more pamphleteering
(3 poems, rebel with a pause or as the cat might say a paws)
Flawed
There are days
When there are
Nothing
But flaws
Maybe the kind of
Flaws
That might be fixed
Or re-trained
Or re-adjusted
Somehow
Or they are flaws
The kind
That remain
About which there is
No hope of changing into
Something good
Or even
Little more
Than barely
Tolerable
The cracks in the walls
And maybe
The foundation
The leaks
In the roof
As well
With divots in the yard
And even cuteness
In the squirrels
Is mollified
By the way they overrun
The feeder
Set
You know
For birds
The wider spaces
Might be grand
The siding
And the brickwork
Nearly perfect
And all the paint inside
Looks
Pretty good
Though what we see
Is the crack
That happened because
Things that have been around
For a while
Develop lines
And sometimes
The lines
Widen
Not minimized
To their resemblance
Of a mischievous
Stream
Upon a map
You might say
Well
It’s all just attitude
Isn’t it
And I have to say
And maybe anyone whose
Flaws are
Evident
Must say
Nope
The flaws are there
They’re real
And they’re lasting
Although
You’re right
There is an attitude
Over
Which to consider more
And
Or course
How to deal with what there is
The flaws that threaten
Should be addressed
Do-it-yourself
(-myself)
And/or
(preferably and)
Done-by-others
To be fixed
Enough
For more than jazz
For life outside
The venue
In the sudden daylight
Too
Some lines
And cracks remain
Which is real
For they are real
Endurable
Even considerable signs
Of endurance
Even achievement
And attraction
As what is
Structure
Shall
Last longer
Attraction
If we understood
That certain flaws are fine
(beyond
fine lines)
And it’s all right
And even good
They last
As if to say
In an encounter
To oneself
This place does not have perfection
As agenda
This place
Is grand with age
This place is welcome
This place
Is home
Denizen
The word
Today
Like the old game
Is
What shall it be
Watermelon
Lamp
Radio
Nostalgia
Love
Intransigence
Toward love
Why don’t we love
Ennui
Fright
Movie
Safety
Home
And are we safe at home
(another game)
And
Well
It’s relative
Against
A dying planet
And those who away
Who
Looking in
Might say
This is
Such a resource
Such an opportunity
Why did they let it go
So badly
There are wars
And also there is
Nature
Aggravated
By themselves
To greater storms
And harsher seasons
So far from
Design
That yet is evident
Maybe we should take over
Maybe we could help them
Save themselves
From of course
Themselves
For we know how this goes
So it went with us
Before the next-to-last crisis
Set us on
The edge
And all we could do
Then
Was try to find a way
To widen the edge
And then
If we could
Build back from either side
Because there was
Our abyss
Of destruction
All around
And that’s it
Isn’t it
We survived
And got
To this place
Where we are here
Cleanly
And with confidence
Today
At home
And in our orbits
Far beyond
And we must leave
These to it
To their Earth
And come back in a while
Should there be
Some unity
And health in unity
To have a planet
Have a world
Wet with life
And creatures
Green
And blue again
As it seems now
But it is pushed
They push it
Their own world
Toward something like
The line
We knew so well
Grind
(for the first day of spring in these parts)
Now it’s a cold
Day
Because we’re into spring
Last week
It was warm
While winter breathed
Hot upon the leaves
And sleeping
Lawn
Beneath
Topsy-turvy
Then
In fact
He says
At noon
It will be colder
Coming days
Sigh
When to plant
When to turn
When
To work
To play
To dance
What should lie fallow
Really should
For variegated futures
In the land
Although
We need what’s planted
Every day
Not merely
Grocery-store expectation
Anymore (that
does not
recognize the seasons
when the berries
or the lettuce
might be ready)
but the need
To feed our animals
To weave our clothing
Out of wool
Even to work the leather
And best-guess
Nutrients
And timing
Year-round
Of course
To feed our children
On our farm
And in the city
And all over
In the wilderness
Made worse
(beyond appreciation
in and of itself)
By droughts
And wars
We’ve heard of
And it’s a guess
But I think it the way
We have them that
The cows
Need milking
Every day
And there’s that magic
In the harvest
(unreal)
That should happen every day
Releasing everything
We want
That we want
To believe
Is always
(anymore)
Fairly gathered in
A world of expectations
Fiercely specific
