god of what’s next
there is a
temple
toward which
all temples point
all
temples belong
there is a myth
toward which
all myths
belong
and have a share
in truth
there is a story
of all earth
we do not know
because the earth is wide
and old
and layered
with one chapter
on which
another pressed
open
the lore of earth
to find that
we’re all there
heroes
and villains
as we choose
or were conditioned
or those
who load the guns
or apply the salves and bandages
after
who plant
who dance
who seek approval
for good food
in a harvest
and safe water
for
the seeds
of plants
and also of the children
all of earth
someday
perhaps
to be children of mars
or proxima
where our myths
will go with us
and be transformed
toward
the temple
and the truth
we’ll need to take with us
as us
sorry
no need to reinvent the lord
more than we have
though we might find
a thoroughness of mind
and heart
to keep
a civil altar
and a loving congregation
of humanity
with whom we meet
we hope
to accept us
and new names
for one
in the lord
it gets
confusing
and confused
we guess
but we will have to learn the points
of truth
with light
the meaning
and the words
before
all of us
may and
shall
sing together
c l couch
photo by Mitch Gaiser on Unsplash
too late the resolution
(like Louisa G. in Hard Times)
she did it right
and she’s alone
I know
it will not last
in movies
with the rom-com aspect
but in life
decisions tend to
isolate
the more done on one’s own
the more isolate
one remains
call it conscience late
to be
a part of
worldly things
to surrender
what one might have had
for company in choosing
sides
and instead
go straight
if on a life track
like
a racetrack
on one’s own
so goes resignation
wrong thing
now try
the right thing
and because of all the circumstances
with
parochial judgments
now one shall go
along
alone
c l couch
In the novel Hard Times by Charles Dickens, there is a school of place of thought, in which a horse is a “quadruped” and little more. Nothing matters of the beauty or the majesty in horses. A child of the headmaster (and promulgator of the “quadruped” importance) is in essence trapped by the limitations in perceiving, well, anything. She learns, rebels, and is at peace with the aesthetics of the world by the end. But it is too late. She remains alone, sans family, in her good thinking.
I often think of this and her when pondering the story.
Here is a paraphrase of her final state: Louisa stares into her fire with a "gentler and a humbler face." She sees herself helping others but never marrying or having children (https://www.enotes.com/topics/hard-times/questions/what-is-the-conclusion-of-the-novel-hard-times-225779).
photo by Rich Dahlgren on Unsplash
I was walking up this horse path and lo and behold a horse was there grazing! I had to wait several minutes before I was allowed to pass. The golden hour sunlight helped make this one a keeper [photographer’s narrative].
the unchanging manger scene
don’t stop me
if you’ve heard this
it’s a Christmas question
about the magi
and their placement
in the creche
because we tend to know
or to believe
or to opine
that these persons from
well
the east of east
did not find Jesus
for two years
or more
not maybe less
and then it was to visit
inside Nazareth of Galilee
and was the flight
to Egypt
by the way
before or after
well
the visit of the magi
anyway
after some time
after the shepherds
angels in the sky
though angels could return
whenever
called
so there might
in fact
be layers to the experience
history
and story
and yet we put them altogether
on church lawns
all the characters
in what we call
Nativity
because that’s what it is
a fancy word
for birth
fancy enough
for shepherds and for monarchs
(not meaning butterflies)
angels
and animals we say
could talk at midnight
and that’s the thing
I guess
each one is unique
and they all
come together
with the single purpose of
welcoming
the Christ-child to the world
of people
and animals
and now
c l couch
photo by Patti Black on Unsplash
The Last Month of the World
Immanuel
With humans God
Or some such
The point being that
We celebrate
We even
Have some special songs
Only to announce
That God is coming
Though God won’t be here
But
In twenty-five more days
And how shall we fill the time
Decorating
Shopping
Going to the movies
The Oscar-hopefuls will slip in
In time for
Consideration
And the wars and famines
And atrocities continue
Maybe
Unabated
Maybe with a thought
Toward easing up
By the twenty-fifth
As a universal
Holiday
As in
You don’t have to be in the selected
Group
You don’t have to believe
As I imagine there were atheists
Between the trenches
On that eve
In 1914
Though I’m thinking
The world is often an awful place
Awfuler
This year
And I’m thinking nothing will
Change by then
The end of the month
This
Year
Then
More’s the pity
As some say
More’s the loss of life
Of limbs from the
Otherwise-knit living
Of heath through
