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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.

How They Carry the Good News

(x = space)

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How They Carry the Good News

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I’m not sure what I’ll

Write today,

But there will be something

Something about me

And you

God and the whole world,

Which we sing is in

God’s hands

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I suppose an earthquake

Might mean

That something is slipping through

The fingers,

A flood might mean

Too many tears

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The birds might carry news

Carried by the wind,

Another agency

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They hear the talking

In the trees

And what stones say

Between buildings

Some shining,

Some in ruins

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I guess there are words

From all over Earth

While the moon

Sings in response

And the stars

Oscillate their notes as well

For any

Who are listening

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Let those who hear,

May—not

With ears

But with supernal apparatus

That repression

Or suppression might affect

But is with us, still

Too deep, perhaps

Though there is

A law of freedom

That

I’ve heard about

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C L Couch

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“How They Carried the Good News from Ghent to Aix” is a poem by Robert Browning.

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Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash

At a gymkhana show in Warner Springs. These two make a formidable duo, galloping across the arena and then coming to a sliding stop to make a sharp turn around a pole (out of range to the left). They take my breath away.

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Own

(x = space)

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Own

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So, Lord,

What shall we have

Today?

We shall have burnt toast,

It seems,

My fault

The coffee is all right

Except now the

Button doesn’t work

That turns if on and off,

The last

Of many things, I think,

That say it’s

Time for another

Will you lead me to another

Coffeemaker, Lord?

Or have an angel do that,

Please?

So small

And there are many things

So much larger

(the ocean is so large,

and my boat is so small)

But things push

The economy, I suppose,

And angels

Are your agents

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There are clouds

There might be rain,

Perhaps a storm

This is your day

Because you made it

This is my day

Because my choices

Matter in it

Because of will

And degrees of determination,

This day belongs

To all of us

I wonder how we’ll own it

I wonder what we’ll do

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C L Couch

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Stormy Stornoway

Photo by Lachlan Gowen on Unsplash

Stornoway, United Kingdom

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Catbird

(x = space)

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Catbird

(recalled)

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I’d like to speak

Of God

But sometimes silence

Is called for

To listen to the maybe

Maybe something grand

Maybe single

Bird-call

Can one hear the dawn

Or the vibrations in

The setting sun?

Hearing apparatus

Is not required

So much as to

Open up whoever we are

Enough to gather in

What the quiet Earth

Has to say

A gift for any, all the senses

We may have

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Speak through the Earth

If we are mute

Savor unimpeded,

Unreconstituted wind

If we have lost our

Sense of taste

Let the sun move us through

The day

If we have no movement

Otherwise

What we’ve had,

What we’ve never had,

What we’ve lost

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We have so much

To take in

Then contribute

To the cause,

Nourishing

And strengthening

All our

Good communities

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C L Couch

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On the Road from Stanley to Boise, Idaho

By TonyCastro – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83018649

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Rain

(x = space)

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Rain

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Heatwave and thunderstorms

That’s all we got

Church is still on-line,

Though I guess it doesn’t have to be

Watching the delta variant

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The sermon’s about encouragement

That’s good

Providing it, however, with

Prudence and with wisdom,

Which is better

To say that everyone’s amazing

Overdoes it

In making, it is true

Each life is extraordinary

But for all the lives unmade,

What shall we say?

That there was less extraordinary?

Maybe it’s the application

Of the Pickering social theory

In that it’s how we treat

Each other

And each one

If you want to value life,

Then offer drink safely to everyone

Feed everyone

Make and offer shelter

To everyone

Peace for security

The chance for learning

The chance for work

That complements

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Sometimes saints are martyred

By pagan foes,

Sometimes by the believing

Church itself

Believing more in institution

And a sanctity in politics

Control and profit

Over faith and vision

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Savor belief instead

Feed the children

And the youth

And the grown-ups

With all things that we need,

And I will hear the nations

And the corporations

Claim

That we care

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C L Couch

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1 Thessalonians 5:11

(Hebrews 10:24)

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Raindrops keep falling on my window pane.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

