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Whistling for Practice

Whistling for Practice

(sabbath-making)

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Take a breath

And enter into Sunday

Or Saturday or

Thursday or whatever

Day is counted by tradition

Or simply needed now

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Call it sabbath

Or a free hour

Or ten minutes

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For lighting a candle safely

Or in the mind;

Turning a bulb so there’s

Small light also counts

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Do you need a totem?

A symbol you can hold

Or a memento?

Certainly, that’s fine

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Maybe you’d like to write:

A prayer journal

Or simply some words

On paper or the screen;

You could sketch something,

Too, a desire

Of your heart

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Or allow yourself to

Look off into space,

Into the room, that is,

Without worrying

About concerns

For craziness, your

Concerns or someone

Else’s

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There is outer space

And inner space—find

Them both, if you will

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What is on that asteroid?

Who is on that ring of Saturn?

Someone might be waving,

Seeking a friend on Earth

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Arrange a special sound,

If you can—if not, don’t

Worry; for

The world is a noisy place

And you’re not

Responsible for that

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Raise your burdens

And look under:

There is a dream,

Maybe an epiphany

Waiting to be let out

And change your life

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Or maybe it’s the stillness

That the curriculum is after

Should you make a habit

Of this, if you want to sanctify

Some time this way again,

As for one I hope you do

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Don’t’ elongate this time

Against necessity, though

I hope it becomes

Necessity again,

Maybe tomorrow

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If this sabbath-making

Makes today a good reminder of

Who you are

What are your better affiliations

What is the name of God

Or simply a presence

To call on

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Or maybe nothing—you

Don’t have to have a

God in order to be still,

Enter into recesses

To fill them with

What you say is good

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This is in no way

A condemnation call

Or rationale-building for

Judgment, far from it

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The universe might judge

An indifferent planet;

That is not now,

That is not here

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In fact,

There is good humor

As in ice cream;

Let laughter out

To complement the serious

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If you’ve been reading,

Maybe enough time has passed

And, if you’ve not,

That’s fair

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Need I say again

The time is yours;

Now find what there is

To cherish in the day

That’s left

Or maybe has begun

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And if there’s someone,

One or many

Or a company of one,

Make a presence of yourself

To offer anyone

Or no one,

Readier to meet

To work or play,

Whatever a new day

(from here on it is

if only for a moment)

May now be newly

Negotiated

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Breathe better

Savor what you can

Remember there is love

From one or two

And onward to infinity

Or, if you will, eternity

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Be loved

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C L Couch

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Photo by Hans Veth on Unsplash

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The Darkest Days – Winter Ghost Stories

After all, the most famous ghost story is a Christmas Eve story.

wyrdwordsandeffigies's avatarCelebrating the strange and the shadowy, the damned and unseen

There is an eerie feeling to this time of year. An uneasy energy in the air. It’s something I’ve felt since the days when I still believed in Father Christmas. I lived for that feeling, for that energy. When I could feel it start to gather in the last days of November, a change would come about me, a change that’s hard to describe, though it’s something I still feel every winter time.

Telling ghost stories during the beautifully bleak and cold days (and nights) of winter is a hallowed tradition stretching back centuries. The bitter, chill breath of death always felt that little bit closer in times of old, creating conditions that were perfect for imaginations to run amok what what might be waiting beyond the grave.

The English writer and humourist Jerome K Jerome had it right back in the 1890’s when he said: “Whenever five or six…

View original post 80 more words

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Impulses

(x = space)

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Impulses

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Exhaling’s good

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We feel as if we’re

Letting go,

Letting things out

We no longer

Need

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Maybe small cells

Of disease

(don’t breathe those

at anyone),

Maybe

Small particles of

Memory we

Could do without

Because they act like

Sickness,

Like an infection

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Maybe we’ll

Straighten up a little

As we inhale,

Let the shoulders

Do their part

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Maybe we’ll inhale

Healthy remembrance,

As life allows

For these, the

Memories that heal

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It’s a dicey game

That is no game

Breathing, hurting,

Healing,

Breathing some more

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We learn from

this, from these

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It’s why we

Went to school,

To learn how

To learn

To breathe

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C L Couch

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Photo by Erik Dungan on Unsplash

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A Letter Came from Ephesus

(x = space)

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A Letter Came from Ephesus

(1 Corinthians 1:3)

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Grace

Hopes and maybe wishes

The visiting

And writing evangelist

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We can ask

Any, all

And sometimes ask aright

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C L Couch

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Photo by Mihai Moisa on Unsplash

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Cenobite

(x = space)

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Cenobite

(last ice age or next one)

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I need food

I need drink

That’s primal

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Since the world has iced over,

I have nearly nothing now

She should have told the hermits

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I haven’t seen siblings for days

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We always pray

But without tools

And a bigger fire,

We shall dry like

Animal meat, which is

All we’ll leave behind

Surrounded by charcoaled pages

As a testament

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What shall I leave as last words?

That it was too thick,

That I could not break through?

That the storm ruined my fire,

Even inside the cave?

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That I still believe?

That my supplication

Is to receive my soul?