On a faded Earth
Running out of time
If
We’re not careful
And
We’re not careful
C L Couch
Photo by Yuri Malishenko on Unsplash
if God were speaking on a Monday
what shall God say
but that
I love you
and command you
while you ignore me
and frankly
do much worse
on your own
not that you can’t
invent things
some
many to admit
that carry goodness along
somehow
almost to defy the flaws
you insist
on leading with
things to keep life going
to have ease
in doing other things
if not
the reasons why
that I’m afraid I have
and my host
reveals
which I do not withhold
at all
though you will
have spirit
without me
and so dilute
my love
and certainly
my command
for you know
I am God
and cannot give you names
for me
out of convenience
a god of attribute
interesting
but not conclusive
let alone relevant
in any
situation
I am God
and I love you
and I command
and would direct you
day to day
and in the moments
with perfection
and all
love
and yet do leave you
to yourselves
which might seem puzzling
to think on it
since I could have made you
something propelled
only by
my will
but then what would
you be
the ends of strings
while even angels have
more will than that
and I want
you to be you
in every way
which means
I leave you
to you your own
first on the inside
then the outside
and then how you might affect
this first world
of ours
I love you
and command you
and must have you
be you
even to
the withholding of myself
and ourselves
to let you go
and then come back
and should remain
on your own
and I know
it sounds
as if manipulations
slides
as if
serpentine
through all
but how free
does it seem to you
unless you oppress
each other
how free to decide
on you
and me
and how things are
what is reality
and places in it
how I made you
how I love you
globes of energy
with limbs
and brains
hearts that pump
so much more than blood
though wondrous
all parts
and all parts are yours
not because I say so
but what is
and I was here
and shall return
and shall in spirit
reside
invest this moment
all
for your consideration
and what of the cosmos
I keep going
as in maintaining
anyway
and shall you rise
I hope so
rise through all distractions
that are fallen
and keep you falling
still
decide
then
what you will
and don’t worry
how I judge the rest
that’s up to me
and I know
potential
and ability
take each one on
sometimes in pairs
and finally a people
with a fate
now let’s
find out
what that is
maybe together
c l couch
photo by Hamdhulla Shakeeb on Unsplash
Isle
Maldives, Maldives
published 12 hours ago [2 p.m.]
in her father’s and her mother’s house
(for Saint Patrick’s Day)
Brigid
told her father
about faith
and made a cross of straw
to make her point
that Christ
and faith in Christ
is made of
ordinary things
even life in the spirit
even faith
because the spirit
has been with us
since creation
and was
the cause
of creation
and he believed
and made a kingdom
of it
which might
not seem fair
since
everyone should make up
their own minds
so as
to understand the stakes
and that
the stakes are high
in choosing
one way
or another
which is why
conversion by
a literal sword
let alone doctrinal
isn’t the
best strategy
and
in fact
far from it
believe or not
one by one
and two
and then whatever
however
a family is defined
as in
as for me
and my house
because the house
believes
and then
a group
a temple community
or in said houses
where the faithful
used to meet
at first
you know
where people lived
wherever
sometimes while
persecuted generally
and so to meet
in a hiding
of some sort
with symbols on the outside
exchanged
in a kind
of code
and so Brigid
took her chances
even
with her father
since rule was absolute
back then
and it all could have gone
another way
but she was
and is
connected to the ages
and the land
and maybe she knew
how everything should
fit
and how a cross
of straw
might seem
to teach it all
like bread
and wine
and other things
(straw
a shamrock)
might have an added
use
for spiritual matters
worship
or evangelism
so Christ be with you
in every way
the breastplate indicates
and the faith
as Brigid knew
the cause of Christ
but only
one by one
and then two
and then the group
of however many
is defined
first as family
then a wider
(not political)
community
c l couch
photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash
Shall We Dance
I don’t know what
To say
More importantly,
I don’t know what
To do
What would you do?
