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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.

No Woman Is an Island

(x = space)

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No Woman Is an Island

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I exhale a puff of air

Carbon dioxide

And yet that’s all right for kissing

And for lifting the lungs

Of someone who’s in trouble

And not breathing

The kiss of life, we call it

And it is

Both sides of air being good

The oxygen, the CO-2

Both give life all around

Our daily allies on the planet

Are the plants in our

Inhale-exhale

Symbiosis

All is relationship

No one goes alone

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C L Couch

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No Man Is an Island, a poem, a contemplation, a movie, a song

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Photo by Kyle Wagner on Unsplash

Allan Gardens Children’s Conservatory, Toronto, Canada

the greenhouse

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Tontines

(x = space)

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Tontines

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Good morning, Monday

And to all of you

I hope the weekend brought some pleasure

Some enjoyment

That lives inside

Your living, now

I hope that Tuesday’s grand as well

But today is today

I’d like the present moment

The next present moment

To be good for you

As if there were a promise kept

By forces unseen

Or heard

But sometimes felt like

Two-way touches in the wind,

Smelled and tasted, too

Like Sabbath-keeping

Or peace in

An hour of prayer

A walk inside a forest

Or the palace of the mind

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C L Couch

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Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

302002, Jaipur, India

While visiting the Gaitor site in India’s pink city (known for its pink mud walls), we came to a temple with beautiful, carved figures. Noticing the birds, I took my camera and all of sudden a whole group of them leapt into the sky.

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Saga

(x = space)

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Saga

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How could one approach the tomb

The great stone pushed aside,

The guards dispersed

And not think

Something awful

Maybe tactical

Has happened?

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To carry spices for another chance

To see the body that

Once housed the spirit

Loved in life

To hope the guards would help

Them get inside

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Stories vary

As they do,

But what is known by all

Is that he was not there

And did an angel

Or himself

Appear to tell

The first page

Of another story,

A new following

An invitation

To believe

To love, again

Once and forever?

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Angel or gardener

Or Christ himself appeared

The first day of a new week

After the Jewish sabbath

Followed by the faithful

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And what should happen next

But ages of crimes

For the new religion

Egos and errors

Chastising opinions,

Doctrinal matters?

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The movement thankfully

Still moves

With time to get it right

No universal way

Except for universal fondness

Of each other

And the stranger

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Still pondering

With too much inaction

Over the debate

Who is my neighbor?

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Good Christians, all, rejoice

Love this day

And each other

And the stranger

Love because

God tells us to

And in God’s perfection

Translated to mortality

For a while,

Our hope is in an Easter morning

Quiet, dark, bearing

An opportunity for faith

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Rejoicing, cries

Reasons to have faith

And celebrate

An Easter morning, day,

And night when it will once again

Be quiet

For our souls

And into Monday morning

When

Secular time takes over

And we live in faith

Inside a spirit

All our spirits

Breathing in the air

Of thanksgiving and

Holy opportunity

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A life of faith

And love

In all imperfect, broken

Forms and functions,

A life in which to say

Thank you

I love you

To God and then each other,

Easter morning inspired

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C L Couch

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Photo by Oumaima Ben Chebtit on Unsplash

Chefchaouen The Blue Pearl شفشاون الجوهرة الزرقاء, Chefchaouen, Morocco

old door

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Who Wins

(x = space)

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Who Wins

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An empty room

Where there might have been a meal

Smell the hope and then the fear

And here’s a garden

Pretty

There was violence here

Now the plot is done,

Everything realized

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Another foe

Who sought to shift the blame

From Rome to us

Our need to have an enemy

To stoke our places

In tradition

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The others should be caught

The followers

No hurry

The serpent is now headless

Only nerves remain

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The world has won

And we are glad

Our own strategy to overthrow

Goes back into a box

In which there is less silver

To count

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An easy price

To pay

For indolence

Now back to lethargy

We have time

And everything is scheduled quiet

Scheduled noise

Again

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C L Couch

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Photo by Daniel Katz on Unsplash

Masada

Lookout through ancient Masada building.

