Do You See Me Now?
I was a cat in Moscow
A photographer liked me, I guess
My manner, my similarity,
My distinctness of
Western cats
So at the fair in 1963, he (it was a he)
Clicked away
(Like my paws on pavement)
And I am here for you
Now
Meow
C L Couch
Photo declassified from ’63 Moscow Fair.
first World Day of the Poor
(day late, no dollar short)
Francis says to us
Blessed are the hands that reach beyond
Every hindrance of creed or culture
That in a profane way keeps us
Apart
The physician quotes
Blessed are the poor—
In spirit or
In flesh—
For yours is the realm of God
In this love is not a democracy but
Obeisance to a royal decree
From the one who
Rules perfectly with justice
And unerring care
This is not the kind of mystery that’s hard
To resolve
Who made the poor? we did, and
We keep ours down in a fallen world
That drives them, drives us
Deeper
The answer to all questions is, Who cares?
Acceptable question this time to
A question
To those in front of us, a catechesis, a
Secular investigation doesn’t
Serve;
The poor are here,
A monarchy for them and us;
That’s far off
The open hand is empty, and sometimes it’s
Clenched in pain
The challenge in the giving is
Courage to unclose, to press into the soul
The bravery, tenacity
The food and water
And more
And better
For the living
And the dying
In the right time for each
For the change
When all are blessed
C L Couch
first World Day of the Poor
We cannot remain passive. Blessed are the hands that reach beyond every barrier of culture, religion, and nationality, and pour the balm of consolation over the wounds of humanity. Blessed are the open hands that ask nothing in exchange, with no “ifs” or “buts” or “maybes”: they are hands that call down God’s blessing upon their brothers and sisters.
Pope Francis (who proclaimed the day)
First World Day of the Poor, 2017: Let us love, not with words but with …
Hospitalism
My sister tells me it’s a man thing
Not wanting to go to the
Hospital
It’s certainly true that I do not want to go
And that I thought this
A healthy inclination
Now I wonder if for those women who
Care so much
(In quantity and quality) if there is a
Kind of comfort there
Someone else to provide, to
Decide,
To break the news
And deal with it first
C L Couch
Armistice
A hundred years ago
Europe was ablaze
An awful fire, open-pit
Like southern
Soldier picking
North Africa, western Asia
Cut into with blunt
European, Turkish knives
As if
The lands were
Burnt meat
Now the USA is adding
Fuel to the fire
My grandfather a soldier-stick
Serving with muscle and courage
And fear
(I’m guessing about the fear, for I never
Saw if in him)
Then all elevens,
And it’s over: fire tamped
Ashes rising, setting on new ground
Of anger and reparation
Peace rendered ironic
Buckets of grave dirt
Thrown against
Walls of retribution
Against which
New shadows will rise
C L Couch
(National Geographic Society)
Piece Meal
What shall I
Write about this morning?
Isn’t there enough
Death through violence
That I don’t have to record, about which
Not to comment?
What good is there in
The world happening today?
I have little, maybe some, doubt it’s there:
Someone has given
Something and didn’t have to give it;
Somewhere a treaty’s
Being signed
That will mean an end to
Trouble in
The hope for something solider than war that
Feeds and builds.
Somewhere someone is kind
Enough to garden in
The mind,
Cultivate the spirit and the moment
When, created in the mood of God we
We were given parts;
Pangloss is wrong—we must
Guard each other’s.
C L Couch
Congress
(visiting a beach in NC)
Topsail
I’m pretending that the air is
Ionized
And that it’s good for me
Up-and-over steps, across the dune
Down to the sand
A public access, though
There are only a few people here today
Some dogs
But all the birds
Are meeting
Fish and trash on the agenda
I have nothing for them so
They fly from me
Disdain
I pick up shells and stones
Some with rough edges
Some worn smooth through the refinement
Of the sea
Together we show
Large and small
Nature’s power
C L Couch
(photo credit, http://www.treasurerealty.com/uploads/TopsailBeach_OceanView.jpg)
canonized
(days for all saints)
a process for remembering
those who live the
faith
in a church that is
a canticle of memory
who slips out, unseen
after the formal part is
done
to work a holy thing that
none of us will
know
there is a record, maybe
doesn’t matter
we sense without consciousness
that something good
happened
and there will be re-collecting
of it in the sharing of
all our legacies
C L Couch
Cat People
I don’t know why we like
To change or stay the same
Is it up to us
As a campaign?—when
Burdened, yes, when
Abused of
Our better parts and
Aspirations
(Or maybe because we bug the
Hell out
Of those around
Us, and they’re right)
Otherwise, doesn’t the universe
Offer instinct-movement in
Gravity
And the attraction or, admittedly,
Repulsion of
Black holes and
Neutron stars?
And all the turning elements
That ask of us to
Dance if possible with joy,
Day by day,
(And anyway)
With all the nuclei?
Like felines who jump across
The yard or run the
House
Because they can
Because the gods of catliness
Say cats must—
And don’t they want to!
C L Couch
The Girl Who Died
It is a miracle we live
On an Earth that cares
When we only allow
Worst magics
Against the planet’s will
Her inclination toward
Sunlit food and love
We counter God
And all the better parts
Because we must have this or that
The blood on it
To ignore
Or kept there as an eldritch
Badge
An accomplishment that only demons
Cannot ignore
At judgment
C L Couch
THE HORRIFYING DEATH OF A SYRIAN INFANT UNDERSCORES THE BRUTALITY OF ASSAD’S SIEGE WARFARE “Sahar Dofdaa lived a tragically short and painful life. With sunken eyes and frail, protruding bones, the famished infant hardly stood a chance. Trapped in a Syrian conflict zone, her mother was too malnourished to breastfeed, and her father too impoverished to afford milk supplements.” [HuffPost]
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