November 2020

(x = space,

because I can’t cut and paste

using the new WordPress editor—

grrr)

Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(two poems)

Asking Questions

After the years,

Asking questions that

Could be left to children:

What do I want to

Be when

I grow up?

What do you want

Of me, dear Lord,

Or anyone (else)

Who cares?

How do I give without

Being taken in?

(okay, this question

more for the grown-up, maybe

embittered)

And do we

Always ask these questions,

Or is it more rarefied

To do so?

Or simply strange

There is a wider

World of happenings,

Some brutal and, well,

Simply bad

Though much of it

Is beautiful,

Inside and outside human

Flesh and in

The natures we’ve been given,

The nature of ourselves and

The nature of the planet

These days, especially, it’s

Not hard to find out

What’s going on,

Though much remains

Hidden by

The agenda-hiders, which

Is regrettable

All shall be known,

Eventually

And it might go hard

But, you know, for now

Let’s keep asking questions

Of ourselves,

Our world,

And of God

Let’s take lifetimes, then,

To learn to ask

And then be satisfied with

What we learn

When asking,

Because we’re still outside the gate

Often forgetting there’s

Paradise nearby

Desert Mother

I have a sharp pain

In my foot

To distract me

From the headache

I guess this is

Negotiation with the

Lord

Who made me

And tasks me

In such ways

I am old

And beyond children

Except the ones

I talk to

In this way

Whether or not I’m heard

I shall not know

Because I’m here

And they

And you

Are there

When I am

In heaven, I still

Might not know how

The children of

Earth have done

Until you are old,

Then sleep

As I have done

And wake to me

And all the rest

Who have been waiting

For you

And, yes,

We have other things

To do here

So will you

C L Couch

Photo by Michael Milverton on Unsplash

Wylie Bay Rd, Bandy Creek WA 6450, Australia, Bandy Creek

Sand Sand Everywhere

(x = space)

Hola, Everyone Gone on Before

(All Souls)

The veil we talk about

At Hallowe’en, the one that

Causes us to hide from

Ghosts and things, is thinned

Today with love

So that we might have

Concourse with the dead we know

To remember fondly

The cultures that define, promote,

And celebrate this day—well,

They are smart

Wise in understanding

That family is a matter of

Connection, and there are threads

That intertwine through

Generations

And I am saying this plainly, I suppose,

Without to some

Enough poetic

Protocol, but tonight there will be

Remembrances at gravesides

With everyone straightforwardly

Conversing with each other

And in company

With those they haven’t

Been with for a while,

Maybe since last year

Tío, he was a so-and-so—

Yes, you know you were—but

We are glad to think of

Him tonight, and we miss

You, Tío

If they are or were really bad,

Then I guess we do not talk

With them or bring them

Up with words,

Though maybe everyone we do not

Live with anymore is given more

Understanding, the kind that comes

We know

From time and distance

So who knows what might

Come about in

Understanding

¿Quién sabe?

I don’t know what

Children think

About all this,

Though I imagine they

Understand it all

Better than we grownups

And won’t mind talking with

Grandparents,

Family friends,

Or anyone understood

To have drawn nearer

C L Couch

By J Mndz – https://www.flickr.com/photos/jorge_mendez/50398993712/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=94849432

San Andrés de Mixquic es un pueblo situado en la delegación de Tláhuac, al sur de la Ciudad de México. En este lugar la celebración del Día de los Muertos se hace de una manera particular. Las ofrendas se colocan sobre las tumbas y el cementerio está completamente adornado de flores. La noche es el escenario perfecto, pues los visitantes llegan aproximadamente a las 7 de la noche con velas que alumbran el lugar y proporcionan un espectagulo luminoso magnífico.