(x = space)
x
x
haiku
x
1
slow nature inside
plants grow in unsure seasons
ours darkness or light
x
2
unsurely outside
winter by a calendar
summer another
x
3
creature on a branch
cardinal or squirrel set
then fly or skitter
x
C L Couch
x
x
(like those earlier, these haiku can relate to each other, though I doubt there is a rule about connection; or each haiku may stand alone, which I guess is more traditional)
x
Photo by Vincent van Zalinge on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Doggone Dog-Here Dog Days
x
Dog days
For dogs
Cat days are every day
To cats
Winter might have dog days
But the famous days are
Summer
When it’s late
And there are days of heat
And humidity
When dogs are famous for
Lying down,
Stretched out on boards
Of Southern porches
While the humans
Sip up lemonade
And talk
About the weather
x
n.b. for humans
x
Keep water close by
And bring them in from
The heat
When you go in
Keeping in mind
That they’re your friends
And mine
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash x
x
(x = space)
x
x
August on Deck
(easy greetings)
x
It’s Friday
Anticipate a weekend
Late summer
Final trip before the school year
Work at home
Clean at home
Leave the home
For the park
For stores
For church
Find company
Leave company
Hours on one’s own
The quiet might invite
x
Or out into the world
A different way
A drive, a walk
To nowhere in particular
A new nowhere
Untried
Something heard of
Or an inviting opening
A path into
Some inviting part of the world
Keep safe
Why not
x
After the anthem,
Play ball
x
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Maksym Tymchyk 🇺🇦 on Unsplash
I look at this
I can smell the stalks, the petals
Memory, I suppose
x
(x = space)
x
x
Dog Days Days of Dogs
x
I imagine dog days
In August,
But it’s been so hazy
And it’s been hot
I think of dogs
Such as bloodhound
Dogs (whatever looming,
drooping species)
Owning dropped places on
Front porches,
The kind of porch that drapes
From end to end
Or side to side
x
And the dogs, they are
Listless shapes of
Tired, teaching something
To the rest of us
About not being
In the way
When the way is not
A deal
And we do better
Owning places
Away from doors
And under windows
x
Like the dogs of summer
Something for
The cats of winter, too
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Francesca Albert on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
End of June
x
Six-thirty on six-thirty
June is ending
In the north it’s bright
There might be
Evening cool
And somewhere nightingales
Calling to the larks of dawn
July rising
Count the days
June hath thirty
The next month one day more
The summer count of days
(south it’s winter)
Continues
So green in places
Not yet time to think
Of turning into autumn
A peak of season’s glory
In our minds,
Trying to soften
Angles and edges
Of a hardened world
While green means life
And some might say retreat
Shade is good
And breezes, too
Moments for gratitude
And summer supplication
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Karl Hedin on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Thoughts on Solstices
x
I don’t know why the dying year
Is appealing
Maybe because we know
That dying isn’t death
And we contemplate the process
And be glad when the reversal
Starts
Like knowing that our skin cells die
Then are replaced
It is a cycle we can contemplate
As well
x
The Earth will start to turn
To favor night,
Which will take six months or so
The zenith with the sun
In the north
Is June
The nadir in December
If we have fires now
(because it’s June),
They will be for celebration
The fires in December
Are made with archetypal fear
x
The easy fires will be back
We’ll cook on them
Not worry what they’re
Driving away
(the winter subjects)
And what they attract
Except for insects
That, though they are numerous,
Have cycles so much shorter than
The ones we own
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Kenrick Mills on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Solstice Properties
x
Stonehenge is a solstice
Property,
As is Newgrange,
Machu Pichu,
And anywhere there is
A sacred pointer for
The movement
Of the sun
x
Earth will now start
To tip the other way,
Technically; we enter
The winter-half
Of the year
While officially (as we are
official to ourselves),
Summertime has only
Begun
x
I guess I’ve
Thought about this
Quandary for a while
And wondered about
Other people’s
Calendars—after all,
Shouldn’t this be the
Halfway point of
Summer? And do we not
In certain ways and places
Call these days
Midsummer? The mix
Of math and culture in me
Doesn’t understand
x
But it’s official,
And I hope this is a
Pleasant season for you;
We certainly need one
And the next season
Could be pleasant,
Too, for all our weariness,
For those who have
Persevered
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Adrien Aletti on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Spice
x
The flowers
They are ending, I suppose
The ones of summer,
While chrysanthemums
Are having their time outside,
This time
Their time
And we pause and pause
Maybe because it’s raining
Or it’s cold for the first
Time in a while
I’m speaking to where I live,
Which is in eastern Pennsylvania
In the middle of the
MidAtlantic, USA
Wherever you might be,
It’s fall up north
And spring down south where
The flowers that are dying
Here would rather be
So that their color
And their smoother shapes
Might go on,
Though I imagine in a relentless season
There would be end to
Flowers, anyway
x
Here, the chrysanthemums
Shall have their way
For a while
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Nadiya Ploschenko on Unsplash
today’s mood
x
Field Manual for Seasons
Blue peeks through
Green netting
On a midsummer day
Maybe it’s high summer, now
A timetable is needed
Not for tides
But for the broader reaches
Of the seasons
Something to say
These are dog days
Tell the dogs, they’ll want to know
When are cat days?
Silly humans, cats say,
Every day
Give dogs a few
It could also be a time
For field mice
Chipmunks, squirrels
All creatures seem to know
The seasons,
When to bury food
When to look for it again
C L Couch
Photo by Jonnelle Yankovich on Unsplash
instagram: @jey__photography
clcouch123 
Recent Comments