London, United Kingdom

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The A T

(x = space)

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The A T

(from Maine to Georgia)

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The trail goes

Uphill and down

Around big cities,

I imagine,

Nearer to small towns

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There is a station

Near me,

Which must be

A welcome sight

To trail-goers

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I should

Go in sometime,

Though I’m

Not qualified

Having only walked

The trail

For an hour or so

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I doubt

There are brandy kegs

Or Saint Bernards

To go with them

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There might be

Maps,

Maybe words

Of encouragement

Left by other hikers,

Other errants,

Other pilgrims

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Who wanted to

Accomplish something

Or own some

Really long spells

For thinking

Or simply

Had to take

A long, long walk

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Safety can’t be

Guaranteed,

As it is an adventure

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C L Couch

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We hiked up Blood Mountain in a thick mist, the air sharp and refreshing as the clouds shifted around us at shoulder height. When we reached the summit, we found ourselves perfectly sandwiched between two cloud shelves. For the most part, our view was white and void for a nondescript distance, but for moments here and there, mountains and valleys emerged, both in the blankets of clouds and visible briefly beneath.

Photo by Mitchell Griest on Unsplash

Blood Mountain Shelter, Blairsville, United States

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Appalachian National Scenic Trail (U.S. National Park Service) (nps.gov)

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Appalachian Trail Conservancy

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Sigh

(x = space)

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Sigh

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Something less dangerous

I wish the world could be safer

But we don’t build with

The best materials,

And too easily we go to war

And the virtue is not not-cheating

But not getting caught

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C L Couch

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Scrap Yard

Photo by Taylor Grote on Unsplash

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Law of Love

(x = space)

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Law of Love

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What does

God want of us?

Through the prophets,

We are told

To walk humbly

With an arch concern for

Justice,

More generally

To repent

And turn toward God,

The people

And the nation

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Through Moses

We are given

Laws from God

On Sinai,

Starting with

The ten laws that

We know,

Most of which

Tell us what not

To do

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God speaks

Through angels

And sometimes

Maybe

God speaks through us

In smaller ways,

Perhaps

One to another

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The measure,

The pendulum

That swings with ease

When set with

Accord

Should be love

That might be difficult

And hard

And sacrificial

But moves with equanimity

Respecting all

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Sometimes in silence

Bearing nonetheless

The message

Of the prophets

Of the angels

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All enact

The law of love

(James would say

the law

of freedom)

And thus

Are closing in

On what God wants

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C L Couch

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12 Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, 13 because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

James 2 (Christian New Testament, New International Version)

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The Old Bell

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

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You Know

(x = space)

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You Know

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I don’t know

I should have something

More to say

How are you?

What’s up with you?

What have you read

Or heard,

Seen or

Smelled, Tasted

Or touched?

How is the world for you

These days?

I hope you’re well

And having a good day

You deserve it

And to be told so

Many times

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C L Couch

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Friends

Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash

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A Song about Creation

(x = space)

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A Song about Creation

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I am a Calvinist who

(enough of a Calvinist

who)

Believes the world has

Fallen with the first

Sin we decided to take on

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The world should

Be different, though there

Are reminders everywhere

In nature, in the

Morning, in the soft way

That evening falls

Sometimes

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Maybe it’s in newborn

Life that we have

The promise of creation

To be constant if not perfect,

Wonders in asymmetry

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Science and religion

Taken over by

The awe that greets us

In the mornings of

Every hour, every day

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Hexagons and spirals,

Nature seems

To favor these

(bee cells and nautili,

for instance)

And nebulae sometimes

Look like one-celled wonders

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And for all the shapes

And sizes

In leaves and roots,

Mitochondria, and the

So-much larger flesh outside

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Above and under all we know,

There is amazement

In waking to creation

Remade in amazement

Until “Earth and all stars”

Be renewed perfectly

One day,

A moment

Signaling forever

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C L Couch

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“Earth and All Stars,” a hymn composed by David N. Johnson

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Photo by Gabi Scott on Unsplash

Denver Museum of Nature & Science

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