Epiphaneity
Epiphany
Twelfth Night
Also
Orthodox Christmas
Yet in the west
We have the
Magi
Visiting
The child
With the mother
And adoptive father
And since
Liturgy
Respects only its
Chronology
We might mainly note
Today
The baptism
By
The cousin John
Of the child now grown
Now
Authorized by the
Spirit
As a dove
Then the child
Grown
Journeys into
Wilderness
C L Couch
Le Jourdain au site du Baptême, en Jordanie.
By Jean Housen - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11820699
Kneeling
I’m sorry
I’m tired
I’m sorry I’m tired
I should have given more
In better ways
To serve the Lord
The people of the Lord
The planet of
The Lord
And shall you forgive me
I think you shall
Because you’re perfect
At such things
And I am punishing myself
And you know that
And yet you love me
With a perfect love
Not to let me off the hook
Any more
Than to let me go
There’s color in repentance
Moving from
The black and white of sin
The stories in which
Color
Wondrously appears
As if we’d never known
Such a thing
Before
There’s texture
There are layers
In the Earth
They have colors
Too
Everything is better
We can hear
The colors
From within
And taste them on the surface
Through and through
We let
Everything improve
As health
After sickness
When we never thought
To feel
At all well
Again
C L Couch
Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash
I am trying the “Verse” option in WordPress, because in part I think I should; and at least I miss having to type Xes for spaces. I’m not sure how it’s going; I’m not sure what you receive, even though I proofread graphically as well. I’ll keep trying. Thanks for reading.
Tollers
Yesterday
His birthday
The day before
My brother’s
For who shall be
My brother
Well
My brother
Though I could meet
Him
In the Bird and Baby
As in a pub
He met
With Dracula
(a good story
that)
And I shall send a card
To my brother
Through electrons
And there shall be
Good wishing
In a meeting
With him
Too
That may
Or may not happen
Though we know
We can’t see
Tollers
Save on pages
And having seen
His son
Once
At a conference
At which I read
A paper
About riddles
C L Couch
notes
Henry V, Act IV, Scene 3.18 ff
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, 3 January 1892 – 2 September 1973
Steven Eric Couch, 2 January
Photo by Tarik Haiga on Unsplash [kind of mixing up Tolkien’s use of dragons with the Year of the Dragon approaching]
photograph of one who stands different
(flash fiction challenge--the photograph reacted to is at Melissa's site, link below)
she’d like to talk
I think
she has things to say
and has invested in earth colors
and a visible presence
in a crowd
inside a city
who might keep her from talking?
well
she’s surrounded by black forms
hoods
perhaps hijabs like hers
(though hers is kindly brown)
and on the other side
black uniforms
of police
who also wear
visors hard to see through
and though we cannot see them
there must be weapons
somewhere
she has no actual platform
for her platform
there is a sign close by
she might be holding it
ironically
it says
SILENCE IS VIOLENCE
because
well
it is
silence is violence
if the silence is words
frightened
or (otherwise) brutalized
away from utterance
out of consideration
for fear of weaponry
arrest
and isolation
which would
once again
be silence
and this is a message
to the rest
that keeping silent
is through indifference
or only taciturn
approval
a kind of violence
in and of itself
we let it happen
let the wrong things happen
or keep
the right words
the protest words
the revealing words
get out
it’s like the leave to vote
and then
not bothering
infantilizing values
of democracy
her mouth is covered
I don’t know if
from cultural requirement
protection
from infection
or to illustrate her point
she is not tall
which is to say
everyone is taller
all around her
though she (or whoever)
holds the sign high
higher than everyone
to make her point
and maybe find
an invitation
to speak out
from up higher
sometime
she is not subjugated
yet
she’s there
she’s standing
and the sign is standing
not to mention
that the line
of her suit jacket
sends a message
of some fashion
something lined
through razored words
through silence
after all
the eyes are windows
clearly open
though the message
of a moment
might need more
some exchange
some blinking
we could get
from being there
but she needs to talk
everyone there
everyone here
needs to hear
and heed
what she has to say
the need is ours
outside the frame
to find her
and the source of words
and more
in principle
and action
to take away
C L Couch
(for) Melissa’s Flash Fiction Challenge #249
https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/2024/01/01/melissas-fandango-flash-fiction-challenge-249/
(tag #FFFC)
Photo by Priscilla Gyamfi on Unsplash
Chalk writing on the street near the George Floyd memorial in Minneapolis. "Together we will change the world."
