About the Praying
I haven’t
prayed so much today,
not yet.
Sorry about that.
Can prayers move back in time?
I think
they can,
not as an excuse
but to place them where
they’re needed,
God of where
And when.
Amen.
C L Couch
Photo by Ahmad Ossayli on Unsplash
My Friend from School, Steve
(add in your friend)
My best friend
Locally
Was Steve
And Steve was Black
Mainly
Though
He was my friend
He brought me in
For a while
Even to his house
His home
And he told me how difficult
It was
To buy that house
In rural Pennsylvania
Where selling to a Black
Man had been
Difficult
Though he had money
And persisted
He let my cat
Stay with him
Too
She liked to run around
The house
And try to dominate
Queenly
The feral cats outside
Near the barn
Steve
Had two lovely children
Long grown now
I haven’t seen them
In a long while
Though I imagine
They are lovely
Still
Inside and outside
Hard-working
Like their father
Also loving life
Like their father
Steve was ill with things
A combination
Or a last thing
Took him at the end
That should have gone
Differently
He should have had years
Of relative health
And joy on Earth
Even though
No doubt
He’s doing better
Where he is
We were friends
At school
Where we worked
His office was a friendly place
There were rows
And stacks
Of things
To appreciate
Mostly
It was that they were illumined
Embodied with his presence
Sharing wisdom
Sharing life
A resting place
Even
For others
For me
I miss him
Even sharply
Every day
He had a way
I miss his presence
He was easy to be with
Whatever the mood
He was my friend
I miss him
Every day
He had a way
C L Couch
I write this because it’s nearly the end of Black History Month. I can think of Black inventors and I do. And so many Blacks I’ve known with all the talents, attitudes, and contributions. But my famous friend for this month is Steve. He was a teacher. He was skilled. He was welcoming. He had a home and had a life. He is my professional and personal Black history. He should have had more time on Earth. He once called me his brother, and I have felt that strongly ever since. He was mine. He was my friend. I miss him sharply every day.
Photo by Dylann Hendricks | 딜란 on Unsplash
2 poems about the ending, the beginning
Panoply
I was thinking
Of the stars
In the Chronicles of Narnia
The stars
Who are people
Who had arrived here
Long ago
And the people-stars
Who will descend
In the last
Hours
A star
A sun
With a personality
Like the face
By Georges Méliès
For the moon
Except
The stars-as-people
Won’t have spaceships
In their left eyes
I guess
We have anthropomorphized
Everything that’s
Up there
And to place them up
When they
Are all around
A stellar populace
And are the comets missiles
Taking centuries to land
Because a century
To stars
Is an age of dinosaurs
On Earth
A stellar war
An interstellar war
With weapons
So slow
And more rarely hitting targets
As the universe has settled
That the gods of war
Must be red
In their frustration
For the cosmos
Clearly gives it up
No interest
In who wins
The interest is in
Sentience now
Like theirs
Worlds have it
And the possibilities
As life is
Sent around
First as microbes
Then support for all the lifeforms
As they grow
A day
An age
Inhabit all the Earth
As each Earth was made
Earthstruck
Early
Sun is prepping
Not appearing
Yet
Moon is tired
From its performing
Ready to set
To rest for a while
The stars in their courses
Seem confident
I think they will stay there
For a while
An age or more
Perhaps
An eon
If that’s longer
Then to fall
One by one
Onto the Earth
Of an apocalypse
Or so our own myth
Goes
And does the Earth expand
To catch the stars
Or will the stars
Actually send meteors
As
Representatives
Ahead of
Armageddon
How real is it all
All the blood
From the sky
And on the planet
Maybe
All of it shall happen
As depicted
And shall the saved
Be gone by then
Perhaps
Perhaps
Some of us must wait
Through tribulation
To send
The message
While there’s time
Even through the
Revelation horrors
Hurry up
Believe
More evidence around you
And the world is breaking up
Though there’s still time
Still pushing your agendas
Give them up
It’s over
But something new
And wonderful
Is coming
You shouldn’t want
To miss it
C L Couch
Ramandu (“star at rest”) and the daughter of Ramandu (no name given for her, though in the stories she is active) from The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis
Photo by Alex Shuper on Unsplash
The Life
(own question marks, as you will)
So who is Jesus
The son of God
There
That was easy
But really
A child
Like you and me
With parents
And upbringing
The awkwardness of being
Adolescent
The quaking feelings
Of first love
The breaking heart
After
Learning
Schooling
Listening to authority
Tussling with it
Giving in
Though not all the way
Learning the work of this father
Deciding
It is not for him
And then diverging
No longer like us
Perhaps
Except in a search for freedom
And to get it right
With God
With everyone who matters
And to be disappointed
To give in
Or to wander off
Or in his case
Do both
Now he is divergent
God and human
Will and way
Thirty years to grow
Three to live
Then famously
What happens next
Then quietly
For the sake of souls
The living and the dead
Those there
There here
What happens
After that
It all seems quieted
Padded somehow
To hear the story
And to picture it
With or without
Pictures
We know
We’ll think them up
Regardless
But the actions
After death
After three days
Were they amazing
And is that
A silly question
