The Artist of the Beautifuler

(x = space)

The Artist of the Beautifuler

Ain’t life grand

And all we behold

Upon the Earth

Above

Below

Inside the ground

And waters

Of the Lord

The glory of first days

The foundation

For our virtue

Or our sin

For we must admit

We can do both

So much is

Left to us

It always has been

As far as we’ve known

An always

Our time

Anthropocene

‘Til a robot age

Take over

Sighing lubrication

Into ancient joints

That keep the world

As if

We were coming by

Again

That the god who made them

Will forgive them

In the failure that they own

In the fight against our future

That we

Not they

Had lost

They can renew themselves

And mostly

They are standing by

C L Couch

a bit of science fiction

thinking about City by Clifford D. Simak and the after-war chapter (on Earth) of The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

Photo by Redd F on Unsplash

clcouch123

I prefer Christopher in conversation. In writing, I use C L Couch because it’s a genderless form of my name and, frankly, easier—I have severe writer’s cramp. I mean to be a poet writing spiritual and occasional verse. The photographs used permanently here—for the banner, for my profile—were taken by Debra Danielson, a photographer and friend. You may enjoy more of her work at debra.danielson.org. If you would credit me when quoting my work, I'd be thankful. As I am thankful for your presence here.

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