the USA penny
(for Lincoln’s birthday on the twelfth of February)
it is our first coin
it is ubiquitous
it is
of course
an honor
that goes both ways
in that
we might be honored to
carry him
say
in a purse or
in a pocket near the hip
or thigh
and should we
change
well
our change
when we’ve decided that we
don’t have to say
ninety-nine to avoid
calling
the next dollar up
maybe
the penny will go out
to the darkness
on the pages
inside
of
numismatists
we’ll carve his imagine onto
a greater coin or
print him
on a bill of altitudinous
value
or find
some way
still everywhere to have him
near
remembering
by what credit he may
own
(and
does)
the nation that
should be
ours
all
of ours
all
and so maybe toward
a virtuous
such an integral
legacy
as well
c l couch
photo by Acton Crawford on Unsplash
penny floor tiling at the Maven Hotel
Denver, Colorado (USA)
yesterday I posted a poem for Presidents Day (USA), which for some reason I thought was yesterday and not a week from then; well, if you’re looking for something for the day, now you’ll be ready—and sorry
presidence
today is a day
for
Presidents
we know because of
time off
and the sales
but for Presidents
there have some good ones
and some
bad
ones
and we might say that’s
only human
but in addition to conniving
of the parties
and the money
behind
the money
there is will
as well
and so many words to affirm
in ideals
to the nation
that provide
no excuse
for not
trying to serve
us
which is the only reason
the position was
created
though partisans might differ
but
the one
and following
the preamble plus
everything that follows
must confirm
c l couch
photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
devotion to try
(with the help of church to hope)
devotion is
thought
feeling
a decision
we follow God
we pray
and claim to God
in worship
we also learn of God
and faith
and love
agape
together so that
when apart
we might do well
we might do
better
and we take this with us
all of it
devotion overall
to inform and encourage
our response
and our initiative in
living
the six days
and how many hours
and with
a much longer view even of
years and
longer after years
c l couch
photo by Amy Tran on Unsplash
on snowy evenings
an early evening when
sleet pings on the window pane
behind me
while I write
and try to write
to say something not likely
pithy
yet a touch
maybe to a point
and to
confess it
or to let
the setting like
the season stand alone
the dark and cold and icy rain I know
and thinking of a friend’s
father
who died last night
surrounded by faithfulness
it seems
and yet
I’m sad for her
and maybe I should let the night before
and the night behind me
do the talking
now
about
what feels separate and
in faith
might not be
a union shown by fact
someday
c l couch
photo by Anastasia Zolotukhina on Unsplash
the quiet hour sings
without music or lyrics
symphonic peace plays
c l couch
(to me, the haiku is hard—but it’s Friday afternoon going late, and this came to mind and got with some revision on the page
if you may and can, I hope you have a pleasant winter—or whenever it might be, where you are—weekend)
photo by Luise and Nic on Unsplash
Icy Day Is All
May I tell you of the day
It’s icy here
It patterned on the windows
Through the night
With some layers now
And so
Many schools cancelled
With
So many lawsuits
Avoided
We can be litigious with our ice
And also neighborly
In that
My friendly neighbors downstairs
(upstairs
another verse)
Look to have scraped off my
Car
In the right way that heart disease
Can ill afford
In fact
My doctors say
Don’t do it
Pleasantness in winter
Then
Profundities aside
I’m simply
Thankful
C L Couch
Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash
2 poems about, I don’t know, the extraordinary ordinary
don’t unappreciate the day
the trees are gray
now
no longer black
the sky even paler than
it was
and hazy
both being a gift
if dull
a dull gift
and not that there’s evil
so we know the good
so as
a gray so we know the cheering
colors
on
arrival
better
the dullness forms the shadows
after all
and we have need
for three
dimensions
(if
not more)
gray trends sometimes
and do these other
neutral
shades or call
them natural
either way
to call the season
then
to sell
and there is more
for real
in having so much that is
available on
Earth
and to the hearing
smelling
tasting
touching of
you know
(phatically)
so much
please hurry up
(the practical Eliot)*
shall I have more coffee
or
do I dare
to eat
a peach
I could talk about the part
for the hair
though it always seems to go
to the
center
after trials over
years
and did I hear the mermaids song
then from land perhaps
the answer of
another
siren song
and if I walk along the shore
will the competing songs
from land
from ocean
through the air
lead
me to the cave in which
the extra treasure
that
Aladdin couldn’t use
might reside and just for me as if
a spirit said
this is yours
and it’s your time
c l couch
*dealing (over years) with T. S. Eliot, the writer of “The Wasteland,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” as well as the famous book about practical cats; citations are paraphrased (the layout paraphrased from the part about the peach)