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I do believe

Yet wish I had a follower,

Someone come from town

To bring me coals and kindling,

Water and a pike whose metal tip

Could break through ice

To running water far below

Though I haven’t heard it

Seems for an age

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I might be addled

Or unfaithful,

But I could go for bread and

Cheese as well and wine,

Though I’ve tried to make the

Bitter ale I have last for a while

(nearly gone, now)

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And candlelight

I miss candlelight

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My head hurts,

My body weakens

I don’t know if I’ll die

In night or day

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It’s hard to tell

Anymore

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C L Couch

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Photo by Shannon McInnes on Unsplash

Northwest Territories, Canada

On an off chance we found ourselves needing to drive from Inuvik to Tuktoyuktuk, Northwest Territories, Canada, which was only accessible by ice road at the time. It took us about three hours driving on the ice to reach Tuktoyuktuk, which sits on the shore of the Arctic Ocean. This is what you see when you step out and look down. Taken during the last weeks of the ice road before it permanently closed. http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/arctic-highway-challenges-1.4398726

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There was an ice age in the Middle Ages.  The next one might be caused by global warming.

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Clusters

(x = space)

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Clusters

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I sigh and sip

the morning is progressing

I have an artificial breeze

a measure for tinnitus

while outside, the tarn effect

persists

another day in more or less

a string of days

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I’m clustering my thoughts

until one group of them take over

travels on its own and further

a thesis for a theme

process and product

you know

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and hopefully approve

because I’ll be doing this tomorrow

until the cows come home

or other herded things

within which are groups of one

like thoughts

there you are in your thinking

hi

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C L Couch

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Photo by Adolfo Félix on Unsplash

Love Letters

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Neighborly

(x = space)

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Neighborly

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I’ve just read a story

About a neighbor,

No one I know,

Living in Florida

(I’m in Pennsylvania);

He was accosted

Just the other night;

Someone stood outside

His door, trying to

Bash it in; he broke

The door but did not get

Inside; the neighbor

Had a gun but did not

Want to use it, and

He didn’t; well, 911 was

Called, and here’s

The shameful part—police

Came and waited

Some distance away;

They didn’t get involved

Until the perpetrator

Came up to them,

Which seems to me

Lucky and convenient

Law enforcement;

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As you can imagine,

An official line is

Spun from the department

While the incident

Is under investigation;

My neighbor and his

Neighbors now

Live knowing nothing

Happened that was

Helpful, not by the

Police; and the first

Person, my neighbor

(I do not know him)

Must was his dog

While keeping pocketed

His gun, should inaction

Require shooting

On his part

The next time

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C L Couch

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‘Sheriff, hurry up please.’ Disabled man battles intruder as cops wait down the street

https://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/crime/fl-ne-police-response-intruder-ss-prem-20201128-ibp6eequqjf3lhgvowzcwlhaee-story.html

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Photo by Nathan McDine on Unsplash

Spotted

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Be Serious

(x = space)

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Be Serious

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I should say something about God,

because I like God

though I wonder how God likes me.

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Love and like,

like the basis

For a friendship.

And Jesus is our friend,

a revelation given when they met

for supper one last time.

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So if Jesus likes me,

which has been the implication

then somehow, in some way

I must be likable.

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I know God is all-giving

and all patience

with everything that’s perfect,

and my regard hardly necessary.

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And I suppose

friendship must be doctrine

in this tradition, anyway,

though we switch it to indifference

when we think we might,

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when we want to forget

until outside the booth

that God was there

in everything,

made complicit by us followers.

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We are reverse claustrophobes

on Earth—we want to tunnel in

where we might take the rocks

and build small tyrannies,

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which is not friendly action,

though if God is removed

by our convenience, how easily

each other?

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Friendship with God,

a treat by Christian doctrine, I

suppose,

while others don’t forget

the awesomeness of God

and that awe means fear;

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we could stand some friendly fear,

for it is God who loves

and calls us loves even from

prophets and lawgivers.

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Jesus as our pal?

Our buddy at the bar?

It’s fun to think that way

(I think so),

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though Jesus of creation

and of Sinai,

of Golgotha and victory

in hell—how trivially

is made up by us;

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but God is always God

who cries, who creates,

who sacrifices—maybe, then,

deserving of

an attitude of more.

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tim Gouw on Unsplash

Coney Island, United States

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Chocolate Milk

(x = space)

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Chocolate Milk

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I used to like

To mix in Nestle’s Quik

Sold by a rabbit

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It was powder then,

And I was not good

With the result

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Little globs of wet

Powder on the surface

Of the milk

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But I liked the process,

Spinning the Quik around

Making a maelstrom

In the center of it all

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I don’t know if

I had been in the southern world

Would I have stirred it

The other way

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I’m drinking coffee

From a glass just now

(it’s customized),

And everything is smoother

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I’m grown up

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But the stirring

Just this morning

Reminded me of

Turning galaxies

In my child’s glass

Of milk and Nestle’s Quik

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C L Couch

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Photo by Arnaud Mariat on Unsplash

universe

Far away Andromeda galaxy, or M31, in deep space.

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