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
About the Praying
I haven’t
prayed so much today,
not yet.
Sorry about that.
Can prayers move back in time?
I think
they can,
not as an excuse
but to place them where
they’re needed,
God of where
And when.
Amen.
C L Couch
Photo by Ahmad Ossayli on Unsplash
My Friend from School, Steve
(add in your friend)
My best friend
Locally
Was Steve
And Steve was Black
Mainly
Though
He was my friend
He brought me in
For a while
Even to his house
His home
And he told me how difficult
It was
To buy that house
In rural Pennsylvania
Where selling to a Black
Man had been
Difficult
Though he had money
And persisted
He let my cat
Stay with him
Too
She liked to run around
The house
And try to dominate
Queenly
The feral cats outside
Near the barn
Steve
Had two lovely children
Long grown now
I haven’t seen them
In a long while
Though I imagine
They are lovely
Still
Inside and outside
Hard-working
Like their father
Also loving life
Like their father
Steve was ill with things
A combination
Or a last thing
Took him at the end
That should have gone
Differently
He should have had years
Of relative health
And joy on Earth
Even though
No doubt
He’s doing better
Where he is
We were friends
At school
Where we worked
His office was a friendly place
There were rows
And stacks
Of things
To appreciate
Mostly
It was that they were illumined
Embodied with his presence
Sharing wisdom
Sharing life
A resting place
Even
For others
For me
I miss him
Even sharply
Every day
He had a way
I miss his presence
He was easy to be with
Whatever the mood
He was my friend
I miss him
Every day
He had a way
C L Couch
I write this because it’s nearly the end of Black History Month. I can think of Black inventors and I do. And so many Blacks I’ve known with all the talents, attitudes, and contributions. But my famous friend for this month is Steve. He was a teacher. He was skilled. He was welcoming. He had a home and had a life. He is my professional and personal Black history. He should have had more time on Earth. He once called me his brother, and I have felt that strongly ever since. He was mine. He was my friend. I miss him sharply every day.
Photo by Dylann Hendricks | 딜란 on Unsplash
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