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September 2022

What Number Pain Today

(x = space)

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What Number Pain Today

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I don’t know

Or recall

Who came up with

Quiet desperation

Perhaps a modern poet

I hope you

Don’t have to live that way

Something inside

That found its way

A sidling kind of thing

That won’t let go

It could be memory

Or money

The potential for a  scandal

Or simply a lot of pain

Not the kind that

Inspires a statue

And who needs that?

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Pain is a reaction

A response

Also a signal

Can keep in the inner workings

Working

It should have an end

Not simply a measure

But that’s what

Therapy

Or medication’s for

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Or simply bearing

Old body pains

A place of wounding

In the spirit

We can keep

Except sometimes we can’t

Then the therapy

Or medication’s needed

Prayer

Companionship

Companionship in prayer

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Aquarius bears water

The libation bearers, well,

Libation

As offerings

Atlas

Or the elephant

Bears the world

And there’s the story of Saint Christopher

Who carried Christ, not knowing

It was Christ, through water

And a storm

And the child’s weight increasing

Until the one who carried him must say

He bore the weight

Of the world

And did bear

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Carry weights

And pains

And as pains are signals

Pay attention

Carry,

I mean carry,

Carry on

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C L Couch

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Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

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the phrase “quiet desperation” is by Thoreau in Walden

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The Game of Life

(x = space)

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The Game of Life

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I’m not ready

I wasn’t ready for my

Comprehensives

I did fine

I wasn’t ready

For my mother to be sick

I did what I could

I contributed

She rallied

I won’t be ready

For the next big thing,

I think in children’s media called

The NBT

I doubt we’re ready

For most things,

You know?

They happen anyway

And we respond

We do well

We don’t

We try

We retreat

We come out again

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We are changed

For the next time

Though it might not be

In kind

But we pick up things

They get tucked away

Consequently,

And whether consciously or not,

We can reach into the drawer

Of the file cabinet

Pull open the door

Of the mind palace

At a little more

Since in the keep

As in the world

There are treasures

Set from the beginning

And we’re always

On the hunt

Solving the riddle

Finding other puzzles

Finding keys

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Life, folks

That’s what we got

In all this

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C L Couch

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A Game of Concordia

Photo by Karthik Balakrishnan on Unsplash

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Old

(x = space)

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Old

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We get old

Forgetting we were young

No one would believe us

White hair

No hair

Everything takes longer

We wonder what to do with our day

An irony

On irony

We know more

Unless we gave that up

Stopping in our heads

Sometime ago

We could grow

We have things to say

Who wants to listen?

The gray become unseen

Unheard

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C L Couch

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Photo by Alice on Unsplash

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Abbey Road

(x = space)

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Abbey Road

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Tomorrow

A service

At Westminster

The building will serve

The people will be served

With liturgical goodbyes

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I don’t know what she wrote for

Entry into Poets’ Corner

Maybe nothing

Maybe she’ll only visit there

From time to time

To listen

To the works

Or the squabbles

Among minds

(the laureates she knew

plus others)

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We may salute her

For her military service

“Princess Auto Mechanic”

And she knew her work

Dear in wartime

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Or try this—Your Majesty

Elizabeth

We hard knew ye

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C L Couch

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Photo by abdullah ali on Unsplash

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Genesism

(x = space)

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Genesism

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We were thrown out:

Don’t blame Eve,

I don’t;

The serpent could have

Just as easily

Caught Adam first

And both fall

After choosing to take bites

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And if you believe

The woman had such power,

Go ahead—I

Wouldn’t stop you

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Did they see the angel,

Looking back?

The orange or the yellow

Of a blade on fire?

Feel the heat?

Did they know for sure

They must go another way,

Not to return

For ages?

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Well, they were given

Clothing,

They were given curses

Also callings,

They knew what they’d have to do

To live;

And so with their descendants,

So with us,

The myth goes on

For hunters and for music;

We build a tower

To do better than the curses

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The tower falls;

We cannot speak to each other,

Anymore

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So we build in separation;

Cities rise

And as must follow

Empire:

Strong people rule somehow

And we let their children rule

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Was it worship

Or respect

Or indifference?

