altar call
we can’t approach
without
some sibling feeling worked out
so
we’re told
like Erev
before perhaps
the
Yom Kippur
and yet how empty be the churches if
chancels must wait
for
close conflict
or
the like
must be worked out first
before we resuming
carrying
a church-gift
say
our tithe
though many of us
chance
and
to confess
to keep the gift and moving
toward
the worship center
where
the convicting love of God
does not dwell more
but
knowing our score feels
more
c l couch
Mattew 5:23-24 (or consider other prodigal narratives)
Photo by Martijn Veldhuizen on Unsplash
alternative adventures
in dreams
and in
daylight
they fought by
dancing
the border dispute was handled
through baseball
I’ve heard
about
chess diplomacy
as well
does anything get settled by a war
with metal missiles
packed with gelatinous
geared
closed-circuit
destruction
is anything accomplished
save
assurance of another
war
staving off the final one
when afterward
all creatures
all things on Earth
are rendered atomized
and silent
in that way
peace without dimensions for
a grave
and so the horrors of these
stalling actions
for a war
having gone through the world twice
and happening
in
victimizing places
now
c l couch
photo by Laura Fuhrman on Unsplash
Not Our Town
I don’t think
You think of it
The problems that you cause
That what’s your fault
It isn’t mine
And mine
Does not belong to you
We go the way
Of the world
So to say
Noise for noise
Anger for anger
What’s the end
Some kind of disaster
Unclimaxed
Which would be real
Lack of material
Resolution
One of us withdraws
As in leaves
The other lets it
Without
Resolution
Because it seems
We can do no better
In the world
Not in Gaza
Which is hardly fair
For comparison
Not in
Nothing like
Mister Wilder’s
Or
Our town
C L Couch
Photo by Monica Bourgeau on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Don’t Remove This Label
x
I don’t want to reason
Only secularly
But I look where I am
And listen
x
In a long room
Whose beauty is beneath
Because the skin and other features
Are so poorly cared for
x
Which is to say
It’s old and could be good
But isn’t good
x
The noise of the world
Breaks in from above
And neither rule
Nor rent
Is cared about
x
Outside is a cold and pleasant day
At least to see
I see too much
And need to invoke
The other senses so much more
x
Drivers misbehave outside
Sometimes pedestrians
Though the thing about the outside noise
Is that it moves on
x
And I know
There are fires
That burn acreage
In a wild and awful way
And those who fight these flames
Are often hurt
And much is lost
Famously
In fires
x
And there is war I do not understand
And thank you I don’t want to
I’m sorry
But a bomb
Blasting away everything I know
And cuts away at me
By foes’ intent
I would be crazed
In every way
And to know the agency was human
Without randomness
For an agenda
x
And I know that states are falling
While brave people
Stand against
The evil reasons
And the power that, created good,
Is now corrupted
And maybe has been
For a while
But in a den bares now
Its blooded teeth
Behind a guard
That operates somehow
To keep the good ones from approaching
x
And I say it thus
With distance
Not that local evil
Hasn’t worked its way
Maybe the world
Learning of democracy
Is ruled by princes
After all
x
I simply want a quiet day
And promise of another
I want boredom
To be my awful challenge
And in this way I’ll try
To address the rest
I really will
From here
And now
x
You may decide what I am or
Most of you
Ignore me
And why not
Ignoring what
We need
To keep our naïve brand
In place
Like the labels on the furnishings
We do not tear off
Even though I doubt
The wars
Should care
x
I care
Not about that
But decades into this
I care
You might care as well
And more than me
Knowing better what to protest
What to fight for
x
Not to mention
I would rather be
Which makes everything more difficult
With you
Attached
Rather than against you
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Thomas Dumortier on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Unwound
x
After conflict
There’s thinking
It should have never
Happened
Cooler, take indifferent
Heads should have prevailed
At the start
Before
Before the mess
The knotted
And unraveling,
Twisted the way that
Things twine now
x
Not in the midst of
What’s going on
There’s getting by
Day to day
Hoping to wake somehow
Into something new
Something
Miraculous, so filled
With grace
That penitence
Weeps for relief
x
Somehow with
An uncertain thread
From Ariadne
Now betrayed,
The maze
Should be resolved
And we
Regain
The air outside
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Terri Bleeker on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Hot Mess
x
A knifing pain
Guts through
This is not a study
The other one
Must be a saint
So this must be the demon
x
Hooked on one’s own
Fallacies, who can
Judge the partial
And unknown?
Who should?
x
God should
But we are here
On Earth
x
C L Couch
x
x
lit cooker gas ring
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash
x
The Altar
If there is a conflict with
A sibling, I should not
Be here
So why aren’t the churches empty?
No more blood sacrifices,
Thankfully,
Which is not a license to keep
Everything inside the skin
Such pain to allow
Nothing through the pores
A bleeding animal would make nothing
Better, only show brutality
Blanketing repression
We’re told to go away,
Make it better,
Then come back
The church will wait
The temples with flat stones
No more Sunday-best
We’ll be each other
As a codicil to cosmos,
Should the sibling be a neighbor
(secular authorities
consult Henry V at Agincourt
and antecedents)
We are all descendants
Then how full
How empty
How full again
Should reconciliation be
C L Couch
Photo by Andreas NextVoyagePL on Unsplash
H is for History
History is not experience
But a record of what happened
My father liked to tell stories
Of growing up along Puget
Sound, which he swam across
Part of with regularity
Well, it seems that a border
Dispute arose between folks
In Seattle (probably Olympia,
State capital and southerly
Sound-located) and those in
Vancouver and of all the parts
On both sides—
A conflict of two nations, as
It were, Canada and the USA
One day the problem was
Resolved in a game of baseball
The border was settled over
Nine-innings’ play
I don’t recall who won; maybe
I was never told—that’s not
The point—the day was saved
Not with guns but by a game,
Sporting in every way
My father’s storytelling was
History—and is—a recording
Of the time and what transpired
My telling this to you becomes
A history as well
How about making a history
For yours
clcouch123 
Recent Comments