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March 2022

How We Ate

(x = space)

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How We Ate

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Somehow,

We had turkey

On Thanksgiving and on

Christmas though not at any

Other time of year,

Not even from the deli

We had ham at Easter

Corned beef and cabbage on

Saint Patrick’s Day

Pork and sauerkraut for New Year’s

Cheeseburgers and fries,

Holiday cookies on

Christmas Eve

On Valentine’s my mother would make

And serve a two-later, pink

Heart-shaped cake

Speaking of cake, the Easter cake

Was made into the shape of

A bunny with coconut

For fur

With cardboard ears

The insides colored pink

With the carnation crayon,

Then all laid upon a grass of green-

Dyed coconut with jelly beans

Scattered in the grass

My brother Rick taking black jelly-beans

To place behind the bunny’s butt,

Which aggravated my mother

Every year

That was family holiday food

I could be missing something

We ate well

Better and better,

I’m thinking each year

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C L Couch

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Photo by Maddy Hunt on Unsplash

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(no, we didn’t eat bunnies—we were bunnies)

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6

In Case of War

(x = space)

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In Case of War

x

I don’t want

To get shot

Or have a weapon’s blade

Tear into my muscle,

Going deeper

Verbal and emotional

Are bad enough

The flesh

Would probably be a final

Crime, perhaps

An act of war

Blood and tears

And everything that’s liquid

Punctured, rolling

Falling onto plastic

Or cement

Or earth

I vote for earth, of course

x

In case of war

I vote for earth

And if romance allows,

A last view of sky

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash

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0

Wintry Weekend

(x = space)

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Wintry Weekend

(in the forecast)

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God

Help us

On a Lenten Friday

Fish Friday, maybe

Yum

Or only the side dishes

To be abstemious

For the season

x

Seriously,

It is a somber time

I wish it could be

A quiet time

With normal noise

Children play

Dogs bark

Tires pressing normally

Go by

On the street

x

You know,

It’s the grownups

Who need help

Who need to understand

The opportunity

The chance to know God better

In the season

x

Why forty days?

I think largely because

Of our

Jewish parents,

If I may say parents

And the time of forty years

Spent in a wilderness

Moving toward

A promised land

Regrettably,

To conquer

x

I think Jesus

If he were

A good, Jewish man

Would know the

Number forty

Use it to count the days

In his own

Wilderness

Of silence and temptation

Before the promise

Of a ministry

Begins

x

And we wayward

Children

(grownups)

Maybe count forty, too

To have a season

Many days

To get to know you better

And all your children

Generations

Now

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Jacob Felix on Unsplash

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The War at Home

(x = space)

x

x

The War at Home

x

1

I’m tired

Too much stress

Has weighed me down

Who knows

What’s heredity

What’s conditioned

By a lifetime of

Pressed down?

x

Everyone has a reason

An excuse

For being rude

And mean

In both ways,

Unkind and miserly

My money

Yes, I earned it

Is taken

And I get poor

Products in return

And services

x

Does anyone else

Feel cheated

By life?

Does anyone else

Go to sleep

And wake up this way?

x

And maybe

It’s not so bad

A friend

Has called and been

Generally sympathetic

And I generally

Feel better

x

Still stressed

Still weighed down

I don’t know what

To do

But keep writing

About it all

During which

I was interrupted

By my friend

x

And worry about

The news

I’ll find today

x

2

I’d like to find

Me and nature

For a while

The sun, the wind

Some clarity

Of sky

Blue thinking

For a while

Wispy thoughts

That don’t have to stick

Like white dandelion

Seeds

Blown onto thistles

A day of

Unpressed thinking

For a while

x

3

The war at home

Funding on trial

Some money passes

Thankfully

Aid for Ukraine

Rebuilding bridges here

That have

Fallen

Down

Rebuilding, anyway

x

I guess we need

To keep moving

Throw off

That Mayberry feeling

That sitting outside

Floyd’s

On a hot day

Is a good thing

Taken down the long,

Front porch

Relegate its place

Build something

Whose plans

Whose generation lies

Around the corner

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Hans Isaacson on Unsplash

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2

Onion Snow

(x = space)

x

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Onion Snow

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Crocuses and

Daffodils were

Growing

There is fog

Above the ground

Where condensations

Clatter without

Sound

Strange time of year

Odd conflict

Teaching flowers and

The land

Something

Via snow

Withholding spring

x

Gentle war

We could learn

Without the bombs

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Eva Härich on Unsplash

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6

It’s International Women’s Day

(x = space)

x

x

It’s International Women’s Day

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Women holding children

There are men, too,

It’s the men making the choices

For the war

Women rule, here and there

Some are good

Some are bad

Women still earn less than men

Too many live reactive lives

Rather than pushing

As any should be

With dreams, ambitions

Owning life

Rather than waiting for the chance

As if it were a gift

From men

x

So much I do not understand

But I think I understand that much

x

Frankly,

And you know

Too much is wrong

And it should change

x

C L Couch

x

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“Love to Ukraine ❤️”

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Published 10h ago

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2

The Boy Who Knew Something

(x = space)

x

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The Boy Who Knew Something

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A spark of something

Blown on through the breeze

Of time

What did he know?

Something about dreams, perhaps

That dreams try

To work out something

And something about wandering

That loneliness

Is good

That reactive loneliness is hard

But being on one’s own

As a decision for oneself

Is not so bad

Bicycle

Riding across an empty schoolyard

Creeking

Climbing rocks

Falling

There’s a bruise

One survives

x

The working out of dreams

When dreams are ridiculed

That’s when it gets hard

Harder than the stones

One fell upon

Growing up will help

x

If only there could be an arc

So many things

Could be worked out

x

Call it memory

Call it inspiration

Allowed to last

Let it last

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Hugo L. Casanova on Unsplash

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0

Virtually a Sunday

(x = space)

x

x

Virtually a Sunday

x

I pulled on a shirt for church

Only to have technology

Fail me

Or I fail it, more likely

Virtual church

I should walk down the street

Through wide doors

Greet people

Sit down upon the wooden and worn

Bench

Await the start of something formal

Or walk

And keep walking

Chill and sunshine

And have church that way

x

Pray as I go

There are things I want

To pray for:

My brother’s health

Cancer

My nephew’s healing

COVID

My neighbor’s heart condition

Another neighbor’s children

COVID in the world

(cancer, too)

The horrid war in Ukraine

War in other places

Where it’s horrid

(always horrid)

Yemen, Myanmar, Sudan

Or violence undeclared

Peace thwarted

x

For food for everyone

Safe water

Safe living

I guess I can pray all these things

While walking

Pausing for crosswalks

Maybe I prayed for them now

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C L Couch

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Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash

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4

Born Again in the USA

(x = space)

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Born Again in the USA

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A sabbath time

To stop

To breathe

To wait for it

To be over

x

Counting the minutes

Of the homily

Or sermon

The teaching of the word

Waiting for communion

To be over

x

Now, where is the car?

How long will it take

To leave?

Thinking about

Food and rest and TV

After

The holy time

Set apart

Once a week if that

x

Bigger deal

Maybe wireless

For those who could

Be there

At Christmas and at Easter

What is wrong with

All these things

Is nothing

But set apart is set apart

x

Then the chance

To splice it

Graft it all together

Stronger, faster

Like the cyborg hybrid

Only real

Sacred and prophane

With blessings

Rain from an aspergillum

The scent of flowers

From a thurible

x

Sensations

Only God

Can bestow

In the world

And the world

Can respond

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Bas de Korte on Unsplash

“Storm in a few minutes.”

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