I talk you talk we'll talk



Doan’s Pills

Doan’s Pills


I don’t know if it’s the mattress in

My sister’s house

Or when I fall asleep upon the sofa

While I watch the dog,

But my back hurts

Simple as that


There was a commercial once

For something that should help

According to itself

I used to see it at the store


Along with Smith Brothers Cough Drops

The guys on the box, who had

Long beards

Where packages of Red Hots were also


And bars of Bonomo Turkish Taffy

That had a jingle on TV


Goodness, wasn’t Rexall

A haven for good living!


C L Couch


nostalgic turns

nostalgic turns

it means sweet pain a poet told me and I don’t feel it often because life looking back is not with pleasure but with pain yes pain without the poet’s claim of sweetness since so many things happened or were endured that were hard like parts of a Dickens story but without the craft the beauty and the characters or character in fact I’d have to say that life too often failed me back then and you and now is no great joy and though I fight for it the harsh challenges of life still remain and are not still because when some challenges go to rest the others awake

friends of mine I’ve had who truly helped and they are gone not all gone but too many gone and gone will be my mentor soon it took years to be given one to have him presented like Merlin in a cave though it was my spiritual director in an office in a retreat house and I didn’t know much except I needed help and yes I can articulate the situation some and even share my feeling in a way another can understand but with my counselor my friend it all came out better in exchange with prompts and insights in my director’s leading of our time together

I have danced with death too much by now and if there’s a dance card I don’t know how many lines I have left for death to fill in which makes me wonder why it gets them all anyway for shouldn’t we give permission for an intimacy such as dance that even death should maybe have to ask allowance it is not God after all but perhaps an agent with God’s job which we must respect and to which we might have to relent at least but why does that mean our will no longer matters even in the para-cosmic time after mortal existence has stopped

so I look back and the sweetness of sweet pain is absent with only the reminder of pain remaining which is why when poets or players can evoke a time maybe with a phrase or some other piece’s part maybe of an image or a bit of texture or slice of emotion that brings out positive a feeling from whenever and might be entertainment or inspiration or fondness of heart or gratitude well am I not glad for that artist’s craft in giving me invoking in me memory and the benevolence of memory’s angel that has given me remembrance without regret or other stinging re-discovery

nostalgia then meaning nothing to me except when it surprises me well positively and sometimes pretty wholly that is holistically

and I don’t care how it happens or how splintered I must be to enjoy the moment of the past living again in the present in at all a celebratory way for if I must be divided into thousands of parts so that one one-thousandth part is taken out for us to see and see that it is good well then I am in a primally pre-lapsarian way

in a happy moment that is mine before the fall

Blog at

Up ↑