I talk you talk we'll talk



Tune in Tomorrow

(x = space)



Tune in Tomorrow


I’m not smart;

I don’t have a smart phone

Or a smart house

Or a smart life


I use the ticking of a clock,

Not an association,

Other wind-up ways

And, yes, electron ways

To note

Time passing

As it does

In society


My books do not have faces

(not meaning the clock)

Though they do have bindings

For clarity

In anticipation


They have tropes and memes,

I’m sure


This will be changing


Technologically, enough


My cars have had computers

For a while

And I still like the lure

Of robots’ walking service

And companionship,

Of a jetpack set upon my back

So I may fly over

Land and water

And through clouds

Of other worlds


Childhood’s end,

Mister Clarke,

And childhood’s dreaming

With all the songs

I used to listen to

That would resonate

With or without volume

Later on


Things change


Some things fall apart,

Sometimes the center:

The poem and

The novel know this,

Through our



Some remains

(some remains)

On the edge

Like samples in a centrifuge

Or in the washer after

Machinic wringing

As a body might wring something


(or for the therapist to say)



Some items


And totems


Worn wires

And connectors

Old, most likely small



Storied threads

Kept in shadowed places

Until the knob is turned,

The door opened


The wires, threads, and all


In our own alchemy

Into today

With new things,

Many things



All mix

Then when done

Can sough and sigh

Into the future


Terms and

Formal understandings

Are better for tomorrow;

Today is for the

Result of threading

Into compromise,

Often astounding,

Of things good,

Some bad

Things tested,

Some waiting to be tried in

The world

Or safe at home


I’ll tell you things

And will you tell me, please?

That will be star-stuff

Mister Sagan,

Ms Druyan


On Earth

More locally for now

A charm, token, song today, tomorrow–



C L Couch



Photo by Alberto Bobbera on Unsplash


Native American Heritage Day

(x = space)



Native American Heritage Day

(26 November 2021)


Hundreds of years

And last year

Too late

And, no, first families

Weren’t always good

With each other

We’re not celebrating


We’re hedging against


So much more is needed

Against the situation


Whites have caused


Is there hope

On reservations,

The better land having been

Cheated away?

I don’t know—do you?

Real homes for real people

Real lives

Real race

To stand alone

Or add into the melting pot—that’s



Give us a day

But we’ll need tomorrow, too


C L Couch



Six panel high resolution mosaic of the Cygnus region from the Butterfly nebula to the Crescent nebula. 3 hours of integration for each panel from a dark sky location in Spain. Zoom in for details in the various regions.

Photo by Aldebaran S on Unsplash

Fregenal de la Sierra, Spain


A Game

A Game


There is a game

To play now and then

It’s called the future

Something blank is all that’s needed

Not even paper

An open book

Or tabletop will do

But keep it empty

Then place a thought inside

And then another

You will lose your way, and that’s all right

You’ve won by then!

Maybe play again

Or realize



C L Couch



Photo by Wolfgang Rottmann on Unsplash


Reading the Next Day

Reading the Next Day


Going back to reading what

Was written

Sometimes there’s little sense

Like looking back on doodles

Or freewriting

Looking back on other things

That’s harder

Talking with fewer people in old age

Means less chance for faux pas

Or maybe it’s reclusion


I don’t need a bigger pile

Piling in the in-box

Who does?


I go back to what I read

Having picked it up in the middle of the night

Because I wasn’t sleeping yet

And a story called

(I’m not sure who was more at fault)

When I return

Will I be welcome?

Will I be welcomed again?

I mean, yes, I bought the thing

But there’s more

An invitation

Riding like the girl who

Delivered most of the news

From Paul Revere

The book is here:

Will I take the message?

Will I accept responsibility for

Interpretation, then dissemination

Throughout the land?


You see, clearly there are questions

And there’s pressure

A lady or a tiger

Re-reading yesterday’s

New pages

In new hours

And then there’s what I’ve written


C L Couch



Photo by Prasanna Kumar on Unsplash

Besant nagar beach, Chennai, India

Books, most loyal friends.


If true, Ludington’s story puts Revere’s to shame, writes Valerie DeBenedette for Mental Floss. She “rode twice as far as Revere did, by herself, over bad roads and in an area roamed by outlaws, to raise Patriot troops to fight in the Battle of Danbury and the Battle of Ridgefield in Connecticut,” DeBenedette writes. “And did we mention it was raining?”




(stand alone or maybe work together)


Today is what I

Have.  Tomorrow is far off.

The wind will take me.


I’d rather have the

Cool breeze and warm air to take

Me to tomorrow


Will you join me in

Tomorrow?  We’ll need each other’s

Company today.


C L Couch



Dirk Ingo Franke – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.0 de,

Buller, Erin (11 July 2008). “Capturing the Wind”. Uinta County Herald. Archived from the original on 31 July 2008. Retrieved 4 December 2008. “The animals don’t care at all. We find cows and antelope napping in the shade of the turbines.” – Mike Cadieux, site manager, Wyoming Wind Farm


Something for Tomorrow

Something for Tomorrow


Some things are pithy

Some things are brazen

Some things are refined

Some wisdom is succinct

(though philosophy is not)


Don’t cry into your beer

Unless you want the taste;

Spitting into the wind

(as Croce advises)

Has the same problem with

A taste of something awry

(and maybe disgusting)


Love as if it were tomorrow

A gift set on your step today;

Find the joy,

If any joy be had


Endurance, if that’s all there is to have

Time is a possibility

(and love always a reminder)


C L Couch

CC Public Domain


Before the Formal Feeling

Before the Formal Feeling


When there’s pain,

Everything enwrapped that might be good

‘Til sight is pushed down toward the ground

And placing arms around

Takes nothing but

Dust and air


And ashes that rise to sting the face

And render bitter tasting in the mouth

What then is left

That’s hale or promising

The hope of life for

Tomorrow or even in time that remains today


I think I’ll have the drink that bites

And chew on some bread that’s burnt:

Salt and ashes

Herbs that sting,

Spells of ordinary stuff

Quotidian magic


The miracle in the day might be a breeze;

Some of the dust of flesh


Might rise off the nightmare,

Lets gazing up to see some yellow light


Falling on new leaves

Caught in early spring

First breaths upon the earth


C L Couch


Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