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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.

interstitial

while drinking tepid stuff

the coffee-maker just beeped
it’s an old machine, the spouse of
Missus Coffee, I suppose

I don’t know how that relationship
is holding up, since missus doesn’t live
in, though I look for her now and
then on eBay

the timer on the machine failed first, and
the coffee made isn’t all that great, since
I can’t seem to get it hot enough

but we’ve been through much, old Mister
and me—and I suppose I’ll keep him
round ‘til the machinery of one of us
fails for good

(I often write about morning and coffee, since for me they often go together.  It’s an exercise, ritual, I don’t know what.  But while I’m working on something more involved, I thought I’d share one of these pieces with you.)

7

restraint, a response to horror

Restraint

(1)

We will not kill today
That’s what we say

No brave promise for tomorrow
We simply will not kill today

Yes, I paraphrase two ships’ narratives
One account affirming a mission of

Exploration without agenda
The other a mission to rescue

One who had lost the title virtue
In the self-destruction of temptation

And, when discovered, he was lost and gone
Trust, spirit, spark all gone

Of what was self-surrendered in exploitation
Of what mattered, of what might have been

And owned without the costs
And for life and the length of days

(if you know these references, fine
if not, no matter, please read on)

We will not kill
Not simply the body

We will not kill the spirit
We will not damn another soul

Which is the cost of wanton
Killing now of body or will

(2)

Whatever the source of final justice
Nature, truth, us—or God of all

We must do better. we must rein in, we
Must place our stronger arms upon

The arm that thieves, that takes, that
Destroys, at last, the hope of all

And we must say, Enough
For the betterment of our days

Enough to stop, let live—so that we might openly gain
From the qualities and quantities of what we have and are

In safety, love, and life
For all

Enough so that we might have
Enough

(this is a piece to accompany yesterday’s poem about human horror; because someone wrote about what matters, I have written both works in response and written in tribute, because victims must be rescued and perpetrators caught—all that must change; how much better could it be if we would change ourselves)

3

not Hallowe’en horror

The Horror

What we do to each other:

Rape each other–
our bodies, our lives
and what each other has

Steal from each other
not because we think stealing’s wrong
but because we hope to get away with it

Lie about what we do
because statements and documentation
matter more than promises

We matter more than hiding wrong
And speaking right when face to face

We matter more
Than promises made false by
what we do

Practice makes perfect goes
the cliché;

how about making our practices righteous
in the better way
that maybe no one sees
but me?

The space of our lives is limited:
must we waste each other’s and
so our own life, too?

The cycle is changed when one standing in the line of wrong
turns round, refusing to pass on the hit

The problem, of course, is the hit one takes in turning

But as turning is repentance
So must we change

We must change

Our lives, our world

(I wrote heavy today, because someone else wrote first and wrote it better.  There are indents I could not get WordPress to take, but I think the content gets across, anyway.)

5

Haiku for Fall

Haiku (hard to?)

Autumn romance starts.
It’s called fall, after all.
Descend into hope.

Haiku (I wake)

These devices give:
Assonance, consonance help
Home and tide; we rhyme.

Haiku (one more for us, too)

one for you, then me
orange, yellow, brown, and red
autumn’s time-keepers

Haiku in the five-seven-five way. (There are variations.) With a reference to nature in each one. As is often the tradition. Though no longer the law. I continue with my rhapsody of fall, this time using this form from Japanese and eastern Asian culture.

I like haiku. They’re fun to craft, and they mean something too. As Buffy said, they’re “the ones that sound like a sneeze.” They are that. And more. And that.

3

autumnal surprise

surprise

eating caramel
is like eating fall
I don’t try the sweet stuff often
and so had forgotten
its tie to the season

but there it was; I had a
bite—first bite—and fall came
pushing through the taste

I am thankful for the bond
of taste with remembrance
that brought a whole time of
year into the small place here

where I nibble while waiting
for the next thing, after
this, to write or say

11

Christopher (Robin)

My name is Christopher. I was named by my mother who really liked the Winnie the Pooh stories. I use “C L Couch” for writing because that form is easier (I have awful writer’s cramp) and gender-less.  I think “clcouch123” is a gift from WordPress.

And who are you? Or, as Owl might say, Hoo are you?

8

Hallowe’en, a note

Hallowe’en is a celebration of the evening before All Hallows’ or All Saints Day. It coincides with the old autumnal celebration of Samhain (the m is pronounced like a w—hey, I said it was old) practiced by those who lived in England before the Romans and then the Christians came. When the Scots and Irish came to America, they brought many Hallowe’en traditions with them—dressing in masks to scare off (by resembling) demons, the carving of the Jack-O-Lantern (though the Irish carved many vegetables such as turnips). Now the celebration is celebrated—or can be—by everyone. For us, Hallowe’en is a safe way to enjoy being scared. We enjoy being scared, just enough. And we have dressing up as who we’re not. And, oh yeah, there’s candy.

Have a Happy!

0

Hallowe’en Season

Hallowe’en Season

Why don’t I mind when Hallowe’en is overdone,
when stores stock up and pander to us
the colors, the candies, the costumes, the scares
of Hallowe’en time?

Because that’s what Hallowe’en is, folks.
For the ancients, a time to celebrate harvest
and express hope, through ritual, of a better
crop next year.

For us, a celebration of fright, the good kind (yes,
there is a good fright), the kind that children
can enjoy—and by children, an adult
admission, the child is any of us.

Orange and black, brown, red, and yellow,
colors of fall turned into colors of festivities.
Can it be overdone, over-sold, and over-lived?
Sure—what can’t?

This cool season (in the East) we enjoy beyond
the mask, the crafted holes we look through
to see a tunneled, focused world bent on
cheer and scare in equal measure,

I’ll take it, as it is. How much definition is
there, anyway? Wear anything (a pillow with
big holes and elsewhere black—you are a floating
ghostly head), and take the candy courteously

at the front door, in the mall, in the community
hall, or at the party. Enjoy. Enjoy the fright.
Enjoy the minor excess, dependant on the love of
chocolate and dark nights.

0

What do we talk about today?

What do we talk about today?

anything
anything you want
I’ll stand by
well, sit by

I’m still sitting

still sitting

sitting

still

2

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