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True Cross

(x = space)

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True Cross

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It doesn’t matter

Anything

Going around

One by one by one

By two

Will serve

It is a symbol of rude

Death

An execution of

No one

In particular

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Ancient Egyptians,

Romans

Not-so-ancient Nazis

Executed criminals

This way,

Leaving displays

To teach

The rest

This is how much

We care

Should you deviate

From imperial

Reasoning

And the protection

We afford

The laity

x

Add it

To the trash heap

On the outskirts

Of the city

Add two thieves

Say all were

Detriments

To the local good

Hung by lies,

They die

x

Should any

Die in faith

Even in a final

Moment,

Knowing for the living

That goes down in

Consternation

(was the

death-bed profession

real?)

That is,

Thankfully,

Not our job to

Manage

x

Two thieves might

Have gone

(their remains)

To a potter’s field

The third

Into a borrowed tomb,

Lent by faith

Itself and love

x

So put two sticks

Together,

There’s a cross

True enough

For residence of

Faith

A common symbol

Even less

No superiority

To go

This way,

To carry into life

Nothing special,

Child of God

Like the one

Like anyone

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by David Libeert on Unsplash

Kortrijk, Belgium

The Cross

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2

Remembering a Song Often Sung on Sunday Night

(x = space)

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Remembering a Song Often Sung on Sunday Night

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O God, our help in ages past

Our hope for years to come

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It’s Sunday night

And the chapel service is ending

We’ll all be leaving soon

To ponder Monday morning

Then what should be done tonight

That might be done

And what will be ignored because

The sabbath time

Is measured, still

x

Our shelter from the story blast

And our eternal home

x

Sometimes it’s too dark

And quiet

The winter will be worse

Not to be bored or frightened

We don’t fear wolves

Or wolverines so much, anymore

Except the allegories

We encounter Monday morning

x

Time like an ever-rolling stream

Bears all its sons away

x

Daughters are as sons

All are borne by mortal time

Away from what we know

Into a mystery

That we believe has

A final solution

x

They fly forgotten as a dream

Dies at the opening day

x

The scripted dream

Cannot be retained

Maybe it’s a contract

Between imagination

And the ages

Some keep a journal

About retaining something

The week begins,

Regardless

With the night, the dawn

And then the waking hours

Everything we know

Pushing away

What subconscious rules there are

When sleeping

Plus working out in

One brief act after another

Who the playwright is

Who will not let us

Keep our lines

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Amen

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C L Couch

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Photo by Deleece Cook on Unsplash

Cambeltown, Australia

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Wishing Well

(x = space)

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Wishing Well

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If it’s for a pony,

I won’t ride it

I’ll have it in a paddock

For a friend

x

If it’s for a dragon,

I shall want to ride it

We’ll go far away

And live off gold from

Its hoard

x

If it’s for money,

I’ll want a hood to go with that

So that I might give anonymously

Decide for myself

Without the appeals

x

It’s a world of need–

We know this–

Wishes can be

For comfort, yes

And comfort

All around

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C L Couch

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Photo by Steve Adams on Unsplash

Intercourse, PA, USA

All is Well in this backyard.

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God Only Wise

(x = space)

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God Only Wise

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God is good

Not because we say so

Not when we make God

In our image

God is not a he

Not a she

God is both and more

(you know this)

God is a spirit

(rejoice, all animals with spirit)

God arranges and then manages

All the souls

Given in residence

To us

So many things are

The other way around

We should go to holy words

To find our agendas,

Not to apply them

We should pray

Not for confirmation to our worldly

Decisions

But to find the reason

For them in the first place

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God is easy

That is not wrong

But is paradox

For how much may God require

Ask of Stephen

How much comfort will God provide

Check still waters

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C L Couch

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Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Jervis Bay Territory, Australia

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The Forest Rounding Heaven

(x = space)

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The Forest Rounding Heaven

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On my way to heaven,

I walked into a clearing in

The dark and then heard

x

Music and saw shapes of

Beings gathered; then the

Clearing shone with

x

Silver, moonlight having

Cleared away, it seemed, some

Heaviness in clouds;

x

Then I saw they were in

Front of me, why, animals

Of all kinds: some playing

x

Instruments, the rest stepping

Freely, animated as I

Perceived by the zeal of

x

Knowing they were free of

Hunger and the need to

Watch over their shoulders

x

One came up to me, a

Raccoon who knew my

Language and must have

x

Noticed both my wonder

And confusion—“Hello

And welcome,” said the creature,

x

“We are here at last, aren’t

We?” then she or he said more,

“No longer do we have

x

To eat the best we find

In trash, and we don’t have to

Worry about predators

x

Or mischief from your class,

Sorry for offending”—opening

Arms to the circle,

x

All the groups in pairs and

Threes and fours inside, “Please

Join us in the dance;

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Don’t worry, none of us is good

At this”;  I saw all the turns

Taken awkwardly,

x

Squirrels twirling atop

Badgers, dogs embracing

Mountain lions, hares with

x

Other hares, with wolves

As well; I didn’t know

How long it would take

x

For all of them to tire–but

I had to move along,

Which after tries at stepping

x

To magic tunes and dancing

Without shoes, I did;

I walked farther and further

x

On toward what heaven

Might have for me—for

My kind and one by one

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C L Couch

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Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash

Driving through the Laguna mountains as the sun rose in deep fog. This little glen had a mysterious and quiet feel to it.

