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Fat Chances

Fat Chances

 

You know, I think it might be

Mardi Gras

Crept up on me this year

Probably last year, too

 

Fat Tuesday

Fastnacht in these parts

Shrove Tuesday

Shrove another word for

Get the fat out of the house

Ascetic Lent is coming

Tonight we consume or share

Tomorrow we wear ashes

 

I know our cultures

Make much in making merry

Merry’s fine

Merry’s good

Maybe we’ll smile the smile of knowing

During Lent

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Amy Syiek on Unsplash

Boston, United States

An early morning stroll through Somerville I could smell the donuts … amazing! http://unionsquaredonuts.com/

(fastnacht in German Pennsylvania is also a food, not unlike a doughnut)

 

Charity

Charity

(for normal people)

 

The old King James word

For love

It can permeate

In the old-fashioned way

A cloud of knowing

For a change

When giving has a cost

It isn’t easy

Whether it’s largesse

Or widows’ mites

 

Giving ‘til it hurts

I question if there is

Meaning in that

But giving as a passion

New kind of love

Not ‘til there’s nothing

There will come new rounds

But with awareness

There is feeling

There is healing

Florence Nightingale

Who sang not her praises

But encouragement

While wandering the battlefield

Clara Barton in the USA

Doing the same

Could you give that away?

I couldn’t

But I have a mite, maybe two mites

Someone may have one

It wouldn’t hurt

(so much)

Especially if I knew the story

 

I know, there is belief

Cynics are smart

And should have their way

While everything is suspect now

So it might turn from mindful giving

Into something mindless

Sometimes

 

Sometimes

Give anyway?

There might be something

In surprises

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Maheima Kapur on Unsplash

and is that the world turning in the center

 

More

More

 

There’s something more

It’s here

Inside the pale blue

Between the yellow light

And the branch’s skin

There is green, too,

Dark in the shadow

 

We can make it human

I suppose we always do

But there is another planet here,

A world whose talk

Is in the leaves

Whose senses know the light

And every color

Every texture,

Each thing that moves so that

Another thing might live—

It’s all cooperation

 

Learn from this

Don’t make it human yet;

It’s intimate already

It’s conscious because energy

Has wisdom

And gravity a story

 

The tree is a tale that moves

And also waits

So much to tell

More so than mute artifice

We should know this

And as we don’t

 

So wait!

All things are here

Enough for life, because it’s life

A history if

We could pull the sunbeams from the

Earth to read

We can’t for now

 

So listen, please

With all concrete senses

Best that we can do—

Please, listen

To the story that could save us

Every day,

If we don’t destroy

The binding and

The pages

Let ink run as blood from entropy,

Our self-made ruin

Of whole things,

Run into empty land

And lifeless water

 

Reclaimed by

An angry universe

Having expected

So much more

With all that had been given

Every word in nature

 

No wonder why

The angel kept, outside

Of paradise,

A flaming sword

Pressed by what’s inside

Ignited by protection of what’s true,

True stories, more

Than what we wrote

And what we wrote that we forget

 

Still having a last chance to hear

To receive

If only by the gateway,

A last chance to learn

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Erico Marcelino on Unsplash

The Wanaka Tree, New Zealand

 

Neurology

Neurology

 

High notes are too much

Piano, then the strings

Of violin, viola, and the cello

Maybe someone adds

Spanish guitar

Too much, even one

To make them

 

No wonder the heart is said

To have and have not

Its strings

To resonate

And somehow in between them all

Outside, inside

There’s weeping

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Belen Garrido on Unsplash

Villafranca del Castillo, Spain

 

Tree of Life

Tree of Life

 

The soul must be amazing

Some say it’s like a bird

And why not

 

I don’t mean a matter for debate

I mean the spirit that’s inside us

That leaves us when

We can bear no more

 

Where it catches next, I do not know

Branches in a tree

What has it for keeping

 

I think it is somewhere

I guess it might be doctrine

And so for argument

To say it owns eternal

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Kushagra Kevat on Unsplash

 

Floating Illusions

Floating Illusions

(title in the pile of stories to be read)

 

The confession of it is

That I’m glad to be here

And for the moment, for today

Don’t have to be

Nowhere else (I play with

the negative)

Or elsewhere

Even if it’s Christmas every day

The good parts

I’ll stay in my mortal place

Where time rolls

And I think I’m on the stepping stones

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by John Spencer on Unsplash

 

Earthly-Minded

Earthly-Minded

 

Ponder nothing

Take it as it comes

Pondering was yesterday

Then for an hour as a follow-up

Now is the time

For spirit to meet flesh

We have to do something mortal

And again

It’s time, and it’s the life we have

There might be a spark of

The divine

Not to forsake

But there’s the sun with

Outside colors

We must get started

There’s a road

It will not shine this way again

There was a sign

Or simply some hardheadedness

We’ve packed books

Paper and pen with which to write

Impressions

On adventuring

Time to go

The better things are waiting

It’s all right, it’s all still there

Please don’t be ready

A few things, sure

I don’t think we should wait that long

Ourselves

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Josh Appel on Unsplash

Washington Square Park, New York, United States

 

Gospel According to Rubbermaid

Gospel According to Rubbermaid

 

I just opened a box

A small container

I breathed old air that smelled of

Cinnamon and dust

 

That was all right

That was special

I was thinking of ancient mummy wraps

This was so much better

I guess I had it in the kitchen

Or maybe not

Maybe the box had become

A certain gift over time

Of its own

A sweetness mixed with age

I hear that happens

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Aditya Joshi on Unsplash

A picture taken at a spice stall in the famous spice market in Dubai showing an interesting pattern created by cinnamon sticks on display. With a limited light falling on the subject, the background automatically became dark creating a deep effect.

 

Mouse Culture

Mouse Culture

 

Mouse droppings

Signs of mice

They are old evidence

Except inside the walls, I’m sure

Where they congress

To meet upon important

Mouse subjects

Toward mouse culture

The latest look in traps

Especially the smells

Of things

I’m not talking rats

I believe their meetings grim

Volleys of hissing, punctuating

I mean gray mice

With small dark eyes

The kind of mice we’d rather meet

In fields

And in which

They’d rather find us

Meeting’s over

Crumb patrol, move out

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

 

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