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writing

Machine Libation

(x = space)

x

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Machine Libation

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All the things released

On the page,

Admittedly a page of electrons

And in this

There is a soupcon of fright

Over outages

And lack of a printer

And greater thankfulness

Over an awful

Writer’s cramp

That only bends (now)

The typing hand

Now and then

x

There are notebooks, too,

When away

Maybe simply outside

Sometimes they are remembered

With the pens

And releases in our minds

To work another way

While in the nothingness

Of expectation

x

Keep writing, children

(painting

or reworking

the clay of Earth

or off our feet

or work in something else),

We hear her say

And all the sibling muses

With the gods of creativity

From other places

Other realms

Inside the moving circles

When they meet

And maybe grind

Like rims of

Metal upon metal

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These vie

For inspiration

When we are worth it

x

Thank goodness,

We are worth it

x

And for the media

The usefulness of anything

The service of technology

And pens and pencils

(paints, clay

things we find)

Crayons, when we have them,

With some paper

x

What we keep

What we discard

Ashes in safety

Or simply as a metaphor

For muses

Or spirits from

Other places

Or, say,

Only the mind

x

Thanks, any part

Or anyone

And everyone

Everything

Anything

That serves

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Jahz Gonzalez on Unsplash

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courage

(x = space)

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x

courage

(compash)

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the brave leaves

are in fact

leaving;

the wind has done its work

there is inescapability

in the season passing

if I wrote useless things

upon electronic leaves

perhaps my season

will be passing, too

x

it is a pledge, I guess

the old word tontine

a formal offering

to work

to put down

to express

to depict

to make my painting here,

unfit for a museum

maybe for local work

the verses in the subway

a slogan on a placard

should I reach

and arrive so far

x

like glory in the sky

parochial sky

parochial of one

should I hear myself

out there

constructively

x

c l couch

x

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photo by jeremy bishop on unsplash

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Cell Block

(x = space)

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Cell Block

x

I don’t know that I’ve written

Anything

I like

Not that I have to like it

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You have to like it,

That is, with textual

Appreciation

x

Or at least give me a break

To read

And then to have

Whatever frank reaction

            If good to tell me,

            If bad to keep it to yourself

            Kidding!

            (mostly)

x

I’ve been sitting by myself

Too long

Writing whatever

Looking up pretty pictures, too

x

I need to nap

Or go out to buy more coffee filters

One task then the other,

Recommending order

x

Later

Rested, filtered

Enjoy a tea time

(coffee time)

Then write some more

Or not

It’s not as if

There’s a contract

Yet

Except with myself, my own

Eccentric terms

x

I’m sure you understand

Defining, realizing

Your own discipline

As well

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by loli Clement on Unsplash

my sister’s coffee

Tigre, Argentina

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Sorry, Uncle

(x = space)

x

x

Sorry, Uncle

x

I haven’t

Liked

A thing

All day

Not the rest

That was

Too brief

Not the clothes

That are too worn

Well, in need

Of cleaning

Not the food or drink

That was too sweet

And filled me up

So that

What’s inside and

The rest of me

Are getting along awkwardly

At best

x

Not the words I’ve set down

Drawn lines

Through

Made spaces

Tried to write again

x

What to do on such a day?

Maybe nothing

I can take a break

Some might want me to

For one reason

Out of

Many reasons

I can pray

Prayer is an attitude

Telling me

I don’t have to write

To give, to send

Outside of me

Today

x

It’s late

I breathe

The breathing’s warm

My body’s warm

It’s June

How much more

Revelation

Do I need?

x

Oh,

I’m not angry

Parentally to say

I’m only

Disappointed

Twist the blade

Why don’t I?

x

Well, I’ll pause

And look

Here there are

Words

And sorry for conceits

x

I understand the beasts

In La Brea

Never got out

On their own

I’ll be with you

Tomorrow

Unsucked

From tar

Unstucked

x

The bones of writing down

Enfleshed again

And on the move

x

C L Couch

x

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Smilodon at the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar Pits

(image) by Dallas Krentzel – Smilodon at the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar PitsUploaded by FunkMonk, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18649097

