocontestalbum

 

Morning Dark

Morning Dark

 

morning dark

it’s longer now

and night arrives

earlier—the

longer time for

black sky to have

its way

 

and in equinox-

thinking, this is

just

 

for we should not

fear the dark,

since there is

dreaming there

 

C L Couch

The Banshee Cries

The Banshee Cries

 

I split the night, I know

I want to

Further chaos into silent

Human sleep

 

I have neither quiet

Nor rest

Why should you?

 

And when my piercing

Work is done

And I’ve coursed through

Your family

 

I’ll come for you

You won’t see though

You will hear

And maybe at last

Listen

 

Too late to fix your

Prophecy

 

That’s done:

 

And you will come with me

To a place

Where hellish noise is

All you know

 

You,

Betraying man

Who spoke

Curses in love

Fall into Night

Fall into Night

 

Having slept late,

Perforce,

To my condition

 

It’s too soon

Now, the three-o’clock

Time when

The day turns

As it must

Toward autumnal

Night

 

And we notice,

If subcutaneous,

The knowing

Sense of

This;

 

Inside autumn leaves

We face

Alternatives:

 

To go dry-wilting

Into brown days

Or to

 

Flame like novae

 

In glory of

Expiring red,

Yellow tears or

Tears,*

Last bright orange

Bleeding

 

Dwindling into

Joyful or stressed

Evenings

Of our

Distinctive seasons

 

 

*reader’s choice

Notte

Notte

 

Italian night

 

In Umbrio, in Amatrice

At six-point-two—and now

Rest is something

Else

 

It is what remains

After all has

Fallen and a

Victim people

Try to rise

 

Nature has

Split the nation

 

We must go there

To reach into

Rocks and

Open earth

 

To remove

Into airy day

Those who must

Exhale still

In order to

Remove or rebuild

 

Notte bianca o in bianco,

In sleepless night

Psalm 44, a sleep-song

Psalm 44

a sleep-song

 

I nap and still am tired

Good, maybe I’ll sleep

Through the night

Napping was necessary

I was too sore and too

Worn-through

I could have stayed awake,

I guess,

Except I couldn’t

 

Will you still love me when

I’m gone away?

I mean, eventually I’ll

Be closer to you than

I was ever before,

Than I am now:

 

I like you and respect you

I seek to be near you

Is this ever enough to

Bring a dream of you

Or, dreamless, a

Long time of sleep

Because I’m loved

 

Throughout this night

That you have made?

 

I can hope so

Not because I’m smart

But because I’m yours

Young Frankenstein

Young Frankenstein

 

This phrase came to mind

Out of the season’s time:

When the veil fails, speaking

Of Hallowe’en

 

This is what those of ancient

Lore believed—that gossamer-

Iron webs and steel-misty

 

Vapors held the other side

On a spellbound, ritualed

Line

 

Except for

 

This one time each year

 

I don’t know what this means;

The child in me didn’t

Care

 

I dressed colorfully, unusually

 

Looked through eyeholes

Of masks sweated ’round

The fabric on my face

 

I was young and relatively

Free

 

To run my neighborhood

 

Receiving chocolate reward

For feeling the thrill of cool

Air as more night rushed

Over my skin,

 

Through folds in costumes,

 

The faster that I moved

Work in Process

Work in Progress Process

 

Blank page awaits

No, it doesn’t wait on me—it’s a

Blank page

It doesn’t do anything

 

But I do

When inspired

Wait—must I wait for that?

 

It’s a process, you know

Discovery and meaning

I might not have just now

 

I might have them later

When in composing

Something happens

 

It’s here—hang on, it’s

Coming

On the way, I’m sure

 

And maybe with regret

I’m late waiting for Godot

The sun sets on my day

 

But wait—the

Breath of day is ending

Yet exhale and breathing-in of

Night is more inspiring!

 

 

(Waiting for Godot, a play by Samuel Beckett)

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