the poet-friend
I heard it from a poet
once
that there was no following
because
grace was dispensed
by
those who claimed authority
to give it
and
by their terms
I’m imagining a water-cooler with
a foreign hand on
the tap
a line that goes away
from
there of those to drink
who
are bestowed with an upside-down
triangle of a cup
inside
of which are stips of official
pardon and
toward
the price of another metaphor
a ticket
to
the show
while grace if free
and
has no agency but God
if I may say
three parts to
one
with grace soaring everywhere
and everywhere it’s
needed
to cover and to heal as
that song-balm
the sin-
sick soul
and why not fly by music
of
the spheres
an angel chorus to announce
and
to remind us
freely given is the love and salvation
of the Lord
and
is the vision made
the poetry
perverse
and I don’t know but that it’s better than
the tyranny of will that despots
try
and yet prohibited by better will
and inside each
of us
a part
as if to fuse with our own
elements
our spirits to
save
grace
angels
our own will
and we are saved
if
against the world
and
those disillusioned and me
angered in
their
favor for who dispenses
grace
and blessing but
the Lord
and not the red
and black
the gold of breaking majesty
while
what we have
on our own
even alone if need be
faith
and love
forever
freely
grace like justice flowing
even better
c l couch
photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
the road
I have a friend who got
to walk the trail
across northern Spain
the Camino
that
takes one to Compostela
I can imagine only
though
she affirms
the discoveries
and changes
it is a dark day here
the streets
are
dull
c l couch
photo by Mor Shani on Unsplash
sometimes nature agrees
and it’s a gray day
upon gray
though I promise you
the sun came out when
my friend had
good news to share
c l couch
photo by Jake Gard on Unsplash
on snowy evenings
an early evening when
sleet pings on the window pane
behind me
while I write
and try to write
to say something not likely
pithy
yet a touch
maybe to a point
and to
confess it
or to let
the setting like
the season stand alone
the dark and cold and icy rain I know
and thinking of a friend’s
father
who died last night
surrounded by faithfulness
it seems
and yet
I’m sad for her
and maybe I should let the night before
and the night behind me
do the talking
now
about
what feels separate and
in faith
might not be
a union shown by fact
someday
c l couch
photo by Anastasia Zolotukhina on Unsplash
Love andGainLoss
I don’t know
How are we honest
About loss
We feel it
We feel the
Not-the-presence from what is
No longer there
It’s rather plain
All the small things
That don’t quite work right
Anymore
Or at least don’t work
The way they used to
When
What is missing now
Was there
But then
The missing is another
Something
Too
It has been added
And we’re supposed to deal
With less
Than we had before
I don’t know
The paradox of
Loss and gain
Or
Loss and loss
Escapes me for compassion
Even in
A philosophy
Of love
Which is the “love”
Part
Of the “love of wisdom”
Though love might say
With philosophy
Or away from formal justifying
That everything should be embraced
What we have
What we no longer have
(I know
like hugging
a phantom
somehow)
Well
My friend is gone
And other friends are gone
And something of good
Feeling’s
Gone as well
Though ironically
(and paradoxically)
I suppose
We may need more such feeling
In these times
All right
No supposing
This is when we say
God
Of goodness
Help us through this time
For you are author and sustainer
Of everything beneficent
Plus
The way
(you show the way)
To deal with
What happens
And is
Injurious
The answer as in all things
Must be love
And love somehow in
The inquiry
As well
Which is added
To the present pain
In
Our reasons for it
Any of it
Plus the lack thereof
(of reason)
Clearly
Then
We go back and forth
And not so clearly
Why the loss
Even why
In the first place
Love
Knowing
And not knowing
Love is the means
The resorting
The resource
And was
At first
And shall be last
The seal
Our pledge
That is
An answer
With a reason
From
The start
And now even
Our gratitude
To go on
Positive
And with
Anticipation
C L Couch
(on the death of a friend)
Photo by Kseniia Rastvorova on Unsplash
gospel according to Douglas
what is the loving thing
to do
what my evangelist friend
would say
as a good question
annoying question
sometimes
even daunting
when we
want
the unloving thing
to do
because we’re jealous
or frankly covetous
wanting something we have turned
into an object
(or an object)
or
(with regard to envy)
we want something
or else
in someone else
to go away
none of this
is loving
not even of
oneself
that does not need the plans
and then the consequences
of success
in those
an ersatz love
a bent love
to be honest
if honesty
be first casualty
in twisting
the better parts
in what we want
what is the loving thing
to do
not weighed
down
except in service
though there's rest
that is
the sleep
comes after
for the day
for the life
c l couch
(Douglas was an evangelist friend of mine who consistently said to ask, and act, on that as the first question or the one to which we might repentantly arrive, later)
photo by Melanie Lim on Unsplash
Food distribution in a pandemic.
