Something Borrowed

(x = space)

x

x

Something Borrowed

x

Something swashbuckling

Is on TV

Something with Burt Lancaster

Leaping

Like the lords at Christmastime

I turned to this

When what was on

Intentionally

Blacked out

Indicating maybe that

The TV is getting old

Like me

Sometimes I lose

My signals, too

The synapse breaks

I must

Turn to something else

x

C L Couch

x

x

The Flame and the Arrow (1950)

x

A ball of energy with electricity beaming all over the place.

Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash

x

Precipitous Evolution

(x = space)

x

x

Precipitous Evolution

x

We have atomic bombs

In silos, ready to launch

There is a pandemic

We’re trying to ignore

Despite the rise in cases

Second wave, extension of

The first

We’ve heated up the Earth

So that volcanos and

Windstorms, forest fires

Are all readier

Their unleashing is worse

Could nature ever be

Our friend again?

But we are consumed with

Human ratings on TV and in

Our other media:

They must exist, they must

Be good or something’s

Terribly wrong with us

Though there are better

Judges than celebrities

What shall we say,

We’re living on the edge?

Not of adventure

But of living

Plainly if at all

Yes, I know it’s preachy

But I want you tomorrow,

People and the Earth

Everything that lives and breathes

And maybe changes

Under a too-tolerant God

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by JD X on Unsplash

x

Episodic

 

A Christmas show

Is on TV

I’m not sure how I found it

Usually, TV is background noise

For my tinnitus

So I may concentrate

On something else

Christmas at the start of June

Well, why not

There is no pressure,

Certainly

No shopping list or

Finding ways to keep up decorations

Six more months

Plenty of time

To forget there is a list

Or lights or fasteners

Once, I heard advice

From a priest

Who in his preaching said

Leave something up from Christmas

One thing

It will drive your neighbors crazy

Well, it’s not Christmas

I have nothing up or under

This is this accident of broadcasting

For an hour,

Then everything resumes

Sixty minutes, red and green

In my culture

You might have Père Noël

Or Father C

Or Sinterklaas

Or a name with a persona

I have yet to learn

I’d better say Merry Christmas now

The episode is ending

I said it

I hope you heard

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Andy Holmes on Unsplash

Chatham, Kent, United Kingdom

 

Paean

Paean

 

I don’t know what time it is

I mean, it’s mid-morning

Not in an hour of

Dramatic dark or anything

The sky outside’s a wash, in fact

Enough light for movement,

Nothing added

 

But I have slept, at last

And feel the thankful fullness

That comes and lives inside

For a while,

When the right kind of unconsciousness

Has happened over hours

 

There are images of nature on TV

Some kind of early-winter story

In March, I can afford

To let it be romantic

All the layers

That they wear

And that nature provides

 

(later on I look;

it’s ten fifty-nine)

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jaanus Jagomägi on Unsplash