You would love through everything
And give
And serve
You would breathe justice
And you would also allow everyone a voice
And give everyone a turn
You would let water roll
And gather it in still, green places
So that people might have a drink
And maybe around which
To build
And then let the water move on
So that it gathers safely
And keeps moving to feed others
You would
Protect the land,
Give people what they, what we, need
Though we would yet be on our own
Because that is the truth and mystery of will
You would allow each one an hour on one’s own
And make it fine
When each of us returns
To be welcomed back sometimes as if we had been gone for a long while
You would let us be parents
And also children
The child to be a child, certainly,
And also let the grown-ups be from time to time
Like children
You would remember we aren’t perfect
There are flaws built in through sin that maybe wasn’t ours
But in some paradox
Or even some kind of unfairness
We’re left to deal with
One by one
And in every generation, until everything’s renewed
‘Til then
You’ll keep us from perfection
Yet love us without flaw
While we will pray and liturgize haphazardly
Depending on our creeds and the splinters we’ve allowed
‘Til unity
Make sense
For love
And practicality
And you come down
Come up
Come form the side
At last
To finish the justice that was started in creation
To fix our flaws
The way we broke the Earth
The way we break each other
Mended finally
To last
As last
And how we were
The first day that you made us
When we had a garden to tend
That for all we know
Was planetwide
At first
And everything to name
Because you meant for us to task
Everything we are
And love the work
And labor of our lives
So today I will wonder
And do things
And wondering’s a thing
And think on you
And think on everyone
And everything
On Earth
And in the stars that as a kind
We have only started
To approach
And hopefully
If flawed
Though flawed for now
And even though
With your approval
As some of us
Wrote and sang
Shall we dance
After our work
And in our work
C L Couch
The popular song “Shall We Dance” is from the musical The King and I, though there is an earlier, eponymous movie (a vehicle for Rogers and Astaire).
Photo by Levi Williams on Unsplash
Fox without the Hounds
I live in the suburbs of London
now
I enjoy a better class of
living
by trash
Londoners (Englanders,
Britishers)
Are not allowed to shoot me
Or pretty much molest me
in any way
Parliament
it seems
is on my side
I win
I think
I win
C L Couch
(for Br’er Fox)
for Melissa Lemay’s Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #259
via https://graceofthesun.com/what-did-the-fox-say/
Peter Lloyd on Unsplash
Rafah
It’s Ramadan
A million people
Faithful
For what
I am unsure
Being not so faithful
For life
For rescue
For prophets to keep
Teaching
On the will of God
And to submit
While hospitals
Can’t work
And food cannot arrive
And there’s no living
Room
Or space for peace
There is an endless countdown
For invasion
Until the count is ended
With more shelling
And then many
Many troops
Darkened by masks
What passes for medieval armor
And bearing
Oh
So modern weapons
And in Israel
They wait as well
Still mourning
And some strategize
An ending to Hamas
While others
Simply want for life
After grief
To move them on
They want the desert
Want the mountains
Want the seaside
Want to work
And play
And love
Their way through life
The human way through life
Though there is fear
Of extinction
Here
Too small
Too new a country still
Against
How long were the reigns
Of kings
And queens
And prophets
Both sides
Have hellish prospects
Rooted
And growing
Though the blood and time
That has poured in
After seeds
Branches
That look like tension
More than fruit-bearing possibilities
Seasons
That lack distinction
Not from the wilderness
But from
What we’d say
The human heart
The mind
Both hardened
By reason
And by fright
By reasonable fright
And also anger
Anger at the other
Sometimes at one’s own
