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Walking in Beauty, Like the Night

(x = space)

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Walking in Beauty, Like the Night

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A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

—Byron

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The only place I live

Ironically

Is in the clock

(absurdly called the grandfather),

A prisoner

Of time

And time

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There’s a dark space

Behind the weights,

Behind an ornate board

In fact, taller than I

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I listen to the clock

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I hear its beat,

Its announcements

Count the hours along

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I got good at guessing

When it’s dark

Outside,

The dark of night and mortal people

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So I might slide

As if it were amusement

Into the room night,

Of shapes and shadows,

Followed by another room

And then another

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Accommodations for

Ghosts among the living

In a place

Where both reside,

Divided places aren’t worked out

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When light touches me, I burn

And if it weren’t an issue

For the gossamer of tissue,

I would burn for shame

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Life was love

Attended

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I thought I’d be released,

But immorality

So far has judged me

Here

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Where I must hide

In filminess

And flimsiness

Inside the dark

Of this dark place

By day

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C L Couch

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This work is in response to a prompt for horror writing from Katie Metcalf who writes supernally about the dark and winter and folklore and endurance.  Here is the link for you to try at your own magickal delight:

https://wyrdwordsandeffigies.wordpress.com/2021/01/30/writing-in-the-dark-horror-writing-prompts/

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Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash

Terrell, TX, USA

An old blue creepy haunted house | Please check out my blog at: matthewtrader.com/unsplash

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A Cool, Dark, Quiet Place

A Cool, Dark, Quiet Place

 

For optimal sleep, this is the

Room we need, certain

Voices say, though I think the sense

In it (in that) might be apparent

To reach out to the left or right

Then bring it in

Like muscles with a game ball

 

Lights out maybe with a care toward

Preplanning disorientation

From lack of light

We’ll need something soft, too, for

Our belly or our hip or our butt

Plus something for our head

Resting to the side or back or somehow with

The face pressed down

 

The coolness comes from moving air

Though climate control has become a

Denser thing, inside

 

As for quiet, we are on a noisy planet

Where some think noise is just for them

And could it harm the rest of us?

Let’s not think about that

In our cars,

On top of our neighbors

(I’m not bitter)

 

Cool, dark, quiet

And we sleep

I tend to think we figure

Other things might go that way—

Sex and, yes, well, rock ‘n roll

The play when that’s the thing

Our time in movie houses

Maybe for some exercise of other

Sorts, a walk at night, escorted,

Maybe in the rain

 

So I think we should vote for this

Approve efforts to make it happen

Good night to you

God keep you

God buy you

Goodbye

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Ryan Searle on Unsplash

Heal’s, London, United Kingdom

 

9

Trite-Time Relief

Trite-Time Relief

 

It was a gloomy, humid day

Hot outside, no rain

We could stand

A dark and stormy night

 

C L Couch

 

 

Washington Irving, Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Madeleine L’Engle, Snoopy

 

Photo by Andre Benz on Unsplash

 

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Haze

Haze

(through the unlooking glass)

 

For now, we see through a glass darkly

So we’re told

I imagine it is made of amethyst

Like looking through dark purple

Maybe there is a shape

Maybe movement

On the other side

Nothing we can know for sure,

Which makes faith the only alternative

Not for looking but for living

In a place where definition

Has no clarity

But must be visited

(we are here)

And traversed from

A pole of birth toward the pole of

Death and what comes after,

 

Half a world at least

Though maybe at its zenith

(or the nadir)

There is a launchpoint

Upside-down—

Maybe the dark glass is an asset here

Forestalling disoriented feeling—until

Right side up again

We are in something like

The sea of stars,

 

A passageway toward

Our arrival

For having everything we needed

Without regret

And with clarity of looking, by the way

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Anh Vy on Unsplash

Chinatown through the looking glass, kidding, just a freaking hole from the iron gate.

 

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Approach on Christmas Eve

Approach on Christmas Eve

 

Dark quiet night

Unbeckoning

 

Then a golden light

As a small bulb, bold

Enough

Against the darkness

 

Now a red gleam, same kind

Shines close by

 

And between the two,

Ridge lines of rounded bush

Are inferred to our sight

 

A porch lamp farther on,

And now we see the sidewalk

 

A platform sided by

Small walls,

Homely columns rising,

Leads to the door

 

The night has borders now

We feel invited

The world has definition,

And our way in

Is right

 

C L Couch

 

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Morning Dark

Morning Dark

 

morning dark

it’s longer now

and night arrives

earlier—the

longer time for

black sky to have

its way

 

and in equinox-

thinking, this is

just

 

for we should not

fear the dark,

since there is

dreaming there

 

C L Couch

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