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dying

The Earth Is Not Round

(x = space)

x

x

The Earth Is Not  Round

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Four thousand dead

In Turkey and in Syria

From earthquake

x

Do we understand

How many?

x

We could say

We could lost more in the Towers,

But do we understand

What that means

Save for being there?

x

And if there,

How far could we see?

How far would our eyes

And ears

And hands—our

Spirits allow?

x

The bodies piled here,

Now there:

Who understands?

And yet it happens,

All this happens—neither

Is done forever

Or for good

(that is a play on words)

x

We need to know we can

Step back—that

It is all right, the stepping back

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As for disasters

We go in,

The brave go in,

Bags and boxes

Literal, awful

And sad treatments

That assuage

And do not heal

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Still, many will be saved

And perhaps there is a plan

For the next time

To forestall the next time:

x

Real homes and towns,

Walls that bounce

And have a chance

To remain

And keep the mortal lives

Inside

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I don’t have these perspectives,

Though I have come

To certain places

After:

Sometimes generations

Yet in need of fixing

x

Mostly, though,

The blood and gore

Have been my own

x

I do worse with yours

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C L Couch

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Turkey and Syria earthquake: race to find survivors as death toll passes 6,000 and hundreds of thousands seek shelter – latest

The Guardian via MSN, 11 minutes ago (12:24 EDT)

https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/world/turkey-and-syria-earthquake-race-to-find-survivors-as-hundreds-of-thousands-seek-shelter-and-death-toll-passes-5000-latest/ar-AA17bdhM

x

(I wrote this morning after sleeping with the news last night)

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Photo by Parker Johnson on Unsplash

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1

Painting by Numbers

Painting by Numbers

(pandemicism)

 

I’m unsure what to say about

Those who die today

Saluting nothing

No cause but the spread of a disease

We will number them

We’ll try

Then we’ll try to

Turn them into issues

On platforms

Of lies,

Of anything but names and

All the parts

Of lives

That some carried

And bear now

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash

 

5

Lent 6

Lent 6

 

The season is like mourning

A dying of a kind that takes

Weeks to be fully realized

The only kind of death that might be safe

Because following

Still keeps us here

 

The consequences are mollified by

Our remaining mortal

If something else should happen,

Well, that’s something else

 

It’s dying on the inside, isn’t it

The gradual release of things

That might do better elsewhere

Attached to other life preservers, say

 

Dying to ego

And to vanity

Fleeing what we think we need

To embrace and then let go

A gift, a conversation

Uneasy service that

Needs doing, anyway

 

We have days now

Negotiating will,

Arriving at a knowing place

Of spirit

From which to act

When it’s time

 

C L Couch

 

 

Official Navy Page from [the] United States of America[, ]Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Apprentice Ryan J. Mayes/U.S. Navy

Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22662531

Attaching distress marker lights to flotation devices used in the event of a [person] overboard[.]

 

0

A Coda for the Hero

A Coda for the Hero

 

A face broken by my pain

Looks down at me

While I fade into unbordered places

All perception rendered into

What will come

Sleep, I hope

And good dreams for a change

And wakefulness to a world

I could never know

Until I come upon it

You’ll be there

And everyone

The everyone I can recall

And so many new to meet and

Love for the first time

 

C L Couch

 

 

9/11 Photos, Creative Commons 2.0

https://americanlegalnews.com/hero-fbi-agents-and-first-responders-sick-and-dying-from-9-11-exposure/

 

1

Toll-Taking

Toll-Taking

 

Death at UCLA, teacher

And then shooter, then

 

Spouse found, murdered

Before

 

Death-number increases

Of soldiers lost to flood

At Fort Hood in Texas

 

Migrants’ lives lost

Beyond counting, since

Too many die unknown

 

In Mediterranean waters

Or on western Asian

Battlefields

 

Nigerian school children

Lives erased, such is the

The plan of those who

Took them

 

And these are in the

Process of becoming old

Well-worn news, such is

Our way

 

Though beyond blame

Is the stress of bearing

Our world, a planet of

Dying

 

And of sorrow

 

Atlas shrugged, the novel

Claims?  Atlas should

Have wept

 

Charon demands gold

For passage, though the

Real currency is life

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