friend

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

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 and ~~Gain~~ Loss

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

(x = space)

Piglet and Samwise

Piglet and Samwise

Would that

We could

Only think on them

To be them

Or to appreciate

Steadfast

Companions

And companionship

So close to us

They’re smart

Don’t miss that

They’re clever

Too

Sometimes they carry

So much

And are capacious

To take on our burdens

Too

They trim the verge

They stir the honey

In the pot

For consistency

Well

Of verge

And pot

Or rather

What’s inside

They have their homes

But leave them gladly

To find us

And then to journey

With us

When

They reach us

And we tell them

Or somehow we know

We’re moving on

You’re leaving

Then

We’re going with you

To the other side of the wood

Or through

Minas Morgul

Into Mordor

Like grace

They will go far with us

Wishing to go

The entirety

Of the calling

To adventure

And maybe they will

Or maybe there’s a part

We’ll have to go on

All our own

And then

To meet them later

(with success)

Someday to consider

Final matters

(then)

And in the mean time

There are parties

And there is

Conversation

On paths

Off the paths

On bridges

Inside when there are storms

Outside

After

Christopher Robin once

Said about his mother

Than when she left their home

To wander round

(that is, around)

The hundred-acre wood

Christopher had asked

Would she like him

To go with her?

She said no

But when I return

Greet me as if

I had been gone

A long

Long

Time

Maybe we always have

Such friends

As heroes or companions

Recalling

We are both

To each other

C L Couch

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
“Pooh!” he whispered.
“Yes, Piglet?”
“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. “I just wanted to be sure of you.”

― A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

(cited at or by GoodReads)

Piglet, as you know, is the companion to Winnie the Pooh. Samwise (Gamgee) is the gardener and companion to Frodo Baggins, the bearer of the ring in The Lord of the Rings. Each separately or both together was or were mentioned in a sermon that I heard today. I’m sorry I don’t remember why. Jesus had companions, too, though that was not the pastor’s point (or they were not his points).

The story of Christopher Robin and his mother is told in The Enchanted Places, an autobiography.

Photo by Arwin Neil Baichoo on Unsplash