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Love of Story

Love of Story

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Mostly, we read stories

Now

To children at the end of day

Or sometimes in

A social situation when

The elements

Are undeclared and

Might surprise us, if we knew

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There are official

Storytellers, having trained

Or trained themselves,

Maybe belonging to

A kind of guild

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Mostly, the storytelling

Voice is left to books

Without our

Participation except

When reading to ourselves or

At the end of day

Or in the backyard

With our friends,

While some meat

Is cooking on the grill

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Our ancient texts

Have voices, but we do not think

Of them (or them)

So much;

Their lessons are alive,

Sometimes their prayers—but

That there are

People talking to their people

Then and to us now

Is not so much a matter,

As it might have been

Outside the book

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Is this a problem?

Well, it might be:

We might benefit from allowing for

Human presence in our

Stories—yes, our prayers—through

The ages,

Divine intrusions (or,

yes, divine inspirations)

Notwithstanding

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But these are our stories, too,

If only by intent of audience

(which is to say

they are for you, they are

for us),

Which is to say we read them, have

Them read to us:

We engage,

We respond,

We learn

Sometimes we are changed

And at any age,

In any age,

Are grown

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So keep the stories living,

Let’s tell our own

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C L Couch

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Photo by Melanie Lim on Unsplash

Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur, Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

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Love Rules

(x = space)

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Love Rules

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And what does love say

But

To wait as in

Have patience, to wait

As in readiness to serve

Then serving

Love as a good question

And an impulse,

Love of everything

Except that which is evil,

Which destroys

As in the field

Or in freedom

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Love today, love now

It is the height,

The depth, the middle way

We can come back to it,

Should we need to

Should we lose our way, now

And then

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I mean self-love,

Certainly, but love of others,

Too

Love of partners, love of

Family, of friends

Love of strangers—there’s a

Greek and Christian

Story

About that, while

I imagine everywhere

There is a story about

Entertaining strangers

Who are angels,

Unawares

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So be aware and ready,

And

Love in the mean time

Not because heaven

Says so,

Though it does,

But because it’s the best

Humanity as well—the

Kind we know, even to know

It from

Pushing it down

Get help, get therapy

Read and write it

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For love must be way:

Easy, difficult, wounding

And then healing

Praying

And, yes, planning

Understanding on the inside

To do it on the outside—

Realized in all dimensions

Not weak but weak,

Protected,

Strong on its own

Ready for each day

When there will be joy

Within the labor

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I’ll stop on Poe’s

Favorite sound (made by o-r),

Though here

It’s but a schwa:

Love is small

Love is large

Its power suffuses all

There is none greater

None smaller

Children can manage

So must we all

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C L Couch

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Photo by Magdalena Smolnicka on Unsplash

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Too Good a Day

(x = space)

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Too Good a Day

(not really)

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Blue and green

And black and brown,

All in their places

It’s a grand day—

Pretty as a picture,

Some might say,

Though I think it goes

The other way around;

The dust-bunnies

Could come out

To play except that

I would see them,

Which is the drawback:

The sun is good upon

The rugs, and I can see

Everything I should

Be picking up

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C L Couch

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Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash

Elk County, United States

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Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(x = space,

because I can’t cut and paste

using the new WordPress editor—

grrr)

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Asking Questions, Desert Mother

(two poems)

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Asking Questions

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After the years,

Asking questions that

Could be left to children:

What do I want to

Be when

I grow up?

What do you want

Of me, dear Lord,

Or anyone (else)

Who cares?

How do I give without

Being taken in?

(okay, this question

more for the grown-up, maybe

embittered)

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And do we

Always ask these questions,

Or is it more rarefied

To do so?

Or simply strange

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There is a wider

World of happenings,

Some brutal and, well,

Simply bad

Though much of it

Is beautiful,

Inside and outside human

Flesh and in

The natures we’ve been given,

The nature of ourselves and

The nature of the planet

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These days, especially, it’s

Not hard to find out

What’s going on,

Though much remains

Hidden by

The agenda-hiders, which

Is regrettable

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All shall be known,

Eventually

And it might go hard

But, you know, for now

Let’s keep asking questions

Of ourselves,

Our world,

And of God

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Let’s take lifetimes, then,

To learn to ask

And then be satisfied with

What we learn

When asking,

Because we’re still outside the gate

Often forgetting there’s

Paradise nearby

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Desert Mother

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I have a sharp pain

In my foot

To distract me

From the headache

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I guess this is

Negotiation with the

Lord

Who made me

And tasks me

In such ways

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I am old

And beyond children

Except the ones

I talk to

In this way

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Whether or not I’m heard

I shall not know

Because I’m here

And they

And you

Are there

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When I am

In heaven, I still

Might not know how

The children of

Earth have done

Until you are old,

Then sleep

As I have done

And wake to me

And all the rest

Who have been waiting

For you

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And, yes,

We have other things

To do here

So will you

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C L Couch

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Photo by Michael Milverton on Unsplash