photo by Ahmed on Unsplash
Wollstonecraft
I wonder if
Mary felt she lived between
One esteemed family
And the other
And if she
Felt pleased to be there and contribute
To the two of
If she felt
Maybe also felt
That there was not a place that was
Her own
Elizabeth Barrett
(later)
Evidently needed rescuing from
Robert Browning
And
(later)
Virginia Woolf would argue that a
Room of one’s own
Is needed
But for this
Romantic person
For
The time
But also something else
Who wrote of
Human
Nature especially relied on
In extraordinary situations if
There was
An exploration to of
Of how
Might
And could
If need be
Live in parts
Wollstonecraft
Godwin
Shelley
Some parts extended
Maybe some parts broken off
And then if be like
The cat’s third name
She
Had her secret part
Her own
C L Couch
(Mary was the daughter of feminist Mary Wollstonecraft; Mary was also the wife of poet Percy Shelley—and I wonder who was Mary in between, of both, on her own
and regarding Frankenstein, also I wonder and in this case over who is the monster, who is the monster now)
Photo by Branimir Balogović on Unsplash
“Same Old,” “Same New,” two poems about faith and doubt (or doubt and faith)
Same Old
I’ve written
On these themes before
And sorry for
The repetition
Sometimes
I know
And deal in the same
The seasons
Say
Because these things wear well
At least on me
Like shoes that fit
At last
Or stories that we like
To tell
The substance of Dad
Jokes
No doubt
But here I deal
Because
I must confess that some things get
To me
Which might be sole motivation
For
Classic-worthy writers
(like the class that earns
gold medals)
but
Sometimes I fear as well in addition to
The trouble
Heartless
Of the intellect
Where do we go
And why the lack of permission
To know
I could take gnosis or agnosis
I suppose
But beyond
Secret knowledge
And the memberships
How do we
Know
As anyone
To know for
Real
When even feelings of assurance
Fail
While our God says
Through lore
That God loves us
And wants
If not aches
For all of us be joined with God sometime
Well
The testimonies that we have
Discuss doubt
Even in those right before the Lord
Not
For us
From ages past
Hmm
Maybe there’s something there
In I believe
Help my unbelief
The
Salvation formula clearly given
And yet
One must admit to doubting
Even in the face
Or by the words of
God
Moses
Miriam
Others
With the loving parent brought before
The Christ
In order for the child to be healed
And told
Believe
Is all
And must say to Christ
I believe
And I don’t believe
And I must ask you to help me
In the second
Maybe both
And then
You know
Without a test
(a further test perhaps)
The child is healed
Mark 9
You can Thurber-look it up
Yet there is doubt
To read
And doubt
To have
And finally the doubt beneath the doubt
Like the last temptations
We have heard
About
The final doubt that maybe all
Must face
In that all this of faith is real
With the results
Rewards
Perhaps
Truly
Taking place
And for faith we are heaven-sent
And then heaven-arrived
I believe
Help my unbelief
We come from God
We go to God
No doubt
Same New
And why
Should it have to go this way
Maybe not
If there were no
Postlapsarian
Maybe unfallen
Our impulse would be clear
That we are here
To tend
A garden
And each other
Build a planet
With
Because we have
Approval of the Lord
Maybe Love divine
All loves
Excelling
That with will
We go the first way
The way set up
The way
Hoped for
By the creator who must weep
Maybe turn angry when
We go the other way
The way
Of life we know
We have
Regardless of our knowing
Even
Rather mindlessly
Living for the self and for
Enough freedom
To live
In hard times
Or
Take despot-like because
Soft
Times are desired and
We might get away
With that
For those aware of virtues
To follow or
Desist
For those facing temptation
To give in
Or resist
Well
We could be puppets of the Lord
And
We are not
And there are consequences
To the will
We choose with harder judgments on
Those who steal choices
From others
And notions of paradise are fine
Truly fine
But cannot be realized here
Or any institution
Since
All things collective are inhabited
After all
By us
The way we are
And so paradise is distant
So distant as to be unreachable
Before
An afterlife
When and where
Forgiven things are not
Extant and the honest life put down
Is raised
To live inside
A new
And everlasting
Trend
Sigh
Outside of Eden
Where it’s hard
Though
Maybe we’d have had hard work
For perform in there
With
The work meaning delight
For
The change from how we treat work
Have work treat us
Now
Well
We live now
And may look forward
Toward something beyond
A worldly end
To something
Perelandra-like
Means
Both a willful and
Sinless life
Even
A planet’s existence
Decided
The right way from Eden
C L Couch
Perelandra, novel by C. S. Lewis; “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” hymn by Charles Wesley; Mark 9 in the Christian New Testament; “You Could Look It Up,” short story by James Thurber
Photo by Paolo Bendandi on Unsplash
BELIEF (for translation)
Lyon, France
clcouch123 
Recent Comments