Frank Families
(haiku)
They tried daylight ways
We wouldn’t let them go; we
Made them hide ’til found
C L Couch
image in the public domain
news story, https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/anne-frank-s-family-tried-escape-u-s-hit-immigration-n889251
I’m Not Disappointed
Maybe I have no nuance
No subtlety of heart
I can feel the savage things
Scraped-off emotions
Obvious insights
Maybe I am forgiving
In my nature, now
Lord knows I’ve tried to forget
Some things
And now I wander through a land
With fewer fires, less of the blasted heath
Maybe with a sprout here and there
It’s not amazing
It’s a way to survive
Let go, here and there
Wrap myself in something like
Contrition
Over which a layer, woven and patched
Of the grácia
The mariachis sing about
C L Couch
Carol M. Highsmith – Library of Congress Catalog: http://lccn.loc.gov/2014631086 Image download: https://cdn.loc.gov/master/pnp/highsm/26800/26886a.tif Original url: http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/highsm.26886
Macbeth, Act 1,Scene 3
Ages Past
What do we remember of
The ancient past,
Time of kings
(male and female)
Who had all sorts of power
Given them atop a chain
With an allowance for divine authority
We have some now,
The kind by claim of blood
And those self-styled
I’m hoping we outgrow them all
Christians have one king
(female, male)
All of us enjoy the rank of steward
While failing by degrees in our obligations
Other traditions (or none) might have
Everything together with some leadership
With some success,
I’m not sure
We can look for leaders
Pass by those who want the job
Look for those who can
Ignore legacy crafted
By humans,
Ignoring other claims as well
Consider today
Choose now
The adherence of the house
And running it
By those who can
Who might help us
Not by surrogacy
But by reminding us in action
How each of us is called
C L Couch
Nicepng.com
Synesthesia
Blue is a magic number
I know, Schoolhouse Rock fans
It should be three
And it is
But sometimes associations need
To take a second seat
In favor of new leanings
Today is Saturday
It’s orange
C L Couch
Benediction
God be with you ‘til we meet again
Kind of a Mizpah blessing,
Which I learned about in Sunday School
Was a mixed bag of salutations
The Lord watch between me and thee
While we are absent,
One from the other
I used to hear that at the end of church
It sounded nice
But it seems that Abraham and Lot
Were suspicious of each other
So while each is away
The pledge is that their God
The one who called their family
Into a nation
Would keep the rivalries apart
Vouchsafed in
Something holy gelatinous
A barrier of angel-power with holdings
Kept on either side
Safe from interference
Abraham had struck quite the deal with
His nephew,
Giving Lot the choice
Of land and all assets available
But it could not work out
Maybe the legacy
That began when one brother killed another
Coursed into the current generation
The best becomes the worst
As it turns out,
Lot will run from fire
From the most prosperous of cities
Once his own
There will be salt
The child of Isaac
Will cheat a sibling out of inheritance
Drastic foibling
Deep crimes of humanity
Shall not escape,
When the better angels are released
From withholding
Someday break through,
Let loose in judgment
Until then, we shake hands
To show we hold no weapons
Forestalling sin that rushes through
Reduced into a spillway
For a time
For a day
For an hour
Quiet hour
C L Couch
By Marsyas, 07.04.2007, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1930787
Hera and Athena handshaking, late 5th century BC, Acropolis Museum, Athens
Genesis 31
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Bittersweet
We make words that work
The Anglo-Saxon hoard
That was the dictionary
And all the other contributions from
All languages
Language cannot be its own end, I guess
Yet there are beautiful words
That are lost each day
Because the group has gone
Or, sad to say, been subsumed
Our words don’t come with protections
We could use all kinds
If it were a law to think before they’re uttered
Beyond the autonomic
Well, there’s not
We are not oppressors
Not all of us
Not yet
We can’t have a rule that says
Everything must be approved
We only have the inner voice
That speaks to fast for words
Because that’s how ir works
On the inside
So that with which to regulate is
Strapped with nervous speed
Adrenaline is good
And it’s hard
Speaking well is good,
Which is not about articulation
It’s about discretion
The better part
Of something
Unironically, if we could only pause
But I cannot make that happen
Nor would I want to
Yes, I would
But it would be so easy to hamfist it
To make a break with tension
A legality
Then we’d need freedom fighters for
Release from word-overlords
Whew,
Let’s simply take advice
Don’t kill the voice with alcohol
I know that doesn’t work
But listen for that voice that goes by too fast
Pull some seconds out
Stop in order to choose something better
Something good
Maybe wise
To say
C L Couch
By Man vyi – <span class=”int-own-work”>Self-photographed</span>, Public Domain, <a href=”https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20208143″>Link</a>
Hauteville House – Victor Hugo’s copy of George Métivier’s Dictionnaire Franco-Normand
Chess Pieces
On the local television news,
A black man and a white man
Share half-jokes with each other,
And they chuckle
It’s good to see the black man and the white man
Having fun
How much of it is scripted? I don’t care
It was real enough
For local news
And my heart, today
The monarch of what I am
And what I want
Thinks and feels protected
And a little rested
C L Couch
https://pixabay.com/en/users/hans-2/
Young Athlete in Pain
Lord, I don’t know what to do
The pain is bad
Shall I try hot or cold?
But it’s all kinds of muscles
The ones I think with
Play with
Occasionally make love with
Everything hurts
Everything is bad
That’s pretty simply put
And how I think
And how it feels
I don’t know what to do, Lord
Please help me
I don’t know if it’s an angel
Or a miracle
Or simply something I haven’t thought of
I don’t claim to be smart
Not now
When pain takes over
And my thinking’s overloaded
It’s not going to be a good day, is it?
A good year,
Good life?
How hard have I made it all?
Forgive me, if I’m faithless
Forgive me if I’m rude
It hurts is all
It hurts very much
And I get sidetracked or benched
(or bench myself)
From my better calling,
Please speak to me again
I will try to hear
And if my ears don’t work,
I have other senses
You could even tell me in a dream
Though that’s hard for me
I tend to think that dreams aren’t real
Once I’m awake
Even ones that have me wake up
Crying
Hear my voice, O Lord,
Even when I’m not speaking
I’m sorry, I should really believe that
You will reach out to me
It’s not magic or a game
It’s your way of being perfect
I must believe
I must love
It’s just that it’s really hard today
It was hard yesterday
I don’t know about tomorrow
Help
Sometimes I don’t know what else to say
Help
C L Couch
By Carlos Delgado, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30082359
Marta López being treated off the pitch at the Spain Handball All Star Game 2013, held in San Sebastián de los Reyes, Madrid, Spain.
Make Like Knights, Just
Dames or sirs
Let’s all be one or the other name
Or come up with a new one
For those whose errantry
Takes on charges toward an
Earth of fairness,
and all her people one
I’m not saying blood or rank
Far from it
Though blood might be the cost,
Which is instantly ennobled
On contact with an air, foul or fair
Split from flesh while questing after
Nothing more than
Quotidian liberty,
The balance that we’ve
Sometimes heard
Our prophets talk about
C L Couch
(image)
Rosa Parks with King, 1955
National Archives and Records Administration Records of the U.S. Information Agency Record Group
(cited)
“Turn Back, O Man, Forswear Thy Foolish Ways,” a hymn by Clifford Bax (1886 – 1962)
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