(x = space)
x
x
This Autumn Morning
x
Gray with
A patch
Of red
Inside black
Branches
Red leaves
Attached
Maybe until
A winter wind
Comes to
Take them
Through the
Air until the
Breath’s expired
Then gravity
Must have
Its way and
Like the roots
We can see
And-or touch
Must lie upon the
Earth
And inside
For a while
x
C L Couch
x
x
Joshua Tree National Park
Photo by Matt Artz on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Signpost
x
Let’s see
Let’s hear
Let’s smell
Let’s taste
Let’s touch
Let’s move in time
And between dimensions
Of the multiverse
How many senses do we know
How many are to come
Into our knowing
x
The episodes are so ordinary
As to be in black and white
A visit
To a small town
An employee
Inside a bank
Peddlers
Sometimes alcoholics
Sometimes astronauts
Who are not ordinary
But take our attitudes
With them
x
Something usual
Then everything must
Turn
Because under the sun
Or moon
Is not enough
Sometimes we must enter
The zone of twilight
x
Mister Serling says so
And he writes so
He is right
To send us there
Because what we know
Is not enough
x
I just put down a piece of toast
And it stood on end
I might be going
Somewhere next
Be with you
There
x
C L Couch
x
x
The Twilight Zone, 1959 – 1964
156 episodes
x
The Cocoon Nebula along with its trail of dark nebulosity. 11 hours of LRGB combined with 10 hours of hydrogen-alpha exposure.
Photo by Aldebaran S on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
A Comedy Tonight
(the raven tells)
x
x
Demons
x
I imagine they are
Real,
Waiting for an open
Door:
x
We can dismiss
The fictive accounts
As speculation
But there are
Real reasons
To avoid them through
Prayer and
Spiritual companionship
And there are other rites
x
I guess it can be gross
And feel dark,
Trucking with demons
Always
On assignment
Looking through the fissures
To take over,
Listening
x
Yes, I think they’re real
Not in a
Gothic sense
They are not luxuriant
In empty, mansioned halls
They have us
When we let them
In
I don’t think by accident
x
Maybe by believing
They are means
For desire
Or revenge of
Something like
A genie’s wish
But in the lighted, wakened,
Wounded world
x
x
Hel
x
Is there a place
Of hell?
Most likely
x
Is it flames
And unquenched heat,
Blasts of judgment
Against dissolving
Souls?
I do not know
x
Maybe it’s all
Purgatory,
A final chance
For rescue
x
Separation from God
Is a popular
Definition, and
Why not?
That would be final
Final fate
Worst of all,
To discover something after
That is good
And lasting
And not to be a part of it
x
Maybe Jesus
Walks across the fissure
To harrow, hollow hell—to
Remove all residents
Should they wish
To go
x
Since a gentle God
Even then
Must leave eternity
A choice
x
x
Paradiso
x
Nothing like
Angels on clouds
Holding harps
x
Nothing static
The most action
We have ever known
With energy
And work
x
Only with good bodies
For it all
No weakness
Though the gentle
Supervise
x
Passion
Drama
Interest
Investment of
Our muscles
And organs, say,
Our hearts and brains
Restored
To Eden’s intention
And agenda
x
We’ll have things to do
In action
And in freedom
Nothing less
Only more
x
Impulse
And instinct
Perfected
Everything we want
Is heaven
x
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Killing a Bee
(that’s all)
x
Last night something happened
That hasn’t happened in a while
I was stung by a bee
It hurt
I blobbed on some ointment
On the spot,
Loosely wrapped it all,
Waited to find out what happened
Next
The last time I was stung didn’t go so well
The site swelled, and soon there was
A shot
(another
kind of sting)
I know, it is November
We weren’t outside
The finding of a bee (alive
the bee alive
I was alive)
Was a surprise
I discovered it while touching it
Picking it up, in fact,
Not knowing what it was
At first
(it was dark)
I doubt it was happy
And let me know
x
This morning, I found the bee
Where I had dropped it
When I touched it, well, it moved
And I killed it
Was it dying, anyway?
Did it let out a bee kind of scream?
Have I angered all its cousins, now?
