Title-ating

One major component of my poetry is the titling. Titles to me are a s important as anything found in the actual body of the poem. Because of this I spend as much time and creative energy in coming up with a title as I do with in other part. I have some standard types of titles that I like to use. One is the circular title. The poem "The Present" is like that. Taken on its own it has two meanings, the current moment in time and a gift. The third use of the title is the circle. When the end of the poem is read the title can bee added to complete the line. Therefore, that particular poem could end with, "This is the present." It doesn't have to, but it can.

Another type is the etymological title. I will pick a word, or group of words that I like for the title and then look them up in the dictionary and find the original language roots of the English words. This makes for some interesting sounding titles. An example of this is a poem I wrote that talked about light and I titled it "Leoht" from an original language root for the word light. I just liked the way it sounded better than the way the English word sounded.

Some of my titles are miniature descriptive poems in and of themselves. These tend to be very long. Keep an eye out for those in a future post.

The title of this poem is similar to the etymological type, but it is definitional. There is a certain thing that is the main focus of this poem and, rather than just name it in the title, I give you the definition of what it is in the title. It adds a little bit to the mystery and, in my opinion, makes it more interesting.

So, while you are reading the poems take a moment, and enjoy the titles.

Condenses in Drops on Cool Surfaces at Night

Mist-covered slopes
and there you were,
reflections of sunlight inside.
A whole shining world
that shimmered and whirled
with each breath of a floating butterfly

I reached out to grab,
the illusion ran,
splashed-down hiding place in the soil-covered sand.
A tear imitates,
but your beauty is gone,
and the mist cleared by some swift hand.


Another mist
and there you slept,
in the folds of a summer green leaf.
Joyful reunion
found you again,
awash in ecstatic relief.

Softly cupping
this new found home,
I, so gently, lift leaf away.
Trying to save
you sunlight-kissed,
leaf withers and your presence fades.


Another slope
and there you are.
kissing the fragile tulips tip.
Stealthy approach,
cautious I kneel
stare into your great, gleaming depths.

How to hold you?
How to touch you?
How to bring you deep inside?
Words peter out...
Silence grows loud...
Sweet secrets slip soft as they float, flitter, fly.


Mist-covered hopes
and the smell of wet spring,
sit still willing you not to flee.
Sounds barely heard,
not even quite words,
in the silence I hear what you speak.

In my silence I hear your heart speak.

Keep silent my heart, hear her speak.

Speak.

written 3/18/99 by Jeff Couch

An Amber Moment

This poem actually has meaning to it. It is not one of a type of poem I will introduce you to later, my word-salad nonsense poems where you feel like you can almost understand them, but something was lost in translation. I have several of those I am very fond of, but this is not one of them. This actually describes a moment I lived through the other day and the resolution, which came over a much longer period of time than suggested by the poem. Truth be told it is vague, because I like to create pictures and play with words. Sometimes I think I am simply obfuscating for obfuscation's sake. Frankly it is fun to do. I also fell in love when I was younger with a technique the bards used, particularly in Beowulf. Instead of the ocean they would say whale-road. there were other examples, but that one stuck in my mind (I think they were called koans, or something like that). I often like to put this kind of descriptive word pattern in a poem to replace a much more mundane word. In the end, the meaning you take from this poem, or any of my poems for that matter, may be much removed from what I was thinking. That is good. What I like to do is describe with ferocious intensity a moment or thought or feeling. Then I let you apply that to your own moments or thoughts or feelings. The vagueness makes up for the difference between our individual experiences. You may not have been where I have been, but you have felt what I have felt. I like to leave them open to interpretation. If anyone were to ever read this little blog, and so far I see no evidence that anyone has, and were to request an interpretation, I would be happy to oblige. For me, though, these poems are a bit of sleight of hand/illusion, if you will. Telling is like...telling. Once you know how it is done it isn't as exciting. So if you ask, I am too much of a compulsive "self-exposer" to refrain from sharing the thoughts behind them to you, but don't say I didn't warn you. The sparkle is oftentimes best preserved with a handful of pixie-dust and a visit from the Blue Fairy.

