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Good for Someone

(x = space)

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Good for Someone

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He cried out,

Then death was quiet

Silencing everything

At last

x

And was there keening,

I think so

For a time

Then silence imposed

By Jerusalem,

By Rome

x

The Earth exhausted,

Unknowing  silence

That was a matter of salvation:

Now we say not dead

But sleeping

x

Sin is quiet

For a time

(for three days)

Waiting

Wondering about

What will happen next,

What it should

Do

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Sin awaits

A guideline

Now that

God is dead

x

Should there be smirking

Or a party by

The gates of hell

While Earth

And all humanity must wait,

Though we must think it’s over

Why might we think

Something new

Should happen now?

x

We forget our stories

Let go all prophecy

We had our

King for a day

The welcome of a hero

Who has died with open wounds

Somehow bleeding

For the rest of us

New ritual

Or sacrifice of old

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A burial is proper,

If hurried

To be done by sunset,

Sunset all;

Wounded and sleeping

Earth is covered over

With a stone,

Setting a guard to

Keep it all that way

x

Cruelty is tired

Everything must sleep

For a while, now

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C L Couch

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Photo by kyle larivee on Unsplash

New England, USA

it seemed like mother nature wanted to spotlight this fellow

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In Antioch

(x = space)

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In Antioch

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I walked by the campus

A few times

While visiting

In Yellow Springs

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I didn’t belong there

Though I wish I could:

A progressive place,

Sometimes angry

Famously

But with tradition

And understanding

Of good doctrine

x

I’d like the hope

Of being there

In this week my sect

Calls holy

On a dark day

‘Cause the sun has gone away

x

In Antioch,

They were first called Christians

Rather than followers

Of the Way

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The Way might have been

Better,

Less restrictive,

More inviting

x

Not a club but a direction,

Not a t-shirt

But sandals and a walking stick

For all the deserts

Whose borders

We might come upon

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C L Couch

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Actions of the Apostles 11:26 (Christian New Testament)

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Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio (USA)

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By Bernard Gagnon – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12045971

Ancient Roman road located in Syria which connected Antioch and Chalcis.

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The Bridge to Thursday

(x = space)

x

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The Bridge to Thursday

(Holy Week)

x

It is the middle of Holy Week

Who’s noticing

Who cares

Those huddled in churches

Mouthing with the pastor

Liturgies and litanies

All the holy words

And since it’s near enough

To Lent, there might be no

Communion,

Even practicing for Easter

x

Some of the fun churches

(there are those)

Will bless baskets on Saturday;

All sorts of folk with

All sorts of baskets

Containing elements for

Sunday dinner

Will be there

x

On the Friday before,

There will veneration

While on Thursday

An official working out

Of some kind

For the Last Supper

And the “maundy” part

Of Maundy Thursday

A command (mandatum)

To love one another,

Good reminder

For starting out the Triduum—

Or the rest

Of one’s

Of a church’s life

x

But today is Wednesday

Nothing to see here

Or hear or taste or touch

No smell of

Incense, either

Wednesday doesn’t rate

Another hump day

In the USA,

Anywhere else that arches

The week that way

x

Calm before the storm?

Hardly

There are storms, here and there

As happen

(one is brewing

outside the window),

There are the hungry

Who need big pieces of baked bread

And safe water

And more-real food

In order to sit up

Straight in church

For the coming days

x

Feed the children

Feed each other

This would make a Wednesday, a

Holy Wednesday in a holy week

x

C L Couch

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Photo by yvo bergers on Unsplash

Maastricht, Nederland

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The Potentate of Time

(x = space)

x

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The Potentate of Time

(for Palm Sunday)

x

We might sing about

Crowning with many crowns

Jerusalem the holy city

Maybe in England

About dark, Satanic mills

x

It’s a gaudy day

With fronds flapping up and down

Carried by children

Sometimes into service

A favorite exercise of mine

To make crosses out of stems

To lean against windows

Or tuck inside picture frames

For the coming year

x

It’s a good day

When people act as if

They like church

And each other,

And some of that might

Rub off into truth

x

The church’s nemesis

These days being itself

A day of green neutrality

Might do a world of good

Before the world goes dim

And creaks and moans

In bearing all the weight

Of Passion remembrance

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C L Couch

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“Crown Him with Many Crowns,” Christian hymn written by Matthew Bridges, 1851

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Photo by Vladimir Proskurovskiy on Unsplash

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The Listing House

(x = space)

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The Listing House

(have fun—it’s Friday)

x

They’re everywhere

I cannot tell

The open places anymore

For anytime I open something

Door or drawer

I encounter lists

And that’s all

Whenever I come across

The refrigerator handle

(now and then)