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3 poems for summer solstice

(x = space)

x

x

3 poems for summer solstice

x

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Merry July

x

Solstice

It’s summer now

Summer weather smacks us

Here

Temps aiming for 90

I guess in Australia

New Zealand

New Guinea

Little America

Winter is begun

Throw logs on the fire

Sing winter carols

Withholding Christmas and

The other holidays

‘Til the start of summer

In December

Christmas in July

A custom mostly mercantile

In the north

Could be the real thing

With trees and

Were it high enough

Some snow

Ornaments and lights

Certainly

Merry Christmas in

Alice Springs

Wellington

Tierre del Fuego

On the Falklands

At the southern pole

Santa’s summer home

Like winter

x

x

Intentions

x

God, what shall I

Say to you?

I worship you

In contemporary ways

I’m sorry for sins

You have seen in me

And known for centuries

I thank you for your presence

Having made all good things

And the ways to deal

With the bad

I ask of you

To welcome home

Those who die

And heal those who live

Cure cancer

End war

Well, I can ask

x

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Siblinghood

x

It’s like science fiction

Slipping out of time

Our of normalcy

Eating meals on time

Cleaning on a schedule

Ingrained expectations

Instinctive, conditioned

Responses

x

To fall outside of these

To live with fewer clothes

To hope for decent meals

In penury,

To dream of trips

But only travel like Thoreau

Walking to and from

The town

x

Everything else happens

On the inside

How sad this is

At least how strange

But there’s a purpose

Those who fall outside

Will look back

And when not wistful

Will prophecy

In art

x

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C L Couch

x

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Saint John’s (Midsummer) Fire at Dragør Beach (Denmark)

XSimon, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53634435

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Crisscross

(x = space)

x

x

Crisscross

x

I creak around

The morning

Bending my knees

To write

As if I’m meeting

Someone who sits

On the other

Side of fire

x

A wilderness of

Understanding,

A meeting with a muse or

God whose presence

Is apparent

Is ennobled

In the fire

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Timothy Meinberg on Unsplash

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Place Setting

(x = space)

x

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Place Setting

x

Monday, Monday

Now the song is in my head

I see a cityscape

Microsoft has placed on the computer

There are no people to be seen

But they must be there

Taken at sunrise

While many are asleep

(the photo, not the people

though one never knows)

The television drones

The coffee murmurs,

And it’s mainly done

And I sit cross-legged

In obeisance

And thanksgiving

For the time I have to write

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Grant Durr on Unsplash

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There’s a Story at the End

(x = space)

x

x

There’s a Story at the End

x

I don’t know what to say.

I need the birds to

dance across the

page

with their feet dipped in ink.

It’s a medieval riddle’s

answer,

though it would be cruel

to force birds’ feet

into wells.

x

I guess we take their feathers,

turn them into quills;

maybe we could wait

to find quills

inside forests:

gifts from the sources of stories

and the desert

and the sky

and moving waters

taking the shape

of earth below.

That’s what I want to tell,

a story!

Something for everyone.  And

is there such a thing?

x

Once there was a child

in a forest

Who came upon a grown-up

clearly starving.

The child gave the grown-up

the only piece of

bread

in the child’s bag.

The adult rose up and thanked

the child.

Then they noticed that

the child’s bag

had a hole through which

crumbs had fallen—and through

forest-magic

had not been eaten

by birds or other creatures!

x

They knew certainly where the

crumbs

would take them,

so they went home

where everyone was

known,

because everyone was

home.

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash

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Writing Us

(x = space)

x

x

Writing Us

x

I suppose

We have to talk about ourselves

Each utterance an unwilling

Biography

I want to hear your story

And in the electron universe I do,

And I am thankful

x

I hope that you are well

I hope that God protects you

Via angels

Or the arrival of a cathartic,

Gentler day

Then when inner wind’s inhaled

Back to the fray

That is the rest of today

Into tomorrow

x

So I might hear,

Inshallah,

And you tell me

Tell us all

So we might breathe

For sharing

And consider this community

With certain anonymities

Withstanding

x

Talk to me

I can talk back

Unless listening

In the quiet space between us

Is better

For the call

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

Drops

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