This Is the Song that Never Ends
Or would you like to
Swing on a star
Carry moonbeams
Home in a jar
And be better off than you are
Or would you rather be a—
(verses for blanks)
Which is a kind of song
That loops
So easily
After the movie
Then throughout the day
And we might wake with it
The next day
I just checked
Jimmy and Johnny
Made the song
(called Jimmy and Johnny
as James and Jonathan
tended to be
back then
like Johnny Williams
in the sixties
before Jaws
and Star Wars)
I think
I heard it once
On Captain Kangaroo
It really is a pleasant song
Existential animals
Notwithstanding
And I think they might excuse us
For our foibles
Symbolized
And what is a song for you
That goes ‘round
In what you wonder
Might become
An attitude
Frustrated
Though for now
As you go through it
It goes through you
(and it might be a long song)
Inciting joy
To go with something else
A chore
Or bigger thought
That occupies
Reminding
Or informing
You are better than you are
Swing on a star
C L Couch
Photo by Oleg Sergeichik on Unsplash
(out of) Gomel, Belarus
“Swinging on a Star”
Writers: Jimmy Van Heusen, Johnny Burke
Publisher: Kanjian Music, Music Sales Corporation
https://songfacts.com/lyrics/bing-crosby/swinging-on-a-star
"The Song That Doesn't End" (also referred to as "The Song That Never Ends")
written by Bernard Rothman
for Shari Lewis
(1988)
Wikipedia
the wanderer
(after losing everything)
winter arrives
there might be a storm
of ice and snow
in days
I’m not ready
but I’m never ready
not when I have so little
with which
to endure
I’d sell my soul
for food
and warmth
but God won’t let me
there is still the notion
of my soul
that is
assayed as worthless here
but might
be worth something
set on a scale
for heaven
so I shall
persist
until my spirit
has run dry
of blood
and will
and pray to God
that I’ll be taken easily
once warmed before I die
and only so much
before
having arrived
I’m washed in comfort
and apology
in paradise
c l couch
inspired by “The Wanderer,” a poem from a millennium ago at least, and by pressing issues now
photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash
Once and Future
Camelot has fallen
The last knight rides
Away
Into the sunrise
Of the first day of the year
So Tennyson decided
Maybe based on information
Or more by
Insight
That had moved the poet
Through
Construction
And destruction
The rising
And the falling
Raised by music
Like cathedrals
Or said the poet’s peers
By the command of
Merlin
While depicting in
What must have seemed
Indomitable stone
All ascent and descent
In
Human ages
By
The wizard’s art
At its command
Now fallen also
The unearthly being
Sealed away
For now
And we are left
To ride away with Bedivere
Into our uncertain year
As
A matter of courses
When this hearing is done
And in our case
Unready for the courts
Ideals
By betrayals
Story-slain
As if by Mordred
Also
Guinevere
And Lancelot
All exposed
As our
Baser impulses toward
Ruination
Wrecking the foundation
Into rubble
That can
Support nothing like
The comely towers
Anymore
What kind of year
Is this
Where is the refuge
For the refugees
Shall Camelot be rebuilt
If only by words
In songs
Until we have the might
For right
To try again
With mortar in
Our stanzas
For now
On this first day
The sounds of riding
Harsh
Like our discourse
Now concluded
‘Til we open up
The pages of our lives
Again
While in a distant place
Already to be set
In camouflage by nature
The final
Burning
Broken stones of the last battle
Settle into
What had been
A part of Earth
More glorious
Somehow
By us
C L Couch
. . .
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.
from “The Passing of Arthur,” concluding Idylls of the King by Arthur, Lord Tennyson
Photo by Jigar Panchal on Unsplash
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