published on December 28, 2020
To a New Friend
You asked me
how I am,
and I didn’t tell you.
I didn’t know
how to be succinct
or how much you’d like to know,
though I have no reason to
doubt your sincerity
in asking
except I haven’t been that well:
I’ve been tired and rather ill.
And the doctors mention,
if only to mention,
the timeline for a transplant
and that I’m not getting any younger,
as we say.
And I’m concerned:
I worry
while living through the day,
awake at night,
half-awake the next day.
Maybe you have insight;
or maybe I would simply like—who
am I kidding—cherish
your responses that so far have been
both sympathetic
and intelligent
as an impressive combination,
though there won’t be anything unless
I say something.
C L Couch
Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash
My Friend from School, Steve
(add in your friend)
My best friend
Locally
Was Steve
And Steve was Black
Mainly
Though
He was my friend
He brought me in
For a while
Even to his house
His home
And he told me how difficult
It was
To buy that house
In rural Pennsylvania
Where selling to a Black
Man had been
Difficult
Though he had money
And persisted
He let my cat
Stay with him
Too
She liked to run around
The house
And try to dominate
Queenly
The feral cats outside
Near the barn
Steve
Had two lovely children
Long grown now
I haven’t seen them
In a long while
Though I imagine
They are lovely
Still
Inside and outside
Hard-working
Like their father
Also loving life
Like their father
Steve was ill with things
A combination
Or a last thing
Took him at the end
That should have gone
Differently
He should have had years
Of relative health
And joy on Earth
Even though
No doubt
He’s doing better
Where he is
We were friends
At school
Where we worked
His office was a friendly place
There were rows
And stacks
Of things
To appreciate
Mostly
It was that they were illumined
Embodied with his presence
Sharing wisdom
Sharing life
A resting place
Even
For others
For me
I miss him
Even sharply
Every day
He had a way
I miss his presence
He was easy to be with
Whatever the mood
He was my friend
I miss him
Every day
He had a way
C L Couch
I write this because it’s nearly the end of Black History Month. I can think of Black inventors and I do. And so many Blacks I’ve known with all the talents, attitudes, and contributions. But my famous friend for this month is Steve. He was a teacher. He was skilled. He was welcoming. He had a home and had a life. He is my professional and personal Black history. He should have had more time on Earth. He once called me his brother, and I have felt that strongly ever since. He was mine. He was my friend. I miss him sharply every day.
Photo by Dylann Hendricks | 딜란 on Unsplash
Pen Pal
It’s a bright day
Here
If it sticks
It will the first one
That we’ve had
In a while
I’m tired
Slept poorly
I had coffee with friends
Last night
Which most likely
Kept me up
Though it was good
Coffee
And how is it
Where you are
Just now
More importantly
How are you
I’d
Like to know
More important
Than
The weather
Without doubt
Though
You know
The weather
Has been an easy
Entry
(and
entre nous)
Into conversation
Except
Maybe
Anymore
With changing climate
Then
Who knows
Who’s affected
By
What happens
Climatic
Anymore
So would you
Mind
Telling me
How you are doing
And how safe
In any way
You are
Just now
Sincerely yours
C L Couch
Photo by NOAA on Unsplash
clcouch123 
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