2 poems about the day
Fish Fry
(check the shape of stanza'd, ichthus undulation)
Friday
Fry day
Fish fry day
At the Catholic church
For penance
I suppose
Though the is
So much
One can’t complain
Of abstemious devotion
And the money
Should go somewhere
Good
And we Protestants
Can enjoy that
Too
Should we think on it
While crunching into fish with
Whatever else
Is
Provided
Yay
Catholics
Thank you for
This weekend treat
You all
Have
A great weekend
Too
After all the cooking
(the worry over getting
burned
while frying)
And all the cleaning
That frankly
We did not
Have to do
Though when it’s our turn with
A rummage sale
We’ll clean up
Afterward
For you
Thirteen O’Phobia
Today is Friday
A thirteenth
Sorry to
Triskaidekaphobes
Watch out
Black cats
They’ll be avoiding you
Which now I think it
Might be the quite suitable
Arrangement
And ladders
Mirrors
Sidewalk
Cracks
Salt containers
All the things that make
This day less
Amenable
And it’s the number
Generally
As well
The lack of such in buildings
Even
Now
And what was it
Crucifixion on a Friday
Or the barbaric
Gory dissolution of the Templars
On a Friday
Thirteenth
Early in the fourteenth century
(1307
look
another thirteen)
And Judas killed himself
Maybe on that
Friday
Being the thirteenth disciple
(once removed)
In some lore
But for me
And maybe I should apologize
I often
Find
The day goes very well
Which might be
Determination
Or
Luck
Half-Irish luck
For my mother’s family
While on my father’s
Side
There are the English
Who most likely
Do not care
About the day and
Date
As long as the flag is flying
Somewhere in a
Time zone
Over Earth
C L Couch
(9/13/2024)
Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash
Matthias, Paul, Judas—who is the thirteenth disciple/Apostle? (Rhetorical question--depends on whose tradition's answering.)
fish Friday
it’s a gray day
should it get darker
it will look more
than
a fish Friday
in Lent
we’ll hear the silence
the press
of what
will feel more
the smell of storm
for now
the taste
of dry moments
is it a desert
underneath the gray
a world
we will not recognize
has only
death to offer
after all rewards
of Earth
and us
a plane
that has no feature
(worse than deserts)
no signals
no direction
anything
to show a way
to make sense of
any steps
we might try to take
while on this
measureless
level
that might not be level
for
we could be upside-down
or inside-out
then wake up
to Friday
and it’s Lent
the season still
a still
season
have the fish
go to church
whatever
make it count
whatever
listen
watch
and learn
our faith
and our existence
might rely
on these
here
there are
symbols and signs
arrows
stones in a line
weights
to appreciate
and even try to carry
in a season
one walked this way
and every step
a burden
smoothed
wickedly
by sweat
and blood
we’re on our knees
we also
try to walk
that way
the steps now dried
through ages
wearing
ritual
the chance for meaning
or indifference
our choice
like the choice
for faith
Friday
Lent
and the other days
without fat or sugar
or without
tradition
make tradition
with the faith that is forever
that unchanges for
our ages
mutable
and
so very
needful
c l couch
photo by James Coleman on Unsplash
[photographer’s caption follows]
I took this on the 22nd of April 2019, on the day I heard of the bombing of 3 churches on Easter Day in Sri Lanka. Jesus weeps with you.
(x = space)
x
x
for fun—no penguins were brought back or harmed in these productions, though penguin company was enjoyed “chez lui”
x
x
To My Friends Back from Antarctica
x
It’s
World Penguin Day
(25 April)
You may let the penguin out
Whom you’ve been keeping:
x
With all the
Mechanicals
Around,
Who’s to know?
x
If you remove the lid from
Your freezer,
Then to the room
The machine
Is in
Close the door,
x
Will you have
A habitat?
x
Remember to keep throwing
Fish
Inside
From time to time
x
All the time,
The bird reminds me
(all the time)
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
Fish and Bread for Breakfast
x
And he does
Jesus loves you
Grumpy we might be
Though post-resurrection letdown
A haze of liturgy
Formal words that don’t match up
With Easter
But here we are
Since the book is ours
Invited to have breakfast with Jesus
Fish and bread
Common enough fare
Or not
The English
And others I’m sure
Have kippers
That is herring
England is an island nation
Israel is by the sea
And by an inland sea
We’re having breakfast
And hearing about metaphoric sheep
From a shepherd who knows the work
Perfectly
And is calling us to do it
What
How can we take from perfection
Well, we can’t
But we’re all here
It’s what and whom we have
We can dine with Jesus
That is the Christian church experience
But then we have to be out there
Out here
x
A message from white men
We need to hear from everyone
We need to hear the story
From the lips
And other parts
The parts that move,
That dance,
That look and try to look with love
On a good day
While struggling on another
This can’t be a message of perfection
It has to be real
And what do we know of perfect
That is real?
x
And we are loved, anyway
And we must love
And it’s the best thing going, anyway
x
C L Couch
x
(church with preaching on John 21)
x
x
Photo by Andrew Valdivia on Unsplash
x
Claustrophobe
Am I trapped on
the second floor?
My town for now
has the greater
accumulation,
And I realize this
is maybe too much.
I look out:
all I see are shapes
of indistinction;
I can’t even see
that well for
vapor pushing
up against my
window, making
visual barriers
in condensation.
The storm is Jonas;
that’s fine. If you
can escape the
hunt of God by
living for days in
a great fish—before
being retrieved by
hunter’s hand (let’s
say)—then I not
hunted by the
divine with the
exception to be
loved,
then I can weather
this—well, you
know–weather.
clcouch123 
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