Preventable disease
Or the lack
Or loss of
Fire
Through more attention paid
And even floods be lessened if
We did not pollute
So much
And there are twenty-five
Days
To fix everything
And
Well
I don’t think it will
Happen
Because it might
Take
Twenty-six days
Maybe even thirty
C L Couch
Photo by Lucas George Wendt on Unsplash
2 preachy poems (and I could apologize)
Wise Fragility
Don’t lose what’s authentic
That sounds good
But what if one were not authentic
To begin with
And what if one grew up inside
And was only subject
The falsity
So prevalent in
The human world
A wish
A want
The wisdom
And the health
In being who we are
With all
The honest virtues
And flaws
Flaws can be honest
Too
And loved
So what is real
We think when we’re naked
We are
Real
But isn’t when
We look the way we choose to look
For modesty
Or show
That reveals ourselves
In some depth
Some way
And bring it out again
What we know from what we’ve had
How we’ve been
Treated
Too
How about consideration of
How we might
Treat ourselves
With both health and pleasure
God
Making
And approving
Both
The way we treat each other
Vying
Too
In the best way
We were
Made
To deal
And to approve
Be you
Be me
And in love
All kinds of
(wise
healthy)
Love
Trade parts of each other
As lovers
Friends
(and)
Or nations
(the notion of naked versus dressed and when we are (more) real comes from a passage in The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis)
Cabinetry
I keep a few doors open
I don’t know
So I can appreciate
The colors in the labels
Of canned food
Or
Because I want
To be reminded of what’s there
Or
Because I’m claustrophobia
And the open doors
Trick a sense of space
Or maybe
I’d rather have life open
Not that it is
Though I think it should be
More than that
I think all our lives
Should be
Open
Like these doors
Not as politicians
Say
Nothing hide
Because they’re lying
In that
They have many things to hide
And so do we
Collectively
At least
But could we do it
Open up our lives without
Rejection
Without even prejudice
Except toward being human
Which
Of course
Is all
Of us
Open up
Maybe
(collectively)
Take off the doors
Somehow
Leave them that way
Which shouldn’t be a problem
Save for tremors
C L Couch
Photo by Tina Witherspoon on Unsplash
3 poems for new seasons, Christmastime and others
stopping by Frost
gray day
black branches
cold outside
in mid-afternoon
it’s already getting dark
meaning that
November plays it part
in the drama of the seasons
in these parts
what is it
of the woods
they’re
lovely
dark
and
deep
wonderful for liturgy
in recitation
as a legacy
we quote famous things
once more with greater feeling
now and then
look for inspiration
anywhere
and sometimes recall
to look
you know
inside ourselves
remembering that
we are
lovely
dark
and
deep as well
there is no peace on Earth unless
so here we go
it’s Christmastime
a holy season
some
might recall
that has become a cosmic
thing
on planet Earth
and I’m not sure
how much we should mind
since
maybe the Christmas values get through
anyway
something about the cheer in giving
as well as
the fun in receiving
remember that Peace on Earth
is a staple
quotation of the season
that could always turn into
rhetoric
and discourse
meaning we may talk about it
as a worldly thing
through and beyond
any one
sect or group
so we could take our chances
to be people of the season
wherever
whomever on Earth
we might be
believing
peace ultimately
to be
a practical consideration
in addition to
philosophy
and foundational pin
of faith
human faith
allied with God
and yet on our own
to own
Peace on Earth
why don’t’ we
and
we just might
an un-pretty plan
(poet’s agenda)
let the pretty verse be offered by
someone else
here there is a need
to be plain
keep Earth or don’t
have Earth or not
make up our minds
God is waiting
not saving us in this
‘til it’s too late for us
to move in with judgment
when we could have lived without
paradise imposed
but at our pleasure
being our design
and plan
c l couch
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
(from) “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
photo by Dmytro Vynohradov on Unsplash
here’s a chapbooklet for later on Thanksgiving Day or next should such things be saved—happy day, please be safe (irregardless of the world), maybe don’t deep-fry anything
A Day in the Life
It’s a strange world
Uncivil people live above me
By default
Encouraging me
To be the same
It’s a chilly town
In fact
Socially speaking
We bare say hello when we pass
And most often
Say nothing
Nothing
Through eye contact
Either
I suppose there are safe
Encapsulations
Maybe where
The profit’s highest
Too
Little havens
Barricaded from the rest
From us plain folk
Who want
A relatively easy life for interactions
Not to deal with the wanton noise
That simply proves
We’re here
Against and by
Indifferent suffering
Or prejudicial machinations
A happy holiday
Why don’t we
Tried
