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White Light

(x = space)

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White Light

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It’s all right

I wish it had more yellow

As it is,

It glares

But since I got some sleep

It doesn’t hurt to look at

Maybe the blue and yellow

Are muted in

Winter’s last gasp

The white light a tribute

To what was

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What was

A mild winter, more or less,

With snowstorms

Every now and then

That pounded elsewhere

Worse than what

We got,

Which I’m sorry

Selfishly was fine

White snow on the ground

White light in the sky

Too much

Too much for a claustrophobe

Too much for me

Maybe too much for you

If you live at all

Like me

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C L Couch

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Photo by Caleb George on Unsplash

Deer Herd on a Winter’s Day

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love we do

(x = space)

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love we do

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love needs air

it needs oxygen

it needs to breathe

not love in space, perhaps

but love here

on Earth

where nature

loves the animals

where people might

love each other

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the one

the two

the many

who is

who are

the oxygen

better than the atmosphere

(though we need

the molecules),

giving air through

the heart

the brain

the stomach

even the liver and the kidneys

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giving life

and taking life

but less than giving

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c l couch

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“Love Me Do,” Lennon-McCartney

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Birdworld Kuranda, Rob Veivers Drive, Kuranda QLD, Australia

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Diagnostics

(x = space)

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Because heart disease and the pandemic aren’t enough, I’ve been diagnosed with something more.  Not the worst, certainly not the best.  More medicine and alternatives to try.

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Diagnostics

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I’m tired

And I’m sorry

And I didn’t get

A good diagnosis

Not that the pandemic

Cares

It’s not awake

It doesn’t vote

It’s doesn’t laugh

In the irony

Of being sick from something else

This is my day, I guess,

To deal

To move around precautions

While I take them

Looking for

I don’t know

New ways, new things

To try

To live new life

Mollified, uncoddled

Looking from inside

As if the world

For good or ill

Is new

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C L Couch

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Photo by Kai Dahms on Unsplash

Blood

cell

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6

Flying, Creeping Things

(x = space)

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Flying, Creeping Things

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I liken the bird

To the Holy Spirit

That flies with grace,

Usually

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Often arrives

As a surprise

That on good

Days knows the wind

And all the stirrings

Of the Earth,

That often arrives

As shadow,

Serving

As prophecy

Anticipated

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The Bible kind

Nothing marketed

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We can aim

And shoot

And tear the metaphor

Apart

Or we can listen

Glossolalia

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A song announcing

God is alive

In fragile revelation

For our sakes

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Closely attend

An irony of notice,

Trampling the uncertainty

Doctrine or fear

Demand

With the way in

We’ve always wanted

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C L Couch

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Leviticus 11:21-22

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Photo by Agustin Fernandez on Unsplash

Punta Alta, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Remembering WCW (MD)

(x = space)

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Remembering WCW (MD)

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The light of dusk

Against the tree

Light blue behind branches

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Across the street,

Part of a red-brick building

Bricks shining orange

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There is no wind

No noise

This is life, still

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Maybe it’s true

That so much depends upon his

Scene in twilight

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C L Couch

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XXII

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so much depends

upon

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a red wheel

barrow

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glazed with rain

water

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beside the white

chickens

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Williams, William Carlos, “XXII,” Spring and All (New York: Contact Editions / Dijon: Maurice Darantière, 1923).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Wheelbarrow

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used to drive my students crazy

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Photo by Namroud Gorguis on Unsplash

Red brick wall of an old barn.

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Slowdown Season

(x = space)

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Slowdown Season

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Lent could mean

Anticipation,

If we would allow for that

In the midst of conversations

About sacrifice

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Having given up

On chocolate, we need

Something to talk about

How about why?

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Sacrifice for its own sake

Being good,

Don’t get me wrong

Though we can

Say more

About the season

About church

About reading

About us

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Lent means getting ready

Or it might

Lest we forget

Why we gave up the chocolate

Or the coffee

Or, I don’t know,

What do people give up

Nowadays?

(maybe screen time)

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It seems we give up

Something somewhat bad

Somewhat good

Maybe it’s the excess

We surrender,

Which a good ancient Greek

Will say

Is always good

A lifestyle to adopt

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Well, we’re not here

To parse

We’re here, in fact, because

We’re unified

We want one thing

Even if delivery

Is holiday disarray

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We want a happy Easter

With rabbits

And eggs

(rabbits who lay eggs)

And back to chocolate

Like a former friend

Now reconciled

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There is more

But it’s not mine to say

You must, must not

It is yours to say

To own a resurrection

Shown in nature

Told as story

A question and an answer

Of belief

It’s yours to say

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C L Couch

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Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

Walk the Line

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Left Words

(x = words)

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Left Words

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I look at another

Blank page,

Which is all right

There’s something down

Already,

Already stained with

Letters

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One letter by one

Formed into words

Making a shape on

The page

Out of many shapes

(sanserif)

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Once I read a

Single poem that

Trailed along the left

Side of the page

With a lack

Of syntax but

Replete with

Meaning, nonetheless

I could tell

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The letters were sizable

And the name on top

Was famous

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And that’s how

It’s done,

I supposed

It appears in

Someone else’s book

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C L Couch

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Photo by Gary Butterfield on Unsplash

Howard Hotel, 57 Howard St, Sheffield S1 2LW, UK, South Yorkshire, United Kingdom

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Foreword

(x = space)

x

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Foreword

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The nuns, the monks

The priests, the holier ones

In red

And all religious

All sectarians gather

As in conclave

Or an untied gathering

In which

To count the final days

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Apocalypse

And who’s to say it’s

Sad?

In the moments after,

There will be denouement

A slide of things

Everything

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Toward peace

In a new heaven—even there,

War have been resolved

The furthest reconciliation

Possible,

Final judgments after

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New Earth for us,

Probably a line drawn

Around pollution

With a prohibition

Understood, agreed upon

That so many things

Will not be done again

In heaven

As on Earth

On Earth in heaven’s

Occupation

With a new story peeled back

From what we were sure was

The back cover

Of our mortal observations

After battles

By the victors

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New story, rather

New book

New storybook

Even God might be surprised

As God is everything

For everything

And we all

Set out together

As at the start of Oz,

After sharing in

As with books

An immortal dedication

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C L Couch

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Photo by 和 平 on Unsplash

Sexu temple,,Shiqu,Sichuan, Ching

Small Lama

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Sun on Sunday

(x = space)

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Sun on Sunday

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It’s dim outside

And raining

I hear wet tires

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A gloomy day

I do not mind

The Addams genes at play,

I suppose,

The kind that make

A lark of dark days

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I’m a day into

The new shot

Feels like the flu shot

And every vaccine that

I’ve had since

Childhood

The site is sore

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I don’t mean to comment

I want to respect

The courtesies of others

That are challenged

Only in

Contagious situations,

Where they make

The issues grim

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Like guns, I guess

We know what we know

And I might be wrong

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But let’s not make it politics

But practicalities

There is an epidemic

I’ve lost people to it,

Which gives me added rights

To nothing

But my sadness

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C L Couch

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Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

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