I pull and find inside

Only reminders on paper of

What I meant to buy

At the store

There is no desk

Or dresser drawer that’s safe

And sometime the house

Will lean over

Or sink in the center

To greet the ground more closely

Maybe to find what is

Beneath

I know, we have machines

But it’s been so much easier

To find a scrap and use the pen

I carry in my pocket

But here’s the thing:

I make the list

Then leave it behind

Think I will change,

I create then leave another

Now there is no space

For what I’d find

Should I consult the paper,

After all

x

I think it all will

Weigh out in the middle

The house will fall like Usher’s

Into the tarn of Main Street

And hell for me

Will be an inferno

Constantly

Ignited from

The lists I made in life

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C L Couch

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Photo by Eniko Polgar on Unsplash

Bodie, United States

Desert Ghost Town

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Pádraig

(x = space)

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Pádraig

(17 March)

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His family lived in France

Kidnapped to Ireland,

He spent sustaining, growing years

The best that can be done

In captivity

x

One day he was told by God

To leave, to walk down

To the boat

And on the boat

And leave

x

Once back in France,

Reunited more or less,

He heard the calling to return

Actually, a note

From the bishop

x

He had no place in mainland

Europe anymore

Where no one knew him

Or his snake-free ways

x

He evangelized,

And his message

Did not curse

The culture, the truth

And the symbols

In its age

x

He used what was there,

The shamrock

As Brigid uses straw

x

Ireland, through

Reason and through art,

Converted

Or co-merged, the ancient

With less ancient

While the bishop

And God smiled

To make arrangements

Somewhere else for what

Might have been

Indigenous serpents

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C L Couch

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By Andreas F. Borchert, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=33260482

Tullow Church of the Most Holy Rosary, South Transept Window

Detail of the glass door that extends the stained glass window of the Immaculata above it to the floor, depicting Brigid’s Cross and oak leaves. No signature was found on the window.

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The Famous Ides

(x = space)

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The Famous Ides

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Watch out, Caesar,

This is a bad day for you

Stay at home

There is a pandemic

Feeling against you

x

He ignores us

Like the chorus that

Sees and analyzes all

And is ignored,

Like Cassandra

Whose prophecies are true

And are ignored

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These are plays and stories:

What do dictators know

But what we know

Is a gospel

From a god

And your counsel might be sound,

But I shall ignore you

Because my vision

And my words

My will

Must be greater than the rest

Up ahead, the senate chamber

Waits for declarations

From their general,

Their god,

As good as emperor

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C L Couch

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Batna, Algeria

Roman Ruins

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Proportional Response

(x = space)

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Proportional Response

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It’s an eye for eye

Without, we hope,

Everyone going blind

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But then the blind we have,

Over-sensate in four ways,

Might have to lead

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The only ones who know

How to have sight

Without the eyes

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C L Couch

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https://news.yahoo.com/exclusive-u-carries-airstrike-against-233431848.html

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By Airman 1st Class Chad Warren – US Air Force Public Affairs [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7377988

A flight of F-15C Eagles from the flies during a solar eclipse in Okinawa July 22, 2009.

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Walking in Beauty, Like the Night

(x = space)

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Walking in Beauty, Like the Night

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A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

—Byron

x

The only place I live

Ironically

Is in the clock

(absurdly called the grandfather),

A prisoner

Of time

And time

x

There’s a dark space

Behind the weights,

Behind an ornate board

In fact, taller than I

x

I listen to the clock

x

I hear its beat,

Its announcements

Count the hours along

x

I got good at guessing

When it’s dark

Outside,

The dark of night and mortal people

x

So I might slide

As if it were amusement

Into the room night,

Of shapes and shadows,

Followed by another room

And then another

x

Accommodations for

Ghosts among the living

In a place

Where both reside,

Divided places aren’t worked out

x

When light touches me, I burn

And if it weren’t an issue

For the gossamer of tissue,

I would burn for shame

x

Life was love

Attended

x

I thought I’d be released,

But immorality

So far has judged me

Here

x

Where I must hide

In filminess

And flimsiness

Inside the dark

Of this dark place

By day

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C L Couch

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This work is in response to a prompt for horror writing from Katie Metcalf who writes supernally about the dark and winter and folklore and endurance.  Here is the link for you to try at your own magickal delight:

https://wyrdwordsandeffigies.wordpress.com/2021/01/30/writing-in-the-dark-horror-writing-prompts/

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Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash

Terrell, TX, USA

An old blue creepy haunted house | Please check out my blog at: matthewtrader.com/unsplash

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