And where is life
In all this
Where do the walls come down
Enough
For work and play
The desert
And the mountains
And the shoreline
Of the ocean
To walk in
And look out toward
The horizon
Without a horizon
Blurred lines
But there the sun will set
As if the only clock at work
The moves
With assurance
Of the daytime
And the night time
And that’s all
C L Couch
Photo by nour tayeh on Unsplash
2 poems kind of about brokenness (sorry)
When the Circle’s Not Unbroken
The Lord
Invites us
To the circle
Or the square
Or something oblong
Maybe
Rhomboid
To something
Maybe broken
For design
Or due to
Some experience
That seems
To break up everything
Fear
And anger
Breaking out
Without
The lines
To keep it in
To keep what might be loved
Therein
Though love remains
In the fragments
The Lord
Cares for us in these
And if the situation
Backs in
From extreme
The parts
Maybe come together
In a new shape
If partial
While we gesture
Talk
And work on fixing
For a while
Call it prayer
Call it Bible study
Call it therapy
Or medication
Every means
That helps
In measured
Dosage
And discretion
‘Til something like
Our circle
Even as
Something else
Shall come together
Maybe with a new
Amen
March on Two Left Feet
(or right)
The fifth already
Seems like
March is
The right name
The lion hasn’t really
Come
Though are there hints
Of lambs
Is a fair question
It’s in-between
A kind of academic
Purgatory
While the sky
And Earth
Decide
To fix the things
From winter
Into spring
We hope
The flowers undeceived
The planting happen
In its own
Good timing
That might have to change
Or not
Should good-guessing be required
By planters
Of all kinds
Who typically
Are breathing through
Northeastern cold
While waiting
For green seasons
To begin
C L Couch
Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash
Manic Monday
(and don’t panic)
God sang
The song into creation
The lion did as much
And our holy words
In works
Imply
We are created
We are that song
Or its interpretation
In darkness
And in light
And the bestowal
Of a garden
With the first object lesson
For the teachers
That the garden
Stands
For something we
No longer have
While we must work
In labor
And in labor
For
What we got
Each era is a lesson
We could say
And maybe they progress
The human ages
Which is why
We say
They’re ages
(we get older)
We grow
Some
We adapt
Physically
Some
Though not as much
As one might think
For as long as we’ve
Been here
And this might not be
So much by us
As by
The touch of God
God knowing
We’ll need adaptive parts
As we go on
(grow on)
What do I know
It’s Monday
And I’m feeling existential
With the blues on electric pages
Making less sense
To me
(than could it be
our music style)
Than paper
With its white
And off-white
Receiving of
Our pen strokes
Painting
With black ink
C L Couch
[note to me and now to us
so what’s this poem about?—it’s about thinking and writing, yes, really about both]
I am having trouble with the blue lights on computers. Or the part of the lights that are blue. Or maybe feeling blue. I think it’s both.
The result is that I’m even more recalcitrant in using this thing. This vital thing. I’ve had to use it for a while then rest my eyes. Rest my eyes upon the rest of the world.
So if I’m worse about responding than is typical (and typically it can be pretty bad), then I’m sorry. But as the emperor said quite uselessly, there it is.
--Christopher
Photo by Marija Zaric on Unsplash
Nous existons. Vraiment.
Texas fires
I cannot say enough
about
the fires in Texas
and how those
who can
should fight them
toward containment
and cessation
and then
the multifarious care
of victims
and how
those of us who can
as in fight fires
go there
and those of us who can’t
remain behind
to offer aid
and give it from
where we
might be
it’s fire
folks
and politics aside
it is a horror
a series of horrors
from what burns
and who’s caught
in the way
can't say enough
because it's time to act
c l couch
photo by Michael Held on Unsplash
clcouch123 
Recent Comments