(x = space)
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These are haiku. I understand that haiku go untitled. Maybe the series itself could be considered “The Modern Theban Riddle.”
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[haiku on old]
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I rock without a
chair and dream of golden age
when I’m nearing done
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[haiku on youth]
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I am new to Earth
and of my own volition
prizes on the way
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[haiku on middle age]
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they are on either
side, and I don’t know my own
inside anymore
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c l couch
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(x = space)
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Peace Polar
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At any moment now
It is time for the Eid,
One the absence of a moon
Is sighted—you know what I mean,
The new moon
Signing the end of Ramadan
And the start of Eid Al-Fitr
A celebration
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Israeli forces and Hamas
Have been exchanging
Rockets, missiles
Rocks and curses, too
Many have died
And, you know, there is a
Pandemic on
So the celebration must
Be marked by two plagues,
War and the disease
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Holidays and wartime
Go together
In the world
As “I’ll be home for Christmas”
Will tell you
I don’t know the technicalities
Diplomacies
Or lack thereof;
I don’t know if there’s a war
Declared—
It’s happening, anyway
Pray for our western Asian siblings
And send good thoughts
Their way,
And that will not nearly
Be enough
Though they should happen,
Anyway
But something else
Something more
Must transpire
Write about it, tell the stories
Act for peace
Keep planting the poles
Live peaceably
Not with weakness
But with strength
Peace, like love, takes
Muscles of all kinds
And actions
Action-heroes, even
Remembering
The brain, the will
Have muscles, too
The strongest, in fact
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Run the race for peace
And be kind for races, too
These are
The greater challenges
Beside these,
War is easy
(the picking-up is hard)
So, yes, pray for peace
Then act for peace
In the gentlest, strongest way
That you know how
Concretize the steps you take
The talk, the meals, loving
Your neighbors
So that what works
Might be taken again
In hope
Even (especially) when it’s hard
There will be fruition,
Promise
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C L Couch
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Shigar Valley, Skardu, Pakistan
Photo by Ijaz Rafi on Unsplash
[nearly new moon]
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(x = space)
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A Quiet Place
(a sequel)
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A song
A horror movie
A hyped-up culture
Maybe doesn’t want one
But I do
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Something calm
With windows large enough
To witness nature
As it passes
With sun or wind
Or snow or rain,
Things better watched
And heard
From inside
With ceilings high enough
So I could imagine a cathedral
Rather than
A cave
(it’s all right—I am imaginative)
A place to live with my own noise
That is modified respectfully
With regard to
Neighbors whom
I might get to know
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C L Couch
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New Forest Lane
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
New Forest National Park, United Kingdom
[cathedral]
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(x = space)
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Apology in Irony
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I can’t think of anything to say
That doesn’t sound
Mansplaining
Rightly named
About my take
On ideas or events
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Maybe I should just shut up,
Take instead the day
Until there’s something decent
Open-ended
Offering
Half-engagement should
We wish
To take it further
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I’ll talk with you
Tomorrow then,
Not tomorrow and tomorrow
But tomorrow
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C L Couch
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Old Iron
Photo by Malik Skydsgaard on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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circling
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today good people
met
they talked
and prayed
maybe did the praying
first
it’s Sunday
but it could be on a Friday
or a Wednesday
or a Tuesday
you know, any day
I’m sure
in any hour
x
they pray for other people
for the Earth
for peace
for wisdom
for discretion
when it truly is
the better part of valor
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they won’t quit,
these folk
they’ll meet again
talk and pray
or maybe pray first
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c l couch
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photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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The Lathe of Earth
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We will get used
To being back,
Back from the edge
Of the disease
And into something new,
A new shape to life
Because there is no back
To normal, though
Touchstones of our lives
Might be used again
x
No back to the basics
Only forward to the basics
Forward to new normal,
As is said already
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We’ll closet all our plague
Paraphernalia,
The way the Swiss
Keep their arms in closets
After military service
Though I think they prefer
Chocolate and negotiation
And so should we
Until and when
The next, dire thing
Should happen
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coda
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We’ll bury our dead
As after war
We could deal kindly
With each other,
Though the tone set
In the nation
Went against that
And we have found
That we have
Way too many guns
And, unlike the Swiss,
Don’t know how to use them
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C L Couch
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The Lathe of Heaven is a novel by Ursula K. Le Guin.
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Photo by Rosie Steggles on Unsplash
Death Valley National Park, United States
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(x = space)
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Speak for a Nation
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Receiving a message from the Lord
was rare in those days; revelatory
visions were infrequent.
(1 Samuel 3:1b)
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Prophets have jobs
Usually doing something else
Until the words are called for,
Until the wind
Blows through
Every atom
We think of them as crazy,
But they’re not
There is relentless urgency
Is all
Repent, while you’re alive
Don’t wait for judgment
And the fire
Leaders, most of all
You are double-cursed
If you do it wrong
Return to the temple
Pray in litany
And all humility
For a change and
For a change,
Recovering the modesty
In service that dressed you
Before fame
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We think they’re crazy, sometimes
Maybe they are
From time to time
But there is authenticity
And love of service,
Such as those in stadiums
At podiums
Behind the microphones
Must have
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C L Couch
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Photo by Pavel Brodsky on Unsplash
A slow shutter-speed rendition of a BBQ fire.
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(New English Translation
verse indentations by me)
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(x = space)
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A Lost World
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I took my .22,
Shot at paper targets
I wasn’t very good
There were
I’m sure
Excuses
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I could not shoot Bambi
There are those who could
And use the food
At home or to give
To other,
Hungry people
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A bullet from a distance
What might Cain
Have devised?
With such Indiscretion
And the safety off,
He might have gone
After Seth
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Then where would we be
For progeny
With only wives surviving, were
They out of range?
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They might retrieve
The guns
Then learn to shoot for life,
Maybe instructed by
An angel
Out of Eden
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An imagined state
Doomed,
We’d think
Excepting life to find a way
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C L Couch
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Suspect nabbed in stray bullet slaying of 1-year-old Brooklyn boy sitting in stroller last summer
The accused shooter in last summer’s horrific stray bullet shooting of a 1-year-old boy outside a Brooklyn playground was charged Thursday in the devastating death that shocked a pandemic-stricken city and rattled Mayor de Blasio.
. . .
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Photo by Omkar Jadhav on Unsplash
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The Lost World by Arthur Conan Doyle, then by Michael Crichton
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(x = space)
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What You Will
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It’s Wednesday
A good time to think
On God
There is no holy day
I know of
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Either way,
God cares
And doesn’t care,
Welcomes us anytime
For prayer and
Conversation
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I know,
A mystical transaction
But there it is
Sometimes mysticism’s normal
Underhill might agree
(Evelyn or Frodo)
Gerald May
Or Parker Palmer
Mary Oliver
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But let’s say
Ursula K. Le Guin
Who stirred with genders
In her work
Long before the rage,
Who lived
In writing
And in company
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C L Couch
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a brief bibliography
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Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness, No Time to Spare
Gerald May, The Wisdom of Wilderness
Mary Oliver, Upstream or any publication—any gathering—of her poetry
Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak
Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism
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Tree in Forest, Autumn Season
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clcouch123 
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