Long Earth
Thinking
About day and night
In the spring surprise of
Noting
Blue light persisting
Layered
And
Dissolving in to dark
And yet the longer time
As Earth considers turning
Back
Leaning to favor
Days of planting in the northern
Half
While the southern part
Has winter
A cycle of
Waking
Hibernation
Still for a billion years
Two billions or so
Until a final pressing
To go away
To land upon another world
With the surprise
Discovery
Of its own planetary cycles
And its seasons become
Our own
C L Couch
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
we love like winter
days that underneath the cold
are warm with home
c l couch
photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash
Binary Opposition
‘Levendy-‘leven
A children’s number
Yet
Everything too grown-up
Was waiting
For the papers on the tables
To be signed to
End
The awful
Too grown-up
Thing
Eleven eleven
Eleven eleven
And then
The terrible ritual
Was done and we could say
The war
Is over
Over there
Over here
The horror
Of a heart of darkness
Goes back under for
A season
Inside the shell of all the mortals
And the devils
Who let the horror out for
Four years
And now
To reckon all such times
And all such people
Knowing also
Innocent
To serve
Knowing by country
And by honor
And that was nearly all
Except
The names that each one
Might have known
To bear inside the pockets
And the packs
Before
Each battle
And on the field
After
Until games
As in the most harrowing
Of contests
Call
In-free
Come to base
The dark is on
Go home
C L Couch
Photo by Georgi Kalaydzhiev on Unsplash
Homely
(classic meaning)
I don’t have a home
Do you
I have walls I pay for
That is all
I want a home
A place of peace
Though not all the time
A place
With variable moods
Allowed
Even with flaws expressed
And then corrected
And we know
Then
Something more
A place
With simple pleasures
Too
Who knows
Maybe the peace
Shall come from these
C L Couch
(a poem to go with the poem posted the other day about actual homelessness, “Less Home”)
Photo by Barb McMahon on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Small, Insistent Formulae
x
Sigh
Let’s love
Love
And make it practical
I’ll carry this for you
You could make something
For me
x
Keep it civil
Better courteous
Keep respect
For remembrance
In our heads
Our chests
Wherever better spirits
Dwell
x
And sing for love
Upon our stages
Certainly
Inside our homes
And in any congress
We might have
Outside
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Larm Rmah on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Panic of 1819
(and probably in ancient Rome and every Friday since)
x
I don’t have it yet
It’s Friday
I don’t have it
x
In a suburban way,
I want
To have earned the weekend
x
Bad night last night
Today’s not much better
Except I’m awake
If duly
And can
More practically
Resort