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Frances Perry

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Frances Perry

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Today is my grandmother’s

Birthday

She made it to 92

Not bad in my family

She thought Excedrin for pain

And a banana once a day

Were good for long life,

Otherwise living each day

With whatever

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She had agendas—don’t

We all—but

She might have been

A simple person

Driven by impulse

That life in the Depression drove

Also by other, better life

Secured

After

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She was the one I knew

Her husband was a good man

Who died when I was

A teen

And everyone was gone by then

Now the parents’ generation, too,

For some time now

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My siblings

Have had to forge their anchors

And to cast them on their own

In hopeful waters

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I’d say they’ve done well,

While I record

Some things

About them all

About us all

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Remember to

Set down your stories,

Too

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C L Couch

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“Migrant family from Arkansas playing hill-billy songs. Farm Security Administration emergency migratory camp. Calipatria, California” 1939

By Dorothea Lange – This image is available from the United States Library of Congress, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4450129

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O Sweet, Majestic Lord

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O Sweet, Majestic Lord

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O to invoke you

Oh to complain

Or sigh as if

I could rest

Upon your feet

Or lay my head

On your knee

It’s not worship

I know

But it would be amazing

To rest on God

This way

And feel the cloth

And flesh and bone

Beneath

Because the one of you

Who has these

Could come to me

This way

And I could sigh into my sorrow

And hope to

Sanctify my dreams

While you might

Accept my tears

Not as libation

But as something honest

Offered

Of myself

For a change

And for a change

Reverse the pietà

I want to rest on Jesus

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C L Couch

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Photo by Boudewijn Huysmans on Unsplash

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Advent a Season

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Advent a Season

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It begins tomorrow

It’s coming

That’s what Advent means

Open the paper doors

Read the message

Take the chocolate,

Mentally take a

Count of twenty-four

In a corner of

The counting mind

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So much to do

We say

And, yes, we do

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Too much?

I don’t know

That is another calculation

Achievement, disappointment

Satisfaction

The remainder

In the quotient

Both the object and the function

Of investment

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And can there

Be joy?

Yes, there can be

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Mute the commercials

And the other things

There are moments

In the darkness

There’s pain

And also promise

The prophets

Of so many traditions

Say so

Generally

And now

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Find your way:

There should be stars

Conversing inside

Degrees of brightness

While clouds and moon

Have come to play

As well

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So listen well

And talk

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There’s mischief

And there’s pleasure

For days

We might live differently

Then keep that

For a season

And another,

If the difference is good

If it’s made of lights

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Like in the northern half

Of Earth

The towns and fields there,

Reflections off of snow that

Will be trodden

Blown or melted

But remembered

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There is a new living

In this count of days

Or lose count

There will be arrival,

Anyway

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C L Couch

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Photo by Jack Catalano on Unsplash

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Christmas Campaign

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Christmas Campaign

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Christmas

Is a month away

Precisely

In this year of 2022

Good timing for Black Friday

I don’t understand

They’re only things

And each other’s company

The presents

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Not to be maudlin

Or mawkish

Sometimes the truth

Must come with syrup

That makes it sweet,

At least

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I wouldn’t know

How to deal with

Great expectations

Of receiving things

Rather than

Only ourselves

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There could be meals

Recipes

Desserts

Special drinks

Coffee

We could defend each other

Don’t let people drive

Until they’re ready

Turning out spare rooms

(Spare Oom in Narnia

with a War Drobe)

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I don’t mean a campaign

And I do

Christmas is love

More than possession

Though there’s nothing wrong

In wanting things

And owning them

And if there are dangers,

I think

You know what they are

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A month from now

Merry Christmas

It doesn’t have to be sectarian, for

Maybe part

Of Christmas love

Is diversity

And the widest possible

Welcoming

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C L Couch

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Photo by Andrej Lišakov on Unsplash

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The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, specifically The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

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two poems for Thanksgiving

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two poems for Thanksgiving

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The Godmother

(Sarah Josepha Buell Hale and Thanksgiving)

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In the USA

Other nations have

Their days

It was Hale

An editor

Who lobbied

Above Washington’s

Claim as a foundation

That

The nation needed

Officially

Thanksgiving

Hale wrote to Lincoln

Other Presidents

Before

That this day was

Needed for a nation

Even in the

Horrible paradox of war

To say thank you

To whomever we should

Be saying thank you

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Lincoln conceded

Gave a proclamation

That would not be set

For many years

Long after Hale’s

Life on Earth

Was done

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A first Republican

Then a long-serving Democrat

(who liked new deals)

