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Anjali Mudra

(x = space)

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Anjali Mudra

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What does love say

On this or any other

Plain day?

The sun is out for now

Dust is settled

Here and there

Some of the folds

In the blankets have been

Smoothed out

It is a lonely day,

And that’s all right

Not as a concession

But as a source

For small peace

That could be broken

Should the phone

Be lifted

And knowing that,

There is no desperation

A quiet day

An ordinary day

A day between the holidays

As most of our days are

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Nothing to own

Gifted

Are the seconds and

The minutes, the hours

And the dust

Our scant possessions

No matter how tall

Or deep

They can’t defeat

The mountains

Or the trenches of the deep

We can coexist

There is no point

In conquest

When nature rolls everything

At last

Into the waiting ground

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Fight it

Or have

A knowing peace

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C L Couch

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Photo by Levi Meir Clancy on Unsplash

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Create in Me

(x = space)

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Create in Me

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The Spirit of God

Might not

Be inside the tree

But the Spirit

Might dance with the tree

And many trees

From time to time

I don’t know

How things are invested

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The Spirit of God

Might be in the tree

When exigency

Requires

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God is a rock

As a metaphor

But not the real thing

Having made the real thing

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There is that

Burning bush

That burned and didn’t burn

God used

And rearranged

The matter of

The bush in that encounter

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So maybe with the atoms

Of existence

The Lord loves to live beside

God or God’s agents

Asking for

Rearrangements

From time to time

To suit a miracle

A message for

Sixth-day creations

Who can have God inside

Intertwining

Spirits

When desired

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C L Couch

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Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash

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Servicing

(x = space)

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Servicing

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God,

I often talk to you

In thought

Do you hear me?

I hope so,

Because I rarely

Think about it

Twice

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Do you need

The uttered word?

I’d think

You wouldn’t,

Though maybe

My part

Is to speak

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I think I let you in

A while ago,

You see

And while you’re

There

You might as well

Have the run

Of the place

Including the talking parts

That happen

On the inside

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Life in the Spirit,

I believe,

With an angel’s assist

I hope it works

This way

I’ll pray out loud

As well

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C L Couch

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Photo by Emil Widlund on Unsplash

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To the Cat Who Called at 3 a.m.

(x = space)

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To the Cat Who Called at 3 a.m.

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Caterwauling

(must be how we got the word)

I open the door, look down

Into round eyes,

Fuzzy-looking face, striped fur

You come in

Walk around, inspecting

You like to have me pet your face

And around your ears

I try to pick you up

That does not go well

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So I leave you to explore

Find all the levels

Try them out

You knock some things over

I sit until you jump on me

Time for more petting

Then we’re tired

‘Cause it was already late

I leave the door ajar

Lie down

I wake up, there you are

Close by

Looking sleepy, too

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After a while, you leave

You meow some more

But now it’s daytime

Better for meows’ acceptance

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Later on, it’s quiet

You had made another visit

Here,

Then gone out

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I trust you are back in your place

I hope it’s a good one

Feel free to drop by

Again

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C L Couch

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Photo by Bogdan Farca on Unsplash

not the cat (but looks like)

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An Odd Peace

(x = space)

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An Odd Peace

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Too much loss

Too long

Too much to rebuild

How can we face it?

But for the

Cessation of hostilities

That sounds official,

We can bear it

On our own

For each other,

Help the ones who can’t

To let them in at home

When home’s

Returned

Rebuilt

Re-welcoming

Known inhabitants

And guests

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If I woke up and

There were

Rocks outside my door

Plaster, dry-wall dust

On everything,

I’d feel a cry

If not a wail

Build up

And if there more

Blood and such

Then other instincts

Anger and assistance

While the

Keening is considered

A savage peace

For hearing nothing

Letting medicine

Take over

While I slept

Even through sirens’

Calls

The mermaid singing

The murderous intentions

Of humanity

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There would be

A day

I might walk through it

Would I be made to leave?

How would I be fed

The markets gone

And where are you?

Small parts

Of war,

And I would want

To resign it all

While also thinking

About a gun

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C L Couch

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Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

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For Wednesday’s Children

(x = space)

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For Wednesday’s Children

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What could I wish

For Wednesday

But that peace be

Everywhere

That life be for

Discipline and contemplation

Invention

Exploration

That we have enough

And a little more to share

That we accept who we are

And go from there

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That we can be clever

And delighted

And united

That we are strong

Not for strength’s own sake

But for protection

And defense,

As we say defenses are

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That selfishness be understood

As good

As long as otherness count

As much

Maybe a little more

Because Thursday might come

For sacrifice

The highest form of service

And be human,

Love from the highest

That is God

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C L Couch

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Photo by michael podger on Unsplash

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Cynically Yours, Sometimes

(x = space)

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Cynically Yours, Sometimes

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It was when

I was reading an Agatha Christie

And someone near Jane Marple

Maybe a nephew

Said of her

She is the most cynical person

He (pretty sure it was a he)

Knew

And I thought

Cynicism might be useful,

After all

A quality to keep us sharp

To keep us skeptical

About what we know

And we perceive

In short, cynicism’s smart

And we are smart to

Apply the

Quality, hone it to a talent

On reserve

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C L Couch

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a companion piece to clcouch123.wordpress.com/2022/03/25/give-it-up/

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Christie as a young woman, 1910s.

The Christie Archive Trust, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=96725181

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Precocity

(x = space)

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Precocity

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God

Help us

Every

One

Even

The bad people

Don’t help them

To be bad

Help them to be good

Instead

You know,

Like in

The Christmas story

Amen

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C L Couch

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Photo by Andreas Dress on Unsplash

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snow squalls today

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Starts with a Story

(x = space)

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Starts with a Story

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On a hazy

Saturday,

We talk about

The past

Long past

How the human genius

And the genius of creation

All ancient

Partnerships

Ask better of us

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Look at the red curve

In Altimira

I think

An arch that goes much further

Than a count

A quota

Even for life

The lives of

Ancient companions

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Red and black

Lines

So much more than

Counting

That have ancient majesty

A thinking of high places

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Pointed Notre-Dame

Or round Saint Paul’s

May rise in tandem with

Ancient siblinghood

Reasons for the hunt

For the migration

After meals

For living

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For living

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C L Couch

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The Dawn of Everything by David Graeber, David Wengrow

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Bison in the cave of Altamira.

(image) By Daniel Villafruela. – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22778033

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