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Monday’s Children

(x = space)

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Monday’s Children

(coffee then reading, watching, hearing the news)

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It’s a Monday,

Blue and green

It’s Stephen King’s birthday

And tomorrow is the birthday of

Bilbo Baggins

And Frodo Baggins

The anniversary of

The big party underneath the big tree

Thank goodness for

Big trees

x

Zendaya won the Emmy for lead actress

(though she is an actor)

On TV this past year

Since it’s a kind of peer review

And a mutual admiration

Society of a

Society I am neither in nor out,

I stay up with these things

Tangentially,

Though I’m glad for her

And her

Accomplishment

She must be well-supported

And did I squeeze a bitter grape just now?

x

To all those who accomplish much,

I’m thankful

For those who have helped them,

More so

And for those who accrued

Through

No effort but the virtue of their own,

I am impressed as well as

Pleased, though it’s not about me

And it needn’t be

x

Now, I read today that  women make up

Fifty-one percent of my society,

While thirty-one percent are white men

Is this why we’re so

Frightened?

Fear leading to anger

Leading to sin

We burn the crosses, rig elections

Cheat the press to make the case

That we should be in charge

The new majority, by the way,

If we must count

In this fashion

We’ve known for a while will be

Hispanic or Latino,

Going as Latin-x these days

In spite of brimstone efforts

At the border, in the cities

This will happen

x

I’m looking forward to the changes

And when the cap is taken off

Am I a traitor to my kind?

No, my kind

Is homo sapiens—

I can say for myself

That pinkish-pale or whatever

My skin is is interesting enough

But the color wheel is vast

And extraordinary (for being

ordinary)

And it is there

Or here—even the color blind

Know the textures change

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We are in this variegated world

In the flora

We are the fauna

We don’t need secret knowledge

Except as an exercise,

And bent has always been

The hiding of agenda

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Join me in the world

All the colors of the senses

(in this way,

synesthetes rule)

Patricians, even partisans

Let go

With everyone, take hold

Of what is good

What is love

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C L Couch

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Photo by Roman Bozhko on Unsplash

The Wheelhouse, Los Angeles, United States

Handlebar Tape at Wheelhouse Coffee

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0

Hearting R.B.G.

(x = space)

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Hearting R.B.G.

x

Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Has died

And we should be sad

Not clawing over each other

Rending into politics

For her replacement

On the bench

She died

At the end of the last year

It being Rosh Hashanah

Now

x

The thing that lurks

In the swamps of Washington, D.C.

Has not praised her

As much as it

Can only praise itself

Older, white, male, fat, ugly

She was slender and knew

How

To live her age

And beyond her age

x

A person for the ages

And for agelessness

x

I hope for the court in heaven

She is excused

Having served already

An eternity on Earth for

All pre-heaven people,

Though God and she could

Talk about

All the thorny cases

Here on Earth

Two old, wise, strong, gentle souls

Who understand

Each day’s re-creation of

Love, justice

Love for justice

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C L Couch

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Photo by Casey Clingan on Unsplash

Purvis, United States

This is a shot that I took from my front yard of the Great American Eclipse of 2017.

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Easygoing Hallucinations

(x = space)

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Easygoing Hallucinations

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Thanks to the medicine

And exhaustion,

There are movements

To the side and over there

That I impulsively

Give shape and reason

Some kind of small

Creature interloping,

Though I should know by now

Is nothing there

It is a gray feeling

To go through this so often

Not nightmares

Or reason for

The intervention of an institution

Small things I see

That are not there,

The first intrusion in a

Hospital after two days

Of sleeplessness

And drugs

And afterward,

My chest having been opened

With inside parts set

To the side so that

Parts of the heart

Could be cleaned out

It worked

It was trauma

There is legacy

For the time there is

I do not complain

For having days and days

Since then

And maybe many more

If there are new challenges,

I’d say it’s gratitude

That campaigns

For quotidian victory

Brings me to the river,

Though we don’t

Cross over yet

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C L Couch

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Photo by Rene Böhmer on Unsplash

Graz, Austria

Moody Reflections

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Good Signals

(x = space)

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Good Signals

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I had the extra headache

Yesterday

Today, eyelids are heavy

(really are)

So with the tranq

That puppy dogs at veterinarians’

Get,

I could stand to sleep

For twelve hours or so

There was the time

When it was so bad

I got taken to the emergency room

At night,

Where I waited a long while

To be told to leave

Without assist

(except to be told to leave)

Six months I had slept

Maybe an hour a night

I was falling apart

Inside,

Which might be the kind of thing

That leads people

To scream in emergency rooms,

Which I didn’t

But didn’t sleep that night,

Either

x

Finally, nothing kept happening

And sometimes

I could get more sleep,

Though it took

 A heart attack to move me forward

With the world

If we wore signs,

Would that make it better?

The signs would have to

Talk as well

Maybe give off scents

And have a taste

So that the senses become

Part of the message

(sending and receiving),

Too

x

Well, I have this day

(clearly, so do you)

The headache band is eased

Somewhat—and one might not believe

That I’m thankful

For all this

If so (if not), maybe it takes

Appreciating the knock on the gate

To be told in silence

Not time yet

And in reaction

Gratitude

For day-to-day mortality

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C L Couch

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The Grounds of Alexandria, Alexandria, Australia

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