I talk you talk we'll talk


The Guardian





Times goes in ribbons,

Moving flat, overtwining

Three or more to make a braid

Or some kind of Moebius phenomenon

The writer lives in Spain

Time is different there for him

I live in the Northeast

Time moves incessant

Where busyness is a virtue


Invoke Einstein

The bridging through wormholes

Impedance, or allowance, of dark matter

Making standing still to FTL all



And in a possible time,

What cannot be invented

What cannot be savored

In all moments


And as a coda, wonder with me


What might be the artifacts


I’ve imagined time, my time

My life as

A banner or

A tapestry

(if a banner, I suppose there is a message

though I don’t know what that is)

All things are kept

All things recorded

The thread might not all be lasting

Some might have come undone

Been burned through misapprehension

Or bad days for

Another reason

But one strand, at least

Maybe two strands

Keeps or keep

The rest

So that there is intactness

To the living

With a record for accounting

Or maybe, only for display

When all is done

And Parousia installs

A great exhibition


I doubt any of my thread is gold

But I do bid for colors

Of all kinds

With bumps and cautionary stitching

Here and there

I don’t know how concerned I am

That the edges be so straight


C L Couch



Time isn’t the same everywhere.

[my emphasis]

You can think about pause as a habit. One executive I worked with would take five minutes to himself, to do nothing in particular, before he left the office. He made it a way to close the day, and leave work thoughts at work, rather than carrying them home with him. You might think about designing longer and deeper pauses for yourself, and how you could create a space where pauses are woven into the fabric of your life or work.


Image by Welcome to all and thank you for your visit ! ツ from Pixabay


Hello, Kitty

Hello, Kitty


(an image of a tiger)


Isn’t he amazing?

I say he because the caption says so

I have no trouble believing that

The female is amazing

He sits among the roots and shadow

Of the tree


Resting or waiting?  Is he

Hungry or in love or meditative?

Is he tired?


What will happen next?

What happened?

I think he lay there for a long while,

A study in stillness

He stayed until he decided

What he wanted next


C L Couch



A young male tiger rests in the roots of a banyan tree, in Ranthambhore national park, India. Photograph: Chris Brunskill/Save Wild Tigers/Eye On Tiger

appearing in The Guardian Green Light


Here’s News (and a Haibun)

Here’s News (and a Haibun)




Here are three news leads from The Guardian:

The United Nations has for the first time signalled its “human rights obligation” over the deadly cholera outbreak in Haiti that has claimed the lives of at least 30,000 people.

‘It’s only working for the white kids’: American soccer’s diversity problem [headline]

Yesterday, a report came out that said more than 1,000 migrants and refugees have died just in the last week while crossing the Mediterranean.




Everyone on all sides of things is falling down.  UN peacekeeping.  Soccer, the world’s sport.  Migrants we don’t count who die.  Doesn’t help my own precarious feelings about stability or sanity in the world.  Doesn’t help the fragility in me or mine.  On this side of apocalypse (only frightening for some), what might we save?  In order to retain poetics, I’ve refrained from news of politics today.  I doubt anymore the answer’s there.




Black box of the plane

Black box of refugee’s boat

Black box of sea’s depths

Reading The Guardian

Reading The Guardian

I like to read The Guardian
for an outside-USA perspective. (I
like the name, too.) But
today’s Monday-morning headlines
were, I swear, all grim. Even the global
climate accord received political, not
environmental, comment. The only
good news I read about was a promise
from a person not to litigate, not
to sue against unlawful (long and
tortuous) detention at Guantanamo.

I applaud, truly, this one’s
forgiving purpose. But that’s as good
as it got. A withholding of returning
punishment: the avoidance of bad
news from someone being better
than. And so

nothing more?
Why not?

It’s my fault. It’s yours. We must
do good, then do better than to allow
it to become good news. Then (others,
us) we must report the good
that happens, too. As an alternative,
a celebration, and exemplar for all.

I visited my friend in the hospital
just in time to take him home. My
neighbors have launched a mission
website to help the children with
Down’s Syndrome and those who
want the children to have
a child’s life.

There’s some good, becomes good
news. It’s small. Good news is often

My small part as an example’s done.
So now,

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