Sealed the deal

And so we have it

Fourth Thursday

In the ninth Roman month,

November

To you and me

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The Day We Have

(on Thanksgiving)

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Football and turkey

Then more football

Stuffing and cranberries

Maybe ham

Or roast beef

Or sandwiches from

The many places

Selling sandwiches

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I suppose there will be

Beer and wine

(beer before wine is fine)

Water

Juice

Soft drinks

People ‘round the table

Between quarters

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If turkey,

Then turkey sandwiches

(little mayo,

cranberry sauce)

Before the day is done

With

More sustenance

Kept inside the box

For tomorrow

And tomorrow and tomorrow

Since there’s too much

Lucky us

Who have too much

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C L Couch

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Photo by Morvanic Lee on Unsplash

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Thank you!

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Earthquake in Indonesia

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Earthquake in Indonesia

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Pray for the souls

Of victims

Dead and living

And the

In-between

We don’t understand the hundreds

Because we are not there

We’ve seen pictures

These are not enough

What would we see for real?

What would we smell?

What would we taste?

What would we be allowed

To touch

And whom?

And all the misery

We’d hear

From the keening of the living

And the demons overhead

And underground

That scream a victory

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Nature is corrupted

We’re claiming the win

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C L Couch

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Boy, 6, pulled alive from wreckage of Indonesia earthquake

Story by Masrur Jamaluddin • 1h ago

https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/boy-6-pulled-alive-from-wreckage-of-indonesia-earthquake/ar-AA14sWsL

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Photo by Chris Zhang on Unsplash

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machine time

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machine time

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repeating numbers

for today

ones and twos

the sun is shining

angled beneath

clouds

mist that has risen

and such

above it could be blue

and then the black of space

with all our trash

and earnest vehicles

in orbit

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look down

and there’s the floor

to the left

is cooling coffee

right in front

is this machine

with a screen that challenges

endurance

still so much easier to use

than typing through

a master’s degree

on Olympia, Corona,

and my sanity

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remember paper?

that’s what we used

for turning in assignments

before the imposition

of electrons

paper, sticky stamps

other adhesives

it was a world, then,

that we could touch and hold

and know we’ve used

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c l couch

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photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash

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Feast

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Feast

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Is there

More to share

It’s Monday

In the week of Thanksgiving

For the USA

Canada has had its day

Already

There are rituals

Old

And newly defined

Played out

We go for turkeys

Franklin’s hopeful emblem

For the nation

I imagine for its sustenance

In the wild

When we were in the wild

We go for other things

Sweet and tangy cranberries

Thank you

And football games

To keep the men away

If so

They should trade places

Every other year

Or everyone should cook and serve

And play

There’s something

To be thankful for

Many will learn to pray again

Then wait for the next

Time

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Eat and drink

Some will serve the needful hungry

First

Or instead

How much is needed

After all

How easy to serve

Yet feasts are important

Here’s a feast

And at the table

There are families

And guests

And a good day

Somehow made by politicians

Owned by us

And how we satisfy

All day

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C L Couch

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Urban Gardening Locavore

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

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distracted

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distracted

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in the concluding

of the service

we sang

in the hymn

behold his hands and side

and I stopped following

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that’s hard

the hands and side were pierced

there was blood

out of its natural place

and it ran away

from the body,

stealing life

and we are to behold all this

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it happens to others, too,

the bleeding

from a fall

from a blade

(the scalpel blade is good)

or from a bullet

or from shrapnel

or part of a car or truck

or other crash

and we can talk about

what missiles do

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we release so much blood

and it becomes

the thief of life

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what was Thomas thinking?

maybe he knew brutal living

and the dying

all too well

and didn’t mind the asking,

blood for proof

or the holes in hands

and mark of the spear

at least

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was he chagrined?

he knew his master

and the following

restored

for everyone, as far as

Thomas might be concerned

and in euphoria

he might not have cared so much

about the scolding

because blessed are those who

don’t need such evidence

for proof

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whatever

he was back

he was alive

the gruesome marks

the signs of blood,

blood now thwarted

in thievery

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the marks he saw—and

did he touch as bid?—either way

concluded,

concluded

everything

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c l couch

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photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash

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the story of Thomas doubting is in the twentieth chapter of John’s gospel in the Christian New Testament

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