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Good for Someone

(x = space)

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Good for Someone

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He cried out,

Then death was quiet

Silencing everything

At last

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And was there keening,

I think so

For a time

Then silence imposed

By Jerusalem,

By Rome

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The Earth exhausted,

Unknowing  silence

That was a matter of salvation:

Now we say not dead

But sleeping

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Sin is quiet

For a time

(for three days)

Waiting

Wondering about

What will happen next,

What it should

Do

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Sin awaits

A guideline

Now that

God is dead

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Should there be smirking

Or a party by

The gates of hell

While Earth

And all humanity must wait,

Though we must think it’s over

Why might we think

Something new

Should happen now?

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We forget our stories

Let go all prophecy

We had our

King for a day

The welcome of a hero

Who has died with open wounds

Somehow bleeding

For the rest of us

New ritual

Or sacrifice of old

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A burial is proper,

If hurried

To be done by sunset,

Sunset all;

Wounded and sleeping

Earth is covered over

With a stone,

Setting a guard to

Keep it all that way

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Cruelty is tired

Everything must sleep

For a while, now

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C L Couch

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Photo by kyle larivee on Unsplash

New England, USA

it seemed like mother nature wanted to spotlight this fellow

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In Antioch

(x = space)

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In Antioch

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I walked by the campus

A few times

While visiting

In Yellow Springs

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I didn’t belong there

Though I wish I could:

A progressive place,

Sometimes angry

Famously

But with tradition

And understanding

Of good doctrine

x

I’d like the hope

Of being there

In this week my sect

Calls holy

On a dark day

‘Cause the sun has gone away

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In Antioch,

They were first called Christians

Rather than followers

Of the Way

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The Way might have been

Better,

Less restrictive,

More inviting

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Not a club but a direction,

Not a t-shirt

But sandals and a walking stick

For all the deserts

Whose borders

We might come upon

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C L Couch

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Actions of the Apostles 11:26 (Christian New Testament)

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Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio (USA)

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By Bernard Gagnon – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12045971

Ancient Roman road located in Syria which connected Antioch and Chalcis.

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The Bridge to Thursday

(x = space)

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The Bridge to Thursday

(Holy Week)

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It is the middle of Holy Week

Who’s noticing

Who cares

Those huddled in churches

Mouthing with the pastor

Liturgies and litanies

All the holy words

And since it’s near enough

To Lent, there might be no

Communion,

Even practicing for Easter

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Some of the fun churches

(there are those)

Will bless baskets on Saturday;

All sorts of folk with

All sorts of baskets

Containing elements for

Sunday dinner

Will be there

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On the Friday before,

There will veneration

While on Thursday

An official working out

Of some kind

For the Last Supper

And the “maundy” part

Of Maundy Thursday

A command (mandatum)

To love one another,

Good reminder

For starting out the Triduum—

Or the rest

Of one’s

Of a church’s life

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But today is Wednesday

Nothing to see here

Or hear or taste or touch

No smell of

Incense, either

Wednesday doesn’t rate

Another hump day

In the USA,

Anywhere else that arches

The week that way

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Calm before the storm?

Hardly

There are storms, here and there

As happen

(one is brewing

outside the window),

There are the hungry

Who need big pieces of baked bread

And safe water

And more-real food

In order to sit up

Straight in church

For the coming days

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Feed the children

Feed each other

This would make a Wednesday, a

Holy Wednesday in a holy week

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C L Couch

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Photo by yvo bergers on Unsplash

Maastricht, Nederland

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But If the Numbers Lie

(x = space)

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But If the Numbers Lie

(they don’t)

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We thought we’d wait a year

Though we did it badly

We’d rather believe conspiracies

That allow us to travel

Go to bars

And live virtuously

In neighborhoods

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We didn’t take the year

In fact

And now numbers are increasing

There should be little wonder

Undeserved curiosity

About the sick and dying

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So back up now

Go the other way

We know the options for belief

But by now we know the dead

And could take a chance

On caution

And on care

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C L Couch

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Are there choices in belief?  Absolutely.  And options for our actions.  And I wonder if we might love our neighbor, then we could side with caution and prevention and, yes, inconvenience.  For now, I think it must be an inconvenient world.

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Photo by Alexander Grigoryev on Unsplash

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Looks

(x = space)

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Looks

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Pale sky

As if in compromise

To give late-winter earth

A chance to show itself

Turning slowly

Into spring

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C L Couch

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Photo by Biegun Wschodni on Unsplash

Blooming saffrons in the mountains.

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