(x = space)
x
x
Give It Up
x
How childish
I sound to myself
When I think
Cynically
Cynical is futility
We have
Que será será
It is what it is
For defense
A shield from
Reality of change
Rather settling
Into the world’s wisdom
Trying on
The burden of
A chain
That has no chance
For change
No hope here,
Thank you
Only resignation
You want change,
Talk with
The cult meeting over
Somewhere
One side of the Galilean
Waters
Or the other
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by james ballard on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Desert Talk
x
A breeze
Does much good
A wind
Is too much
Nothing so severe
x
A breeze
Under the arch
Encourages
Either rest or conversation
Encouragement to think
Or talk
To troubles
x
Or of the wisdom of God
Known through
The prophets
And perhaps
Revelation
In the breeze
Under the arch,
In our talk
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Dim Gunger on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Gift Exchange
x
A moment for a moment
An exchange for something better
If it had to be a memory
A moment when things seemed right
In the world,
Then I’d have to ask for something better
Something beyond me
Something good for you as well,
And the circle
That we are
And live upon
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Presenced
x
It should not come to this
But God
Rescue us
With miracle
Maybe miracles all around
Friend and foe alike
Even on the blooded field
Now turned
For fallow ground
Ready for
New planting
New heaven and new
Earth
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Quaritsch Photography on Unsplash x
(x = space)
x
x
Break, Break, Break
x
I feel the weight
Of everything
And my heart can’t take it
Well, it can
I hope it can
It’s the manifestations of emotions
The effects
Of what has happened
Bad news
Does it get worse
Or does it feel worse?
Maybe I’m enduring
Or preparing
Where is Nietzsche’s strength?
Whatever doesn’t kill us
Leaves scars
Hard tissue
And doesn’t acclimate us
Better than
A more pedestrian process
x
No, as it goes on
We might become inured
While underneath
Our hearts
Break and break again
x
C L Couch
x
x
“Break, Break, Break”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
x
Photo by Tobias Tullius on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
weight of glory
x
what do we say
sometimes the weight is too much
it presses down like gravity
on a wide planet far away
x
is there grace in the stars
the kind that made them,
I suppose
the love that means covalence
molecular intimacy
and from there through our bodies
back to the stars
x
c l couch
x
x
photo by Radu Chelariu on Unsplash
when I saw this at first, I thought it was a field of stars
x
(x = space)
x
x
Homers
x
A brother gone
Another brother going
Like homers from the park
What’s on the other side
Of the stadium,
We wonder
Though we know
The town outside
The city of disorganized noise
With the ritual
Inside the designed
Space
With bases and a plate
Clean lines
Maintained swarths of green
This is what we know
x
On the other side
Is chaos
And unknown
There are streets in heaven
There might be traffic patterns
Something to guide
The hit,
The sail home
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Andrew Jephson on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Ranger Rick
x
Last I dreamed about
My brother Rick
And about raccoons
Raccoons probably because
I saw images of red pandas
And understand
That red pandas are not bears
But more like raccoons
x
My brother Rick because
We’re talking about
His last months
And hospice
x
Raccoon Rick
Wasn’t there a Ranger Rick
And was he, if he, not a raccoon?
Or was the raccoon
A sidekick or an animated
Symbol generally
Like Smokey the Bear?
x
Telling us
To live safely
Preventing forest fires
By keeping our own
Fires inside the ring
And dousing them completely,
After
x
Safety toward
Cancer, metastasized
Keep everyone comfortable,
I suppose
Deal palliatively
Everyone on all sides
Of the cancer
Fighting, still
As much as they can
Capability
Will
The fight
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Michael Payne on Unsplash
x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
Death and Saint Patrick’s Day
(17 March 2022)
x
There has been
A death in the family
We will gather tonight
It might seem
As a wake
Though really it’s for comfort
Something pleasant
In all the difficulty
x
Which is maybe what
A wake is
Why the Irish developed
The remembrance
Bittersweet
Like coffee with sugar
Porter in a glass
x
Though the glasses
Won’t be broken
Ritually,
It might feel like a christening
Launching a spirit
Into heaven
While
Our part in having something
Unofficially good to do
x
Goodbye
Farewell
Fair winds, as sailors
From many nations say,
And following seas
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
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