I’m tired
And maybe tired
Is good for now
I can’t do much
But so what
The world doesn’t
Turn by me
Or any
Rather
It’s a twirling gift
From God
And maybe if don’t clean
Enough
That only
Causes me to suffer
That’s all right
God loves me
Still
Both ways
As God loves you
Parade Monologue
(Thanksgiving day)
It was okay
I guess
Which is an awful thing to say
I’m sure
All the millions
Of hours
And
Yes
All the money
Too
In hope of celebration
For good ratings
I’m sorry
But it’s an electronic masquerade
Anymore
Pretty enough
Though there are mistakes
Mostly let go
(mostly)
Which seems odd to me
When the agenda
Is perfection
Yet
We can’t pull it off
In
Well
Anything
Pretty enough
I suppose
But it could be less perfect
Less tall
Save for the floats
As in
The high balloons
That seem to have a life
For movement
And
I guess
They do
Though where was Underdog
(supposing it’s too much
to look for
the Sinclair dragon
anymore)
The marching
Playing
Twirling bands
Are good
And should get more time
All the celebrities
We could use less
Of the ones
I do not know
And mostly will not see again
Which
I suppose
Is my problem
In cultural ignorance
But
God bless the Rockettes
And Santa Claus
(pulled by a cool
truck
this year)
Whose appearance
Mom would say
Means the official
(family)
Start
Of the Christmas holiday
Season
And I suppose
For Hannukah as well
And
Is it allowable
To wish for less
I wonder
In what begins
Our seasons of wonder
Thanksgiving Daytime
(in October by Canadians)
Water
One coffee
Then another
Yogurt
Time
I’m thankful
I could use less for thanks
Less noise
Less penury
But we have what we have
The days
Are existential building blocks
To make a tower
Of a life
Maybe a giant
Maybe a forest
Maybe a cover
And a framing for
A story about
Noise
A tower
With a giant
In a forest
I could be thankful for that
Too
And for imagination
Yours and mine
That could come up
With such things
Momaw Again
It is Momaw’s birthday
Most likely
You did not know Momaw
From Tennessee
Life in the Depression
A widow
Then the grandfather I knew
And comforts for
The rest of her life
In the nineties
And I’m glad and thankful
For her
Life on Earth
Thanksgiving for One
(how sorry should I feel)
I have a frozen entrée with
You know
The seasonal things
Inside
And a can of
Cranberry sauce
Whole not jellied
(sorry
Joe)
And
Sorry
Loneliness for a table
On my bed typing
In fact
And here I shall dinner
I presume
With noisy people
Up above
And a wish
For angel intervention
Maybe being tired
Is good for
Tolerance
Not isolation
That
Frankly
Today
Is not good for much of anything
An Approach in A-Grammar
(like a-nathema)
I made a lifetime out of
Getting the grammar
Right
And yet
Choose to use no punctuation here
Less and less
In fact
I guess I think
Line spacing helps
And as a reader
You may decide the pauses
Location and
Degree
As well
And maybe read through twice
Before deciding
How the thing should sound
Which could be an agenda
On my part
And thank you
For not smoking
(except metaphorical)
More so
For reading
Thank you
And thank you
Ms Lamott
Scripted
(rom-com)
1
Hug your mom
Why don’t you
It’s time
And regardless of the script
You should
Hug your mom
In this even-fictive moment
2
Two hands in the popcorn
Like
Lady and the Tramp
With spaghetti
More hygienic
This way
More noncommittal
Too
C L Couch
Photo by Odiseo Castrejon on Unsplash
Black Hours
Black hours
Don’t have to mean
A dark night for the soul
Or for
Another part of
Self
An exclusive mediation
That must go
Sadly
Matched exhaustion
With frustration
Due to
Existential form
For
Sometimes
When I was done
With day
And daytime matters
Care for mother
And
Father-negotiation
With
House and home such-like
And also work outside
Of these
I could claim some
Time
And I was tired
I had some time
I took some time
And I was
Tired
Yet so many things
Were sunlit
Surface things were quiet
So
I could
Own
An hour or so
To sit and think
Like Pooh
Beside the jar
Or like the Satchel cat
That sits and thinks or sometimes
Only sits
C L Couch
Photo by Marten Newhall on Unsplash
The classic Dark Night of the Soul is a poem and also commentary by Saint John of the Cross.
West Gone
Go west
Young man
He said
But he didn’t mean it
In that he didn’t go
And in heaven
He’ll say
I wasn’t young
To which the angels
Might reply
Did you think of all the souls
Already west
Living
Hunting
Worshipping the land and sky
And he might say
I knew that
They were there
But had all these people in the east
Needing somewhere to go
The war
The horrors of the restless war
And then
The burdens in the restless peace
Thereafter
Not enough
He might be told
But enter heaven
Anyway
Where we’ll have a job for you
C L Couch
(Horace Greeley may not have been the first saying it, though he said it famously in July of 1865)
Photo by Chor Tsang on Unsplash
The Old West
[before it was new]
clcouch123 
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