The Present

The door opened, piped-tobacco-stained air wafted through the room
A hint of smoky autumn leaves, hot cider, sepia skies and skin
This medusa blast, tears frozen drip, all else stiffens within
Movement amnesia'd, shattering promise made, eyes be-rheumed

This was-flood, this cut-course kaleidoscope, Mesmer's magnet made
Cloying fog descends, meaning-theft mist, edges blurred, all is indistinct
Walk forward with objective unrecalled, purpose expelled, destination extinct
Time unfeckled, strength beshackled, moments' cards: bluffed, called, arrayed.

And then,
pencil-thin,
diamond-pinned-Now pricks in.
Stretched film retracts within.
Clarity returns again.
The present wherein
the future begins
tunes in.

Snakeskin sloughs away, looking to today and what may come, may come
Journey of am and are is seen, beauty hidden between, the was is done, is done
Restart to go, whereto unknown, but flow on, flow on
The gift of is, the eternal gee-whiz, light of peace is shown, has shone

This is

written November 27, 2007 by Jeff Couch

Something a little meatier

This poem is a few years old. Old enough for me to read it with new eyes. I don't remember exactly what I was refering to, but the mood, the feeling and some of the things I say give me an idea. I would tell you, but that would spoil it. This is a kind of poem I like in that it doesn't force a meaning on you, but allows you to apply the sentiment to your situation. I hope you enjoy.

Some Times

It happens sometimes with a flash and a bang
a crash and a bash and a fall
It happens sometimes with an echoing thump
Sometimes it doesn't happen at all

I see you sometimes with soft, butter-skin
velvet-tinged, bright, beautiful, fair
I see you sometimes, wise and wonderful
Sometimes you're not even there

Sometimes it creaks...
Sometimes it cries...
Sometimes it wanders...
Sometimes it whines...
Sometimes it slips...
Sometimes it snaps...
Sometimes it cuddles up
cradled soft in my lap

And when I waver
Careening cross the room
When I savor
Groans of hearts doom
There you sit with a quizzical cast
No light in your eyes
No grin, no laugh

And you wonder what I wonder that sigh thunder
The truth hides under that lie pondered, questioned, why
Ponder, question
Why
Why
Does it happen sometimes
...
...
It happens sometimes when no one is looking
when happiness sometimes is calmed
and suddenly the fear that has sprung up near
springs roots and cannot be harmed

Sometimes it happens with pain and short breaths,
with curling and cramping and crushingness
Sometimes it happens as I hide in four walls
Sometimes it doesn't happen at all
Sometimes it doesn't happen at all
Sometimes...
don't happen at all

written 7/06/00 by Jeff Couch

A Tidbit

Every now and then I start writing a poem with the first word that comes to mind. these usually aren't too complex, just a little tidbit between something deeper. I was getting tired of not posting and didn't have a book of my poetry nearby, so I tried one of these. It describes a place I often find myself at. (I ended that sentence with a prepositon. Drive my wife crazy. Or is that a dangling participle. Never could remember the difference.)

Indurare

Standing
Not sitting or running
just Standing
Here and Now

Ahead...is grim
Behind...is dim
Around is ache and sorrow...

Stay the course
Catch your breath
Trust the road
Trust the builder

Standing
...just one step


Following

written by Jeff Couch 10/31/07

The First Poem

Ok, so it is time for the first poem. This first is a little one I wrote this year. It is kind of a cutesy take on what writing poetry means to me. This is a light one, but if you are looking for something deeper, don't despair. There are plenty of dark and gloomy ones to come.

Having a similarity to or reminiscent of a real poet.

I am not a Poet
but I am poety
I am not a deceiver
but often use a scheme
and in the cliche'd wilds of rhyme time
where lemons aid and limes climb
high in the sky with a sun-borne sigh
I am a hunter
but never a thief

It's ok I know it
I'm not a good Poet
My strong passions are screaming
My sleeved heart is bleeding
with maudlin metaphoric clauses
forced meter, dramatic pauses,
similes rule while rhythms are tooled
I am playing hard
at being a bard

I am really not a Poet
But I am

Poety

written January 31, 2007 by Jeff Couch