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we can be
brief
without sound-bites
that are extreme
the other way
while
of course
beyond verbosity
we can punch with words
we can overwhelm instead
or more
with
reason
and with courage
they need such words in
western Carolina
Florida
in western Asis
too
and all the places
that need healing
still
they need work
we know
more than
words
though words will
give the order
as well as
keep us going
how about
few words with
power inside
with which
words invoke power
to work
to expend our better energies
say
we love you
and we’ll help you
meaning
significance
and practicality
and
we’re coming
and we’re there
with
more than wishes
alone
rather with agendas for
health
and maybe peace
upon the land
and in our
minds
and in our
hearts
and in our
souls
too much of you
has perished
lost
too much
and with few words
we’re on our way
with actions
and resources
in hope of nature’s and our own
cessation
of destruction
at least
long enough to heal
and
with God’s help
perhaps
to remain whole
on these parts
our people
of Earth
c l couch
photo by MJ Tangonan on Unsplash
Chimney Rock, North Carolina
(my family tells me Chimney Rock the town’s no longer there)
(x = space)
x
Floods, Swords (two poems)
could read the second of them while waiting on the first
x
x
Consider Extra Floods
x
Jackson
And Jacksonville
Puerto Rico
Cuba
Indonesia
Pakistan
Recently, in Europe
Maybe here on Friday
x
The Earth warms
The polar shelves
Send sheets of ice
Into the ocean
Water rises
x
Storms increase
Maybe we should
Appreciate complaint
From our own
Planet
From the core to the skies
And those of us
All of us
On middle ground
Between the hell and heaven
Spirituality
Counting its own cost
In faith and lives
Of our own globe
In a waiting cosmos
x
x
Consider Broken Swords
(Lord of the Rings)
x
Sting was never fixed,
Which would have been bad
For marketing
Though reminding
If not teaching
Us quite rightly
For the story
That the sharpest swords
Don’t have to win the day
And brokenness and heroes
Go together
x
The famous sword
The one that sang for Aragorn
Is fixed by Elven smiths
And ready for the final fights
In Rohan
Osgiliath
Minas Tirith
At the Black Gate
At last
These are the heroes whom we know
The king revealed
Wanderer and healer
The sword
That has a greater name
With supernal persona
Magic
In personality,
In character
As it were
x
But Sting
Is in a box
In Rivendell
Until it’s brought out
For a hobbit’s use
An unknown being
Anonymity its armor
(which had served the king
for a time)
They would sting another spider
Fill with poison
Topping off the stinging burden
Of an eldritch thing
And promises
Nothing healing
‘Til the mountainside
And going in
To face the fire
x
Goodness, there are heroes
There are lives
That serve the world
That sacrifice all pleasures
And promises
To take on one great evil
In front of armies
On one’s own
Inside mountains
At the gate
Of hell on Earth
Of hell on Middle-Earth
For all of us, between
x
The small sword
Is character as well
Four heroes, as it were,
Famous
On the surface
Or unfamous,
Inside holes for homes
Then mines and caves
Tunnels without songs
Until at home again
To rest
When things are done
Awaiting passage to
A healing land
x
Five heroes
Add two more
Then seven
Then many more
And villainous
And in-between corrupt
Great wars to settle things
The hobbits home at last
We close the books
So are we
x
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Octavian Dan on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Virtually a Sunday
x
I pulled on a shirt for church
Only to have technology
Fail me
Or I fail it, more likely
Virtual church
I should walk down the street
Through wide doors
Greet people
Sit down upon the wooden and worn
Bench
Await the start of something formal
Or walk
And keep walking
Chill and sunshine
And have church that way
x
Pray as I go
There are things I want
To pray for:
My brother’s health
Cancer
My nephew’s healing
COVID
My neighbor’s heart condition
Another neighbor’s children
COVID in the world
(cancer, too)
The horrid war in Ukraine
War in other places
Where it’s horrid
(always horrid)
Yemen, Myanmar, Sudan
Or violence undeclared
Peace thwarted
x
For food for everyone
Safe water
Safe living
I guess I can pray all these things
While walking
Pausing for crosswalks
Maybe I prayed for them now
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Mud-Healing
x
Jesus didn’t need
Things
He didn’t need mud
To heal,
To draw in the dirt
To make a point
He didn’t need a drove
Of pigs
(poor pigs)
He didn’t need a feast
He didn’t need
The perfumed oil,
Though he adored
The one who gave it
I am sure
x
He didn’t need Martha’s
Food
He didn’t need Mary
At his feet to learn
Though I imagine
He was happy for
Her devotion
x
Jesus didn’t need
The Earth
Though he came
To save it
And to give
Too much
x
This was
And is
A God of love
x
When we love,
So many things
Don’t matter,
Anymore
And what does
We’re willing
If not ready
To give up the world for
x
Sacrifice
For service
For devotion
Life for another life,
To dive or run into
Dangerous waters
For rescue
x
C L Couch
x
x
(the sermon started in John 9, mud-healing)
x
Photo by Piotr Hamryszczak on Unsplash
x
Walpurgisnacht
(30 April)
Eve of a saint’s day and
Something to do with
Witches and with German
Witches, I imagine—the
Good kind of witch, I’m
Sure
Not Charmed witches,
‘Cause they were silly
(After three seasons,
Anyway) nor the crones
With noses whose hooks
Could hold pots, so badly
Were they drawn
Maybe that’s why,
Starting at dawn, the
Television plays episodes
Of (so-called) real
Mysteries
Because tonight good
Witches are dancing in
Dark bulls’-eyed circled
Places with what light
They might extract from
The sentinel moon
Under which their sinews
Slide in pace to music
Unheard
Beseeching sky and earth
And fire with water held
In fashioned vessels
To love the world and
Give their healing magic
Potency to break feverish
Ills that make corrupting
Sickness of what men
Catch and spread when
Dealing in the day
(see?)
31 January 2016
(in the global north)
I still wake up with jittery feelings. The sun is bright. The snow is melting down. Maybe I need it gone. But is that the boundary of my fear? I sit and look outside to see the beauty. I am inspired to come back and write a verse of two. Still, fear jumps inside me. At least it doesn’t leap. I’ll feel better, once I write a bit. Drink a hot drink, maybe take a pill or two pills. I know that on a good day my heart still operates in an iffy way. I know that what happened here was momentous. It’s momentous, still, outside. As in ancient Arabian architecture, I cherish space and righter light. Not simply looking out into amorphous glare. Rather the view of a virtuously bright and blue-skied world above with earth of desert browns beneath. Through arches made of genius and of grace, numbering the stars within each stone’s embrace.
I dream this is all easier, if not delightful, in a desert paradisal scene. Where arid becomes beautiful and free air moves through all, spirits borne and carried along. Maybe heaven’s healing wind will pause and wave upon me there, and I will feel and know something of the serene aspect of God.
Too much romance and earthly-bound, I know. But I need this. My fear frankly needs it, as does my hope and peace.
clcouch123 
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