Will they find me?
It’s an old place
There could be a colony, somewhere
I’d rather not have killed the bee
x
Now I think about
Going to church
Because it’s Sunday,
Church meeting day
As I type, the stinger still
Bites back,
A bit of pain from poison
And the barb
That I can’t see
Even though
It’s in my index finger
x
C L Couch
x
x
Was you ever bit by a dead bee?
I haven’t been
(all the bees so far
have been live)
I could be
Dead bees can hurt you
x
To Have and Have Not
(and my response)
x
x
Photo by Monica Valls on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Revival
x
Litany
Reading and response
Perhaps an antiphon
Might it happen in the forest
Where leaves are hymnals
And the altar
Is a clearing?
The supplicants
Are independent creations
Of all kinds
Petitioning for food, water,
Or the succor of the soil
x
The forest as cathedral
Is nothing new
As metaphor
I wonder if each clearing
Is a parish
While alongside (in
earthly terms)
The desert
Is a church so vast
That all the Notre-Dames
Might fit within
With room for more
As if to invite
A wider awe
By people
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Thomas Ho on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
FOMO LOL
x
Well, the pandemic
Screwed it up
Reminded us that we don’t need
Everything right away
Or the same thing, either
x
All the sequels stopped
Prevention, lockdown
Chain of supply
Forbidding the arrivals
That we’re used to
x
We’ve had
To improvise,
To deal with scotched plans
And ruined routines
Dealing with
The products we can find
While keeping calm
Keeping the calm that others
Might be losing
x
All the while
The greater part is raging on
Those who catch the disease,
Suffer, and then die
x
In the millions
Now
I know, it’s hard to keep perspective
But there it is
x
C L Couch
x
x
Coronavirus Cases:
252,967,467
Deaths:
5,099,784
Recovered:
228,800,363
x
Last updated: November 12, 2021, 17:48 GMT
https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/
x
Downer Theatre “Temporarily Closed Due to Corona. Stay Safe.” This theatre is one of many in Milwaukee, Wi closed because of the pandemic.
Photo by Tom Barrett on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Eleventy-‘Leven
x
It’s a child’s number
Like the child who grows up
And goes to war
Survives
There are scars
x
To talk about the war is a sin
Sometimes there are vows
Mostly, it’s harrowing
To say
x
Harrowing
To remember
Better to enjoy
Softer textures after
x
But it won’t go away, remembrance
So say something
Like an order
Do it now
x
C L Couch
x
Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Dust Bunnies at Play
x
When the winter sun is low
And everything on the floor
Is illuminated,
I spy
The dust bunnies come out to play
I say,
Hey, dust bunnies
Go back under things and behind things
Where I don’t know you’re there
They say,
No,
And don’t think to play with us
Your games are too tall and too hard
And I think they glare at me
And in their hearts
Have already gone back to play
Without me
x
C L Couch
x
x
(my, this could be done with children and with gestures—low, lit up, bunnies, under, behind, play, tall, hard, glare, hearts, play (again), without me)
x
Story of little bunny Peter that came across whole Italy:)
I don’t know this story
Do you?
I don’t recommend having a bunny
On the dashboard
Unless you’re parked
Or it’s navigating
x
Anyone want to illustrate this story?
x
(x = space)
x
x
At the Table
x
This is Tuesday
I hope this is
Will be
Or has been
A good Tuesday for you
(or across the world
might have been will be)
Even splendid
You are entitled
One of nearly eight billion
People
Your choices, well, that’s
Up to you
And not a matter for
Anything not like a tribunal
Present
If you are a despot, stop it
If you are a lousy neighbor,
Be a better one
But while the sun is out
(and when the moon is out
and that bemusing time
of dusk or dawn)
Take in free breaths
Let them out with gladness
And, dare I say,
Thanksgiving
For sometimes it is an easy Earth
When and where it’s not
Good breathing’s still required
With assistance added,
When needed
x
And, by the way,
Honey gets in everything
At table
I’m sure there are tricks
The bees know
Maybe through their knees
x
C L Couch
x
x
orange gradient fluid art
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clcouch123 
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