I talk you talk we'll talk






I don’t know what to say today

As our flood waters rise

The water’s in the wall so tall

I see the damage with my eyes


But I unlike the waif am safe

Though here or there’s a crack

I will not risk my life (a knife)

Here I’ll be should you come back


C L Couch



Photo by Herrmann Stamm on Unsplash


Man Bites Dog

Man Bites Dog

(that’s news)


Somewhere it’s been said

That news isn’t dog-bites-man but

When it’s

Man bites dog


This morning police came

With a heavy knock on my door

It was loud, I was asleep

So everything happened fast and fuzzy

A muscled officer, the kind

I want when on my side,

Told me urgently and kindly

That a tree was about to fall on my car

I guess we had a storm last night,

Which I did not hear

(sometimes I take a pill)


I pulled on jeans and left

Pausing I guess because we had to

For some official information

To pass from me to him

Outside it’s mid-morning, gray and

Dim with rainfall, lights off of

Firefighting vehicles not really changing things

So much

There was my car

My hobbit car

Tall but narrow, close to the ground

I had taken my keys (where

was my license?) and knew enough

To start the car and move it forward


Now there’s buzz-sawing for the tree

Though I hear nothing for the moment

(I’m nothing like a gawker and have been

inside), so maybe

It’s done

And with the tree

Our being in the local news for Sunday morning


C L Couch



Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay





A new way of thinking

That’s what we make

Well, we make the frame

The content of new thinking

Is up to you

Which I mean in the best way possible

Fantastic responsibility

To move yourself

And your people



Maybe help with the first of these

So many layers added al the time


There was gray light

And I turned it on, and the lamp

The bulb

Changed light to gold

Like Rumpelstiltskin’s straw


It might rain

It might be on the way

We’ve had some downpours recently

But the forecaster says that

Our water table’s low


Good time for participation

For new things to fall

To wash the world some

Offering nourishment to the ground

And those who live upon it


It means grayness continues

Though we can have better light against

The darkness

Through craft

And letting go the work


C L Couch



Image by Raheel Shakeel from Pixabay




(Advent, anytime)


I’m tired, and it’s raining

Rainy days are interesting

I like them

As long as they don’t go too far

The sun holds back, because

The clouds have asked them to

And far below, we dodge

The drops or surrender

To umbrella lids, rubber shoulders,

Or wet heads

It drops like verse upon the page

And we are drenched, then, in another way

Which is all right, I hope

One can’t catch cold from rained upon with words


I’m trusting

Virus has become interchangeable

Maybe colds can jump forms, too,

And meanings


There was a word made flesh

We killed that flesh, but

It walked among us whole (wholer),

At last

Then went away

To return another time

We fear that time and market it

It will come, anyway

And is said to be a glory


Let’s not fear our words so much, then

For like the word that died and

Will return

That is with us now

There is inherent resurrection quality

(aspect and excellence)

In what we can say,

In what we like to think

Especially in a season of hope


What might be heard

Might change us

In needful and saving ways

On rainy days



C L Couch



Photo by Caroline Grondin on Unsplash





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


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