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White Light

(x = space)

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White Light

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It’s all right

I wish it had more yellow

As it is,

It glares

But since I got some sleep

It doesn’t hurt to look at

Maybe the blue and yellow

Are muted in

Winter’s last gasp

The white light a tribute

To what was

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What was

A mild winter, more or less,

With snowstorms

Every now and then

That pounded elsewhere

Worse than what

We got,

Which I’m sorry

Selfishly was fine

White snow on the ground

White light in the sky

Too much

Too much for a claustrophobe

Too much for me

Maybe too much for you

If you live at all

Like me

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C L Couch

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Photo by Caleb George on Unsplash

Deer Herd on a Winter’s Day

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love we do

(x = space)

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love we do

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love needs air

it needs oxygen

it needs to breathe

not love in space, perhaps

but love here

on Earth

where nature

loves the animals

where people might

love each other

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the one

the two

the many

who is

who are

the oxygen

better than the atmosphere

(though we need

the molecules),

giving air through

the heart

the brain

the stomach

even the liver and the kidneys

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giving life

and taking life

but less than giving

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c l couch

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“Love Me Do,” Lennon-McCartney

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Birdworld Kuranda, Rob Veivers Drive, Kuranda QLD, Australia

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Flying, Creeping Things

(x = space)

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Flying, Creeping Things

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I liken the bird

To the Holy Spirit

That flies with grace,

Usually

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Often arrives

As a surprise

That on good

Days knows the wind

And all the stirrings

Of the Earth,

That often arrives

As shadow,

Serving

As prophecy

Anticipated

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The Bible kind

Nothing marketed

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We can aim

And shoot

And tear the metaphor

Apart

Or we can listen

Glossolalia

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A song announcing

God is alive

In fragile revelation

For our sakes

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Closely attend

An irony of notice,

Trampling the uncertainty

Doctrine or fear

Demand

With the way in

We’ve always wanted

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C L Couch

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Leviticus 11:21-22

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Photo by Agustin Fernandez on Unsplash

Punta Alta, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Remembering WCW (MD)

(x = space)

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Remembering WCW (MD)

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The light of dusk

Against the tree

Light blue behind branches

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Across the street,

Part of a red-brick building

Bricks shining orange

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There is no wind

No noise

This is life, still

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Maybe it’s true

That so much depends upon his

Scene in twilight

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C L Couch

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XXII

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so much depends

upon

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a red wheel

barrow

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glazed with rain

water

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beside the white

chickens

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Williams, William Carlos, “XXII,” Spring and All (New York: Contact Editions / Dijon: Maurice Darantière, 1923).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Wheelbarrow

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used to drive my students crazy

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Photo by Namroud Gorguis on Unsplash

Red brick wall of an old barn.

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Left Words

(x = words)

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Left Words

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I look at another

Blank page,

Which is all right

There’s something down

Already,

Already stained with

Letters

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One letter by one

Formed into words

Making a shape on

The page

Out of many shapes

(sanserif)

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Once I read a

Single poem that

Trailed along the left

Side of the page

With a lack

Of syntax but

Replete with

Meaning, nonetheless

I could tell

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The letters were sizable

And the name on top

Was famous

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And that’s how

It’s done,

I supposed

It appears in

Someone else’s book

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C L Couch

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Photo by Gary Butterfield on Unsplash

Howard Hotel, 57 Howard St, Sheffield S1 2LW, UK, South Yorkshire, United Kingdom

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n.b.

n.b.

(“note well” but note however you like)

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I’m sorry, but for a while I’ve been dealing with new pain of a sort that feels as if it wants to cut me in two.  I go to the doctor’s on Friday and a specialist in two weeks.  This has been claiming too much of my energy and my concentration.  I still try to commit to writing and posting, but I’m behind on other things such as being in touch with responders. I’m sorry.

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Christopher

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Greyson Joralemon

3

Easy Snow

(x = space)

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Easy Snow

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I might have gotten

In my car, not looking

At three inches’

Newfallen snow

Then got out again

Once I knew the source

Of the sudden darkness

(were it day)

These spits of snow

Have been the normal

For a while

Late winter?

Early spring?

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The groundhog is famous for

Inaccuracy,

Though the fairs are fun

In Punxsutawney

And who trusts a pampered

Creature to tell the weather,

Anyway?

We’d do better to

Look at the sides of wild trees

For direction

And the thickness of the fur

On the denizens

Therein

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C L Couch

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Photo by Babette Landmesser on Unsplash

Sun shines through winter trees on beautiful snowy ground.

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Wineskins

(x = space)

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Wineskins

(parabolic)

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I don’t know much about

Old wineskins

I had a bota once

From Spain

I imagine that my father got it

While on tour in the Navy

I probably put water in it

(the bota, not the Navy)

And tried to drink

I say this because I have a memory

Of playing with the trail of water

As they do with botas in Spain,

Letting the thin arch

Run out farther and farther

From the mouth

(the boca)

Part of the fun

In having such a device

Out of which to drink

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Does bota mean bottle?

I think botella

There might be some sort

Of origin

Shared at least in etymology

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I don’t know much

About new wineskins

I’ve probably never been

Next to one

And so there’s this whole tradition

Of which I’m unaware,

Which is how to deal

With wineskins

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I imagine they are made

From the skins if not the organs

Of animals—

Cow, goat, sheep, I don’t know

And according to the power

In the parable,

A wineskin only gets one use

What happens next?

It is made into shoes

Or a backpack

Or a purse?

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I hope wineskins always were

Recyclable

And more so if they’re still

Used today

I imagine they could

Be lined with something

That would take new liquid well

So the skin could be used

Time and again

(which I wonder that the bota can)

But now to people

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Old wineskins, once emptied,

Are now useless of their

Single purpose

New wine will require

New wineskins

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Now, what is the wine?

It is new thought

New purpose

The Spirit as device

(and metaphor)

Has offered something new

Not to overthrow the old

So much as to complete it

I think that’s what

Jesus would say

As in, I have come not to abrogate

The law

But to complete it

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The story is more personal

Perhaps

Or might be taken that way

Personally, communally—these

Will happen:

Should we have thoughts

And instincts that

Merely weigh us down

More with suppression

Than belief

And where’s the wisdom

Let alone the joy

In that?

If we-always-did-it-that-way

Is only an alienating

(try I-always-do-it-this way,

too)

Quality for now,

Time for new thinking

And new acting

Or old acting

With new thinking

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C L Couch

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Matthew 9:14-17, Mark 2:18-22, Luke 5:33-39

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Photo by Biljana Martinic on Unsplash

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Partial Recall

(x = space)

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Partial Recall

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How many things I’ve missed

In the last few days

The Lunar New Year

Valentine’s

The birthday of my mother

She died thirty-eight years ago

Shrove Tuesday

Ash Wednesday

Diagnoses take their toll

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Today the rover Perseverance

Lands on Mars

I should see and hear that

And all the other days

Will have gone by

Love in the time of plague

To contemplate while waiting

In her office

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We go on

We sigh, we breathe

We go somewhere

Where there is no breath

Unless we bring it with us

Then we craft it

Inside something like

New wineskins

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C L Couch

(2/18/2021)

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Photo by Lucas Myers on Unsplash

Cinder Cone, United States

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