We had our farms to tend;

Soon there would be machines

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We raised walls

To keep ourselves upon the plains,

Set outposts in the mountains,

Surrounded waterways,

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And with food

And bright blades

Secured the promises

Of generations

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Nation went to war

Against nations;

Many gods were worshipped,

Some directed

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We have stone

And paper manuscripts

And ruins upon ruins

That are testimonies

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And are we rising?

We hope so;

There are awful, lateral movements

And descensions—call

Them massacres,

Call slavery,

Call rule by one

With only one served,

One living well

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Democracy is rising;

Call it something else;

We keep at it

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How about

Soon we grow

Without anything but growth?

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After-Eden flaws remain;

Maybe we’ll understand at last

Divinities approving

Of mortality,

Mortal accountancy

In meeting needs,

Accountability,

Repentance,

And renewal

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Rockets go toward the moon,

Soon with people

Who will stay awhile

While we aim for Mars,

Send rockets to the rest;

We hope the Voyagers

Will find friends

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We’re not perfect,

We’re not even better

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If we keep our flaws,

And we own mortality

Then we’ll do all right

For legacy:

The joy in now

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C L Couch

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Water, Light, and Long Shutter Speeds

Photo by Ahmad Dirini on Unsplash

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Prevarication

(x = space)

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Prevarication

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How do I write about my brother

Again

And be ready one more time?

The doctor gave him time

Then that was it,

The doctor said

. . .

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C L Couch

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Photo by jules a. on Unsplash

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Mortal Timing

(x = space)

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Mortal Timing

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It’s cool today

Thank goodness

I am thankful

I guess I can’t haiku this

No artful three-line

Praise

Or only observation

Out of nature

Yet nature should be thanked

We are lucky in this hemisphere

Just now

North enough

And south enough

(ecumenically)

Praise fall’s invocation

Of bright colors

Praise the God

Who shows us grace

With autumn

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Someday

The seasons mesh

Their virtues celebrating

All together

How trees will bear fall colors

While serving new life below

As spring

And summer

Under winter’s cover

We don’t know

(maybe there will be quarters of

seasons’ perfection)

But it is heaven

And new Earth

And these miracles will work

Like clear gold

In the streets of

New Jerusalem

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C L Couch

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The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each made of a single pearl.  The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.

Revelation 21:21

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Photo by Steven Cordes on Unsplash

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Let Angel Minds Inquire More (two poems)

(x = space)

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Let Angel Minds Inquire More

(two poems)

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And Can It Be

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The stakes are doomsday,

The life of the world

There are sides

There is disbelief

There is, as people have,

Denial

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What comes next

Is mystery

The greedy hope to outlive everyone

At the cost of everyone (else)

There is delusion

All around

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Maybe we’ve given up

On bomb shelters

Except the big ones no one knows

The war is still blue

With cold

There are madmen all around

Maybe madwomen

Maybe not

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That They Should Gain

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There are those who gain from this

While the bombs are kept at bay

(in bays)

Accruing

At the cost of someone else

Reducing supply,

Raising prices

Getting us used to

Three dollars a gallon

Against the early day

When it was thirty-five cents

Or the day

A while before

To fill the tank on two dollars

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Should we lose it all

Maybe not in war

Maybe in destroying Earth

In other ways

(we know these, too)

We won’t believe

It is that bad

Or we shall gain it all

Back again

And more

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In less

We think there’s more

A trickster’s game

The raven sometimes has a plan

To teach us

Something

There is hope

In its cry

It cannot be

Too late

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C L Couch

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with thanks to Charles Wesley, brother of John

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By © User:Colin / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48615973

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Gospel According to Today

(x = space)

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Gospel According to Today

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The gospel for today

Is pick something

Choose something like a star

Says Frost

Or enter through time’s wrinkle

Teaches L’Engle

Who taught us to type this way?

They have names

And objects as names

They are the first typewriter

Makers, manufacturers,

And agents

Not bad people

How would we have got this far?

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Forget them all today

Go outside

And listen for good news

Type it on your minds

Let your tongues be pages

As you tell

Others

What is wonderful

And challenging

And terrible

And potential

In the day

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C L Couch

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Photo by alyssa teboda on Unsplash

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