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clcouch123

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clcouch123

In conversation, I prefer Christopher. My mom named me after Christopher Robin, after all. In writing, I use “C L Couch” (or, more simply, “c l couch”) because the form is genderless and also frankly easier to use. I have awful writer’s cramp. I am an educator more or less retired, more or less due to disability. At present, I live in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania (USA). My writing here I mean to be occasional and also devotional. Either or both. The banner and profile photographs are by my friend and peer Debra Danielson. More of Debbie’s work to be enjoyed is at debradanielson.org. Thanks to each of you and both and all for coming to my blog.

The Killings in Thailand

(x = space)

x

x

The Killings in Thailand

x

They were brought

Juice and popcorn,

Dolls

Everything they’d need,

The children at the daycare center

x

But this was funereal

The children had

Died

Killed by a madman who killed

Others, too

Killed his family

Lastly, himself

x

The families brought juice and popcorn,

Dolls

Snacks and toys

To the daycare center

For the children to enjoy their day

x

Everyone had been to the temples

Then they came here

x

Come back home

Come back with us

x

The parents

Parents and the living family members

Said

Pleaded

Cried

While exuding dignity,

Respect

For everyone

x

Come back home

Come back with us

x

They were there

At the daycare

Leaving presents, organic things

Symbolic things

The children would have used

At their age

For their lives

In the daycare

x

Everyone had been to the temples

More to follow there

Now they are here

x

Come back home

Come back with us

x

They can’t;

Insanity

And criminality

Has taken them

x

Spirits

Journey

Hard

But shall be

Reunited

Wrongful death

Owns no victory

The children

Other victims

Know this now

They shouldn’t have to

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Charlotte Seo on Unsplash

x

0

Nearing Full

(x = space)

x

x

Nearing Full

x

The moon is yellow

The sky is blue

The clouds are silver

The stars are white

The branches have no color

Except the color

Of porch lights

x

It’s late again

The air is cool

Maybe in the fifties

Maybe forties,

Which is not so special

As a sign of autumn

In October

In these parts

But the days and nights

Have been too warm

Now the season

Is announced

x

We’ll have the chilly fall

And with the drop

To cold

At a propitious time

Beautiful leaf colors,

True

Autumn review

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Eleanor Brooke on Unsplash

x

0

Wicked, You Know

(x = space)

x

x

Wicked, You Know

x

Hello, Friday

Just after Thursday

Beyond the witching hour

By only a few

I drove back seeing lights

In front of houses

And beside

Orange and purple have been added

Fine by me

The colors of fall

Are enough

But the lights at night

Add romance with chill air

x

Reminders of ghost stories

The best kind of fear

New Englanders

(old Englanders, too)

Call wicked

Meaning good

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Will Swann on Unsplash

Blue Ridge Parkway, Canton, United States

x

3

Rocking

(x = space)

x

x

Rocking

x

God is with me

As I tilt back and forth

Considering the day

The possibilities

Though first counting

What is real

In the atmosphere

In my awareness

As the spheres pass through

Vibrating oh, so slowly,

With the timing of creation

Slow with majesty

And an offer

To commune

And (much more) slowly get it

Then to rise

Into the day

And its new hour

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Syed Hussaini on Unsplash

x

0

Shaping the Word of God

(x = space)

x

x

Shaping the Word of God

x

You know,

It didn’t come with numbers

Chapters and verses

I guess the whole thing was recited

As a book, we say

x

Then we moved on to another

The community

x

The interpreting community

Setting doctrine

As a group,

A denomination

Or on our own

Without a magisterium

x

Tricky doctrine-setters

How do they avoid a lie

In designation?

x

Maybe with the humility

Of Pietists

Or the Amish who

Set salvation as

A conditional process

We hope we’re saved

x

Meanwhile, we have

A book of books

Providing order,

Which is fine

Except when God is wild

In the wilderness,

Awaiting Moses

Beside the symbol and reality

(one comes first)

Of the burning tree

That will not consume

x

Remove your shoes,

Moses,

This is not a nine to five

This is a place above the desert

Thin blue air

For food

And doctrine from a flame

And from the words

One hears

Through the host

That is speaking

x

And if the order is to play,

Then be grateful

For bare feet

x

And we believe?

Our committees

And our meetings

All things gilt or burnished

For the Sunday best

To be best?

x

Might we go to Sinai

In a Thoreauvian way

Take all the time we need

Outside of shoes

To think it through

The bush will burn

There’s time

x

If need be,

Chronos will slip into kairos

For a while

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Raimond Klavins on Unsplash

Saint Catherine Monastery, Mount Sinai, Egypt

x

1

Cell Block

(x = space)

x

x

Cell Block

x

I don’t know that I’ve written

Anything

I like

Not that I have to like it

x

You have to like it,

That is, with textual

Appreciation

x

Or at least give me a break

To read

And then to have

Whatever frank reaction

            If good to tell me,

            If bad to keep it to yourself

            Kidding!