Wylie Bay Rd, Bandy Creek WA 6450, Australia, Bandy Creek

Sand Sand Everywhere

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Hola, Everyone Gone on Before

(x = space)

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Hola, Everyone Gone on Before

(All Souls)

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The veil we talk about

At Hallowe’en, the one that

Causes us to hide from

Ghosts and things, is thinned

Today with love

So that we might have

Concourse with the dead we know

To remember fondly

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The cultures that define, promote,

And celebrate this day—well,

They are smart

Wise in understanding

That family is a matter of

Connection, and there are threads

That intertwine through

Generations

And I am saying this plainly, I suppose,

Without to some

Enough poetic

Protocol, but tonight there will be

Remembrances at gravesides

With everyone straightforwardly

Conversing with each other

And in company

With those they haven’t

Been with for a while,

Maybe since last year

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Tío, he was a so-and-so—

Yes, you know you were—but

We are glad to think of

Him tonight, and we miss

You, Tío

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If they are or were really bad,

Then I guess we do not talk

With them or bring them

Up with words,

Though maybe everyone we do not

Live with anymore is given more

Understanding, the kind that comes

We know

From time and distance

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So who knows what might

Come about in

Understanding

¿Quién sabe?

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I don’t know what

Children think

About all this,

Though I imagine they

Understand it all

Better than we grownups

And won’t mind talking with

Grandparents,

Family friends,

Or anyone understood

To have drawn nearer

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C L Couch

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By J Mndz – https://www.flickr.com/photos/jorge_mendez/50398993712/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=94849432

San Andrés de Mixquic es un pueblo situado en la delegación de Tláhuac, al sur de la Ciudad de México. En este lugar la celebración del Día de los Muertos se hace de una manera particular. Las ofrendas se colocan sobre las tumbas y el cementerio está completamente adornado de flores. La noche es el escenario perfecto, pues los visitantes llegan aproximadamente a las 7 de la noche con velas que alumbran el lugar y proporcionan un espectagulo luminoso magnífico.

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saints

(x = space)

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saints

(1 november 2020)

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small-s day

and tomorrow

today is for the living

who keep churches going

tomorrow for the dead

who have done their work

and now have

new assignments

the capital-s people are here

as well and will be busy

on both days

if the doctrine is correct

though they should know

who they are

it’s the other ones

the ones without an alphabet

to support them

it’s, well, you and me

and everyone who’s interested

and busy

not for the sake of busyness

but the sake of her

and him

and animals

and earth

and everyone in need

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that is the ministry of saints

the living who will

slide over to the next

day for all souls

when it’s time

tragic or a relief

finally to sleep a while

before the call

a clarion perhaps

to wake us all

into revelation and the next course

of energy and will

saints and souls

to keep it intimate for now

and cosmic later on

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c l couch

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photo by nina staer nathan on unsplash

bali, indonesia

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Autumnal Triduum

(x = space)

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Autumnal Triduum

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Tomorrow is All Saints

The day after All Souls

One day celebrates

Those of us alive

The other celebrates

Those who have died

On the latter day,

There will be picnics

By bright gravesides

Special foods

Candies in the shapes of skulls

We’ll visit with our

Relatives gone on

Come back ironically

And joyfully

To check on mortals,

How we’re getting on

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pieter van de Sande on Unsplash

Steamboat Springs, Colorado, Verenigde Staten

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Mischief Day

(x = space)

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Mischief Day

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So far, it’s been

A disorienting day

When I just miss the counter’s edge

Or don’t

When I spill something

Then spill it again

When I can’t keep a lock

Out of my eye

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I imagine I’ll be stubbing toes

Missing the finale

Locating many things

But what I need

Tomorrow will be Hallowe’en

Maybe the veils are thinning out already

And someone let

The imps through first

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C L Couch

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When we grew up, there was Devil’s Night, the night before Hallowe’en.  I understand it’s Mischief Night as well.

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Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

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A Book of Second or Third Genesis

(x = space)

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A Book of Second or Third Genesis

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What if Adam had

Eaten first?

On the outside, maybe

Pretty much the same

And on the inside

A righteous change

To history

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Though, of course,

We wouldn’t know it

What we’d know

Is maybe men

Forfending, maybe

Or a readier

Different sort

Of heart from women

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Forgiveness all around

You see,

It’s possible

And it’s possible

Men would have understood

Something more

Of consequence

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Hmm, is it possible

The hurt of childbirth

Might have been

Visited the other way?

And to get us through

Each day,

Might men have learned

To ask direction from

The partner species?

Not because of childbirth

But because,

You know,

Each day

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A second book of Genesis

Isn’t around the

Corner up ahead

Unless there is

A fanciful commission

But a forthcoming way to think

That doesn’t hurt

Except in ego’s pocket

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Might help

A world

(a human world)

That is at present torn up

Over truth

A service, by the way,

Of creativity

To fill

A needful break in solid life

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C L Couch

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Photo by atared althaqeb on Unsplash

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