Poor (not as in bad but as in not having) Prayer, Real Prayer—2 poem-prayers
Poor Prayer
Dear God
I’m too pent up
And that’s not healthy
I’m also poor
And could not buy my way
Out of anything
Or even have
The coat I want
Care for my feet
Or shoes
Though you gave me
What you gave me
And keep giving me
Though I’m uncertain
What that is
Not doubtful
But uncertain
For somehow
I know things
A few things
Anyway
But not enough
For sureness
As I breathe
And as I think
And as I move
At last
Into the day
I do understand
You give
With or without expectation
Or do I simply manage
Through the hours
As I may
As I can
With what I have
And like the other poor
With what I must say
I don’t have
Real Prayer
Sigh
What I’m blessed
I do not know
There’s the morning sun
Yellow on green
And branches
Is that
Are these
Gifting for me
Because I’m the only one
Looking out these panes
At this time
Or is there more
Or less
And how are we blessed
Anyway
Not through things
Through gilded anything
(I pause
to drink
and honestly
am grateful for the drink
against the times
that poverty
or sickness
kept coffee from
me)
Or property
That is the Earth’s
Though we believe we’re claimants
Well
The wealthy
Or the mortgage-ridden do
Or could
(I’m not sure
how much possessiveness
they feel)
So what is ours
And what are we blessed with
From your hand
And your say-so
Might we own
Pieces
Of a whole
Or simply lent them
And then leave them
Which seems
The wider lesson
From the form
That living takes
And then
What do you want us
To do
In this next hour
And day
And the life
As a campaign
But to do
Justice
Says your book
And to walk humbly
By the way
And what is that
Are these
Except we know a code
Delivered from a mountain
While we waited
By dancing
Before idols
Though we could
Dance for justice
And humility
I suppose
And do you think
Would you approve
And
Allow for our confusion
Our mistakes
Even our flaws
Until we get them right
Which might
Take all our mortality
Of energy and time
Though
As a God
You will stay with us
I suppose
Even a judge
Should have to watch
And listen
Before judging
Well
I know there’s love in there
Forfending errors
Allowing for the pardoning
Of sins
And moving on
With you
Further abstractly
Farther even physically
On Earth
And in the universe
We observe
And only push our pins
Into
So love us as we move
And when we’re still
Even remembering
Our virtues
Or our lack thereof for pardon
Then to set us on our way
Or leave us to it
As we may
And bidden
You’ll be with us
Ornery
Obstinate
Aggrieved
Trying again
Amen
C L Couch
Photo by Nikola Knezevic on Unsplash
(the thing about an archway is that you go through it—CLC)
(x = space)
x
x
Looking Out from Earth
(considering)
x
Inside wars
We’re living inside wars
And it’s a hate-able
Life
Explosions all around
We feel the blood
And everything
Left over
That had been
Our families
Our better nation
x
And I’m not there
Most of us
Are not there
We hear the counts
We see the numbers
And they’re
Too often
In the courts of numbers
Not outside
Where we
Suburban breathe
And have our way
With local stresses
Only
x
Take thou
Our breath
Away
Let us be like those
Having only dust
Inhaling
And nothing for a meal
With no electricity
To see nothing by
x
It can be like this
On all sides
Who live in darkness
Really
Who think
Like Sneetches
Adding fangs
And cells
That they have the light
x
And after all the irony
The hatred
That is
Sibling
It’s all over
While it’s never over
Too many names shall stand
We could not stamp them
Out
Or their recollection
As Ukraine
Palestine
Russia
Or Israel
Tibet
Burma
The Rohingya there
Maybe Ceylon
Rhodesia
See
Some things should change
x
While other things
Remain the same
People as people
Breathing
Pulsing
Moving
Having life
Allowably
x
Whom to indict
Why
I don’t know
I’m sure
My country fights the war
On terror
And on drugs
How are these going
x
Bless the advances
Harbor the retreats
x
The war
Inside the war
The war
To end all wars
The war of heart to heart
Chamber to chamber
Fluid all around
When sick
Ready to squeeze
Ready to say
I’m sorry that I made you
I’m going to try another world
Now
I mean it
This time
x
War is hell
So maybe hell is war
Forever conflict
Always killing
One thing or another
Nothing qualified
To escape
That is
Live after
Lest we
Let some chiefing of our making
Some cabal
With secret knowledge
Take over
And perhaps
We never know
x
So count our organs
Count our limbs
Count every hope
Still shelved somewhere
And in daylight
Bring it out
You have to sometime
That’s the risk
In living
Anywhere
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Richard Gatley on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
A Kindness
(Rosa Parks)
x
Because she was tired
And had enough
Of being tired
And the bus was not a charter
It was public transportation
She paid her money
Not a special fee
There was a seat
And she was tired
And had had enough
Of being tired
x
The kind of pain
Inside and out
And all she wants to do
It have it
Live it
Normally
The way
Anyone might bear
The pain
Of living
x
Though especially
The colored people
Colored brown
And paying for it
Without payment
In a place they did not sail to
Like Europeans
Who told the stories
Of their difficulties
Forgetting
(looking away)
About the holds beneath
In which the colored people
Had been pushed
And chained
And many of them
Died
On a journey of abduction
x
Can you imagine
Starting out this way?
This is their legacy
So let her have the vinyl seat
That she had rented
For a while
x
Let her have the whole bus
A fleet of buses
Let the people ride for free
And charge admission
For the lighter folk,
Which might began
To pay her back
And all her people
Who had the worse luck
Like the Indians
Already living here
x
Everyone with un-pale skin
Who met the Europeans
x
Not me
I wasn’t there
The rejoinder
Fair enough
But you’re here now
We’re here
We’re all here
Now
With small choices
And enormous ones
For how to live a country
Filled with all the colors
Hearts
And minds
And souls
x
You know,
Sometimes we stand
To let the lady sit
Or someone older
Someone bearing burdens
Or simply to be kind
Call it
Chivalry aside,
We can live this way
Kindly and civilly
Again
And for the first time
x
Might bring peace
(yes, there will be disgruntled)
On the bus
At the doorways
Going in
And going out
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Peter Orsel on Unsplash
Intersection in the Middle of the Desert
x
Fall into Night
Having slept late,
Perforce,
To my condition
It’s too soon
Now, the three-o’clock
Time when
The day turns
As it must
Toward autumnal
Night
And we notice,
If subcutaneous,
The knowing
Sense of
This;
Inside autumn leaves
We face
Alternatives:
To go dry-wilting
Into brown days
Or to
Flame like novae
In glory of
Expiring red,
Yellow tears or
Tears,*
Last bright orange
Bleeding
Dwindling into
Joyful or stressed
Evenings
Of our
Distinctive seasons
*reader’s choice
clcouch123 
Recent Comments