            (mostly)

x

I’ve been sitting by myself

Too long

Writing whatever

Looking up pretty pictures, too

x

I need to nap

Or go out to buy more coffee filters

One task then the other,

Recommending order

x

Later

Rested, filtered

Enjoy a tea time

(coffee time)

Then write some more

Or not

It’s not as if

There’s a contract

Yet

Except with myself, my own

Eccentric terms

x

I’m sure you understand

Defining, realizing

Your own discipline

As well

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by loli Clement on Unsplash

my sister’s coffee

Tigre, Argentina

x

2

two poems for young people

(x = space)

x

x

two poems for young people

x

x

Youth

x

They (you) look so young

Not like those near altars

Of antiquity

Who are forever beautiful

But cannot move

x

These might be cared for carefully

That youth might be preserved

Youth cannot be preserved

x

Youth might invest their own

(your own)

So that the coming days

Are rich

With age and wisdom,

Maybe things put by

x

But (you) run without avarice

Or even long ambition

Become parts of a transitory mural

That is bright

All colors

Shapes

At least three dimensions,

Which will have no museum

Save in memory

x

x

Locksmithing

x

Who holds the keys?

Why are there keys?

Why are their locks?

What is kept?

What must be freed

Up with which

From being locked?

x

Behind the door

Once opened

Nothing might be withheld

But secrets of the arrogance

The avarice in

Withholding

Private parties

Boring,

Frightening without joy

From the absconded powerful

x

There might be secrets

For the young to own

(they, you

should have mentors)

If taught or teach themselves

(yourselves)

How to

Break out

x

This is the story

Of the end of age’s

Generation

The beginning of another

An ownership

That could calcify

So-called in privilege

Or turn around

Turn everything around

Toward all the growth

In revelation

And unwithheld resources

For life

With invention

Food, that is, and challenge

x

Keeping democracy

(boo say some, but)

We need it

x

x

C L Couch

x

x

Burned Out at the Salton Sea

Photo by Tina Rataj-Berard on Unsplash

x

0

La Paz

(x = space)

x

x

La Paz

x

I don’t mean peace

As ideal

We can’t have ideals now

Not on this side of things

x

But we can have a working peace

Something for day to day

For ordinary

Do I mean compromise?

Don’t know—I mean

Talking about it,

Which I imagine will mean

Negotiation form time to time

My nation grows food

Mine has technology

Mine is famous for a labor force

Come on,

Let’s have peace

x

More than a show,

Of course,

And something that admits our flaws

Because we are flawed

And for all we know the world’s flawed

And the cosmos, overall;

And who knows?

We might have had a hand in all that

x

But we’re talking real peace

It must admit virtues and vice

Good days and bad

Rampant egos that on the good days

Know restraint,

While restraint is now the law

There are also mistakes

And errors

These are not sins

Though there are also sins

Deserving of confession

To confessors

And then the fixing-up

x

We can do this:

We can have a real peace

Then everything we grow

Will grow

And each one will have one’s own

(don’t worry about a term for that)

And we can legitimately

Aim for the stars

Worthy of the company

Of all the objects

All the beings

We encounter

x

There is more to say about this

More to figure

Maybe I’ll have time

You’ll have time

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Wonderlane on Unsplash

x

0

An Angel Visits Francis

(x = space)

x

x

An Angel Visits Francis

x

I speak to God today

God is quiet

Not uninvolved

With nothing noisy

To contribute

Beyond the rain outside

The singing tires

The occasional movement

Inside

From a neighbor

Or from me

x

I wonder when an angel

Visits Francis

How it goes

No, don’t get up

Relax the hand with the ring

No doubt you lift the office

With an instinct

Anymore

I’m here to rest with you

For a moment

To be still

You know the issues

And the crises in the world

One of us will tell you

When there are

Awful surprises

You are doing well

We are

I am

Sorry when you’re sick

The age and job

Do take it out of you

You could retire

Like your peer

Sometimes I think

He has the better part

But I don’t think you’ll give up

‘Til you have the sense

You’re done

Remember I am here

We are here

We fly around you

Dance with happiness

Or grief

You know we are not

The round things of the Renaissance

But are might beings

Wide in span

And awful

As in full of awe

To know us

And carry power

You know whose

And are ready

Should you wish us to defend

Evil forefend

Should you wish to rest with us around

And when you’re ready

To be escorted

Even carried

Home

x

We are will

And we love you

x

Back to me

And God is ready for your voice

When you wish to speak

Or keep it in your mind

The better things

Are in your heart

We’re told,

Which means your spirit

The spirit of the Lord

Is with you, too,

Waking or sleeping

Like the song

Agents of God

Angels and nature

Sing around you

Sometimes difficult

Impossible, it seems,

To hear

But singing nonetheless

The music of the spheres

The song that’s in your sphere

Of hope

And love

To resonate with good things

To navigate the bad

There is help

In that

In both

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by gil on Unsplash

x

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