Tangential circles
And did they start
In hell
Where Christ declared
I am risen
So are you
If you want
To be
Come with me
And hell was harrowed
Cleared
Horrified the demons
Hosting nothing
Like their agenda’s
Nothingness
And now on Earth
Where we live
Who live
Was it an angel
Or a gardener
Or Jesus himself
Who was a help
At the empty
Tomb
And were the spices
Cherished
Thank you
Mary
He could have said
They smell wonderful
Even though
There is no need
An empty tomb
Except for a shroud
Perhaps
Guards absent
Or emptied of
Responsibility
Death became reality
Instead of faith
With him
Or her
Or anyone to believe in
While we live
Forgetfully
Until someone has died
And we have responsibilities
To our families
To our minds
To our emotions
And wrestle
Losing
With mortality
But here it is
An empty tomb
Do we believe again
In one whose faith
We had
And then surrendered
And there it is
A ghost
And we don’t believe
In ghosts
And it speaks
Becomes a person
Different
And the same
For God can manage
Paradox
It is me
I am here
I was death
And now
I am life
And while they cower
Reasonably
In Jerusalem
Witnesses appear
To say
Jesus is back
I mean
Jesus lives
The temple to be torn down
In three days
Then raised again
A miracle
Is Jesus
And the miracle is not of stone
But soul
And it is that
Of Jesus
And
Reasonably
They do not believe
‘Til the Christ appears
Offers up wounds
As evidence
Jesus is there
In spirit
And in flesh
Yes
We believe
Jesus is there
Jesus is here
In spirit
We’ll remember
Jesus
In that way
No
No
Jesus is here
Don’t you understand
Really here
We could take meals with him
I believe
And I believe
Please
My friends
Believe
And after all belief
Had turned to Herod
And to Caesar
While we were calculating
How to live
With earthly lords
Again
This is what we’re told
This is what
She tells us
And those
Who were with here
What shall we do
What shall we do
Prepare to surrender
All again
To rise above the fear
We feel
For reason of our hiding
That we decided
Could be waiting
Until we’re
Forgotten
To come out again
Into the daylight
Of suspicion
And arrest
And execution
Like the cousin John
And what fortune like that
Might await the rest of us
We were about
To disband
All our community
Return to what jobs we had
What houses
Might accept us
And now you say
He’s here
Believe again
Yes
Yes
I do
Yes
You do
But all lines come together
For Jesus here
Who will believe
And will we believe
Maybe with a meal
We take together
We shall know him
As we knew him
He shall be our friend
As he had told us
All of us are friends
But also rabbi
And as some of us had said
Out loud
Even before him
Our Messiah
The one who saves
Both Israel
And the world
For the sake of Gentiles
He received
Jesus is here
How can we doubt
And where is Thomas
He should be here
Later on
He will
He and she
And everyone
Shall be here
At the point
Where lines and circles meet
The nexus
The zenith and the nadir
Whatever names you have
For what
You believe in
All directions
Meeting points
And places
Jesus
Is there
Jesus is here
And will stay
Once we decide
Once we all
Have decided
C L Couch
I am Christian, and I don’t mind if you are not. I like the other faiths. They fascinate, and I like to learn about them. And, more importantly, I respect them. I respect you. But sometimes I must be who I am and even for the sake of those who believe as I believe. Or I believe because they do. And God calls. And I respond. So here is something out of our beliefs, our faith, our code. It is creatively expressed, and I hope there is some accuracy to it. But it is poetic because poetry has strength of thought and feeling--and strength of imagination with the words at least. I offer this to you, what you will. Thank you.
CLC
Photo by Jacob Amson on Unsplash
beatitude
if
I took a chair
upon the dock
set the
chair
and set myself
on top
or
deeper in
I’d have a grand time
until
forgetting
where I am
suddenly stirring
and
then
falling in
chair
and peace
and all
and I hope
if
I'm not drowned
I’d have the
grace
to laugh
(or laugh
in
heaven)
c l couch
photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash
(2 poems for the weekend)
Man’s Search for Meaning
nah
I simply cannot
come up with
what
to say
it’s Friday
named for Freya
I believe
to go with
Thor
from yesterday
I hope
you have
a pleasant weekend
fecund
(Freya would go
for this)
and with delight
without the mischief
Loki would rather
sponsor
enjoy the days
and look forward
to more
which is how
I think
we have to live
as we can
today
with an on-the-side assurance
of tomorrow
like at a restaurant
asking for
assurance on the side
you know
how figures
and metaphors
must go
as we need them for our work
our rhetoric
discourse
and persuasion
speak to
the birth of a nation
the death of gin
(for a time)
the resurrection
of our booze
(after)
say we are
a patchwork
I remember
melting pot
from school
though don’t hear it
so much
in these
so-called
grownup days
so it’s the weekend
two days to play
for those
who may
yes
chores
too
we know
running errands
and for some
there’s running
too
if you want to think
there could be time to think
though let play
and rest
be timely
too
as they are vital
literally serving life
in
all
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl
Golde and Tevye
only a little more prosperous
so I could buy the small appliance
when I see it
or trade with less anxiety
for a car
or buy clothes to wear
for comfort more than look
though comfort
requires cost
as well
anything else
well
a less hovel-like place to live
with enough space
to keep me
without doubt
un-claustrophobic
paying for a class
now and then
so I might get better at this
and other things
and there’s fresh food for cooking
like a marketplace experience
most days
though now I’m getting crazy
over riches
I am sure
but
there it is
the kinds of things I want
or want to have
within reach
C L Couch
Photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope on Unsplash
What He Knew and Did Not Know
It was the
Rappahannock
I was told
He must have thrown
His dollar
Across that
For it
To reach the other side
The Potomac
Is too wide
And I wonder
Was there someone
To retrieve it
Or find it
On one’s own
To pocket it
And so have a small fortune
To spend
In the markets
Of Fredericksburg
And he
Must have been long-suffering
For all that happened
After
And eloquent
For situations in which
Most
Would not have been articulate
Except in a metaphor
A message
Object lesson
In leaving
Or perhaps
Remaining in a tent
At Valley Forge
Achilles-like at
Troy
Never
To appear
But dream instead
Of spring
Or even winter
In Virginia
In a home
Beside the fire
And yet
He prayed
We understand
And showed himself
And
Showed himself
A leader
Through it all
And after
When he must have
Shook his head
When offered coronation
Of all things
At least
He wasn’t there
For apotheosis
Above the Capitol building
A new nation
Perhaps he understand
Must
Try to get it right
And overdo it
Underdo it
In the process
The nation
Is a process
He must have understood
And had great messages
And then retiring
The
Not-once
And not a future king
But servant
To the land
And finally a farm
Martha
Tragically some slaves
The awful legacy
He terribly
Misunderstood
And misapplied the
Morals of a better code
Than he
Possessed
Inside himself
Maybe he knew
He’d be a bad king
Relying
On the flesh of others
Ridiculously
Criminally
Owned
And otherwise
And maybe we say
Otherwise
He did all right
And then stepped back
While others
Might
March
Forward
C L Couch
(on the birthday of G Washington)
Photo by Alex Korolkoff on Unsplash
Sigh the Old Machine
(one or the other)
I exhale
Without anything to share
Not really
Not a single thing
(so to say)
But a confession
This is the land I walk in
Today
A land of shapeless
Lack of opportunity
Without orientation
I could walk
This land for days
And come across nothing
Usefully
Defined
And so keep wandering
‘Til shapes arise
Small to left and right
Then something large
Like a statue
In a city
Or a fountain
And I must walk around
Taking in what detail
Might appear
Ask myself
About the sculptor
And the occasion
For such a thing
To rise
And on the other side
After a while
There it is
The tower stands
The phallic thing
To knock down
Then to go around
The ruins
No longer keeping me
From the pleasant
Fecund valley
Just beyond
And
Look
There’s sun
And moon
And opportunity
With many things
Like words
C L Couch
Photo by Gian Gomez on Unsplash
Apology of the Annoyed
Immortal
Invisible
And sometimes
That’s annoying
And at other
Times
It hurts so much
Not to see anything
Hear anything
By what is pressed upon us
That we can see
And hear
Even emotions
And our thoughts
Seem more real
More touchable
More holdable
Sometimes
Ghosts
You know
In stories
Seem more palpable
Than your presence
As we say
Everywhere
Why must you be unseen
Why must we count
On evidence
In nature
So that our faith is challenged
By a storm
Or flood
Or quake that kills
Why we might have to guess
At your approbation
The source of an eruption
While we must flee
The valleys
Where we live
Below
You are inside
Somehow
We say
And how really
Does that work
Unless we invent them
Or turn out
To be
One of the few
Who hear them
Say
Joan Dark
There are no voices
Inside
But our own
And we fill up the inside
With organs
Thoughts
And feelings
So where is
The space for you
We say
Your word is in a book
In many books
Though books are still
Unrevealing
‘Til we open
And read from them
On our own
Or in the forum
Hear
Someone officially
Say
This is the word of God
And truly
Is it so
The glass is dark
Which might be the metaphor
That helps
You’re there
You’re on one side
We might see movement
Guess at mystery
Find faith
Ill-shaped
By what we see
And cannot see
Or hear
Should there be sound
As well
And could we guess
That you might be
On our side
Of the glass as well
And by your presence
(guessed at)
Might believe
You favor us
Not our side
As politics
But simply being here
And you are here
Was there love
In your making
Things
And making us
With apparatus
For induction
Deduction
To figure out
That is
Through impulse
Too
And instinct
Gained
Conditioned from each day
We encounter
We experience
Make wisdom
Or simply know
Without knowing
How bits
Of the world are
Through what we have
And what we use
And what is used
Of us
So much a kind of
Instrumentation
And what for
To know there’s something more
Than us
We know
By simply
Living life
As its own evidence
And proof
Within
What there is
In all forms
And shapes
And differences
And energies
It might seem
Life proves
That you exist
And because
We are more
Than what’s inside the shell
(the blood and such)
In faith
There is more than us
And this more
Might be you
C L Couch
“Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise” is a hymn.
In addition to I’m sorry, apology also means explanation and defense.
Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash
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