Portland Oregon
I have family there I
Think I lost four more
C L Couch
Four homeless people die of exposure in Portland in first 10 days of 2017
Medieval Morning
A bright, open, empty field
Ready for blackbird pins to touch,
Scratch, and leave tracks
That become illumination
This is the riddle:
Write me an answer;
Illustrate your solution,
Please
C L Couch
Negotiating the Spoon
Have you ever worked
A spoon inside a jar of jam?
(The spoon is inside)
Certainly, you have
It’s the cozy way
The curve slides under the
Oranged part, and
There you have a treasure
Slip it out and pour it
On the toast (I favor rye)
Save for the skinny parts
Sticking to the utensil
You must negotiate
The goop on the back
And in the bowl
So the spoon is gently
Struck onto the bread; some
Comes off, and
The rest is prized out with
A finger
A suckling part
Of anticipation of the rest
Taste of solution-solving
Impracticality
What a treat
Veniality
To wash off
A moment’s
Work at the sink
Time and use of smarter efficiency
And these have value
So do the slow and cumbered ways
That force the option upon us
The pleasure in what we are doing
The charity
C L Couch
The Russia Plane
I’m so sorry
And in this I do not care about
Antipathy between governments
And generations’ leaders
Loss of life from Russia
The choir, the humanitarian
Anyone from any place of any kind
Or backing
Agenda no longer counts save
Mother Russia weeping
Fill the holes in churches and
In agnostic circles
With salt water from our tears
And Black Sea depths
C L Couch
Hurry
Christ is born everywhere
I mean no disrespect
But Christ is born in igloos
And in houses split by war
Among refugees
And in soldier camps
Christ is born in Istanbul
Where meet all kinds of Christianity
He is born in mosques
And in Jewish temples
Christ is born in Norway,
When the days are dark
Christ is born in Fiji
Under lights of humid stars
Christ is born in Outback
And on New Zealand slopes
Within the folds of sheeping beings
And urban Christchurch, too
Christ is born in small America
And in the larger parts
Among the mean and angry
Those whose eyes and ears are full
Christ is born in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, and nearby Nazareth
In Resurrection, New Mexico,
And Devil’s Foot, Montana
Christ is born in France
In Germany and Belgium
Between tectonic places in Italy
And on the sweeps of Spain’s La Mancha
Inside the skins of churches
And other noble halls
Once bright and now sleeping
In states of ruin
Eurasian steppes and valleys
In places to the east and north and south
The crossing points of human worlds
And outplaces far removed
Christ is born where plots are made
In despot places
And Christ is born where hopes are low
And dreams are only quiet things
Christ is born for you
And me
Alongside faithful Hindus
And Buddhists on the way
Christ will walk beside all pilgrims
Those who hear a call
And those who know not
Where they go
Christ is born in Africa
In rutted villages and paved cities
Where voices rise in song,
While others silenced knowingly
Christ is born in Andes places
Those fed by weeping Amazon
With those who live in shadows
Where end all lands
And continents might cry
Christ is on the ice
And born into the air
Underneath the earth where
Minerals move
And where things are still
Christ is born near enemies or friends
No feeling is required
Christ is born in word
And light where
Faith is exposed as well as misdirection
Christ is born, and it is good
Christ is born and virtue opens
And evil is shuttered
Christ saves all who wish
And those who don’t know how
Christ is born for us
All worlds allow
Heir of Earth
All oxygen and ocean
Hale or foul,
And we should turn to please
And with shouts or
In silence bow
C L Couch
Approach on Christmas Eve
Dark quiet night
Unbeckoning
Then a golden light
As a small bulb, bold
Enough
Against the darkness
Now a red gleam, same kind
Shines close by
And between the two,
Ridge lines of rounded bush
Are inferred to our sight
A porch lamp farther on,
And now we see the sidewalk
A platform sided by
Small walls,
Homely columns rising,
Leads to the door
The night has borders now
We feel invited
The world has definition,
And our way in
Is right
C L Couch
Good Christmas Friday
Christmas day on Sunday
And in my reformed way,
I feel a new triduum
But what to mourn tomorrow?
All the peace that has not
Happened
In the world
Peace on Earth
Worthy of a Tolkien epic
Or a Lewis telling
Inklings remembered, a new
Generation nonetheless
Is calling:
Severing war ties in the cosmos
Sewing threads
Into the weave of conflict
To wear retaining
Wisdom, the innocence in
Relented cynicism
The hopes of open-tomb-like
Understanding
Embraces resurrected
Sibling salvation
Let us share—let us keep—an
Earthbound feast
All
Holy days reconciled
In time
C L Couch
Christmas greetings spiced with an apology. Or an apology spiced with Christmas greetings.
I continue to be ill in a way that takes away focus and concentration. I post now and then, because sometimes the words manifest, anyway. But I’ve done little else. Hardly any interaction, which I would maintain is half the life of blogging. Will I get better? Goodness, I hope so. How much of the miasma is due to complications from heart disease? How much from simply hammering my foot into something so hard (the hammering and the something) that wrapping it does little good to help staunch simply the pain?
You see, it’s the ridiculous without so much sublime.
Whether you celebrate the birth of Christ, Messiah or prophet, or the miracles of light or the African family in communion. Or you’re fond of the solstice. Or you simply like this time of year and cherish all the muffled pace much of the world chooses to take. My wish and hope and prayer for you are for peace in the homeliest of ways.
Christmas time, Charlie
We learn it’s more than pink trees
Save stars on dogwoods
Make it pax,
Christopher
(image from FreeImages.com)
Still Christmas in Berlin
No romance for the moment
Christ child forgotten
In the press of madness and of stirring
Grief
To complement the cowardice in Nice
Undeclared, ununiformed men
Who know no better
Than to render a cause stupid
And larcenous
Stealing life from love
The gospel of the season
That will outlast you
C L Couch
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/19/world/europe/berlin-christmas-market-truck-crash.html?_r=0
clcouch123 
Recent Comments