I talk you talk we'll talk






Once I went out west

Well, twice I guess

The first time I was two

I do have memories

I dreamed about the second time

Last night

Only I went there now

Knowing what I knew

So that I might avoid mistakes

And, you now, I did


I’ve heard it said I wouldn’t change a thing

I would change so many things

Sometimes to thwart agenda

Mostly to get it right

To keep the pain from happening

So much


If that would daunt a butterfly or upset

The schedule of tsunami,

Then it’s good I don’t have the talent

But I would like to fox many things

Or preventively

Offer something better in the first place

For all concerned

Color me uninteresting

I would dull the pain

Treat the wound by having it

Not happen


C L Couch



Pexels / 9161 images


Odd Gratitude

Odd Gratitude


The weight is in my eyes

Just over my lungs

Inside the muscles

Pressing on the bones

Everything moves, anyway

Fingers, hands

Knees stretch

I blink, swallow, turn my neck

To see what’s what


The day’s ahead, and I’m


Surprised?  Shouldn’t be

Life is nearly always worth it

And always, really

There’s torture in the world,

Which must challenge the price

To pay


But this is being tired

Really tired

And there’s pain

Though not enough

To wreck the odds

Of there being maybe many

Good things ahead


C L Couch



Gratitude Stones


Pins in Dolls

Pins in Dolls


I’m tired, and I wish

I could rest well


But pains like pins

Keep me awake


I wish I could resolve

These; I wish the

Witch or brujo


Would pull these

Unearthly prickles


Art in Anxious Time

Art in Anxious Time


I’m anxious and it’s

hard to write


art expressed in pain:

I don’t know how

those artists do it


maybe it’s big fear

and nihilistic agony

that keeps them

going, that prompts

expression that might

change the world

and everything



the gardeners at

Hiroshima and

Nagasaki must

accomplish this


I have small pains

and many things that

trouble me—yes,

sometimes they are

bad as in raw—

unformed, unfixed,


though I think the

only one that might

be changed through

treating these in art

is me


still, through all

the small-town

clay-house conflicts

I might strive to

express something



something that might

relate to you




(the teacher and good

sport in me should tell

you that clay house

is a Puritan metaphor)

International Women’s Day

International Women’s Day

Really, it’s more than us
We’re everywhere, as you know
We have to be
There is no more without us

Shouldn’t that own for us

And, if nature is not enough,
Consider what we give

We gave the X-ray
We gave a right sense of
Nationalism (think on all
The women kings remembered,
Not the kings, like men’s, we
All strive to forget)

We gave you victory in France
Revolutionary pride in the USA
Freedom-speaking around
The world—which goes on
Still: note the young woman
Receiving the Nobel

We are more than
Parenthetical—we are
Partners and princes,
Inventors and advocates

In advocacy, we support so
Much more than ourselves

We write, we preach, we
Make—we take our part with God
In co-creation

Our capacities are great

They’re great for
Pain—for ages until now

What happens next? That
Is the consequential question

To which responding
Requires all of us, unless

You wish a final rebellion
That might take out all
But probably will simply
Leave only us

And who wants that
On and in this day

C L Couch

Psalm 28, a song when I feel haunted

Psalm 28
a song when I feel haunted

I need, Lord, your love

Who doesn’t need the love of

And yet I fear

I fear the ghosts that haunt me
From the past into the present

How do you proceed in this

How do you love?

How might I know peace this
Day from all the days wrought
In iron pain, now fully steel-

You are here, I know

You can bear sinuous demon’s
Presence away, even into

Yet I feel possessed, perhaps in
Lack of faith:

Past wrongs, mine and theirs, that
Aberrate the life that you first

Maybe this is why, in life, the (first)
Psalmists say, Make straight your

For the line of majesty arriving as
The lord of care

Travels truly—with economy and
All divine electricity—on the line

Made edged and replete when we
Ally in your design

Psalm 13, a song of experience

Psalm 13
a song of experience

Experience in the world has
Wounded and split
Any wholeness that I was

Parts of me are cared for
Parts are not

When I behave
Or when I don’t
I am fed and often
Comforted, even when
I don’t know how to ask
For this

There might be a price
But there are those who
Ask for nothing that
I know of
(Maybe later)

I have age and scars
Sometimes I don’t mind
But some wounds never
Heal, and pain can drive
Me away from everyone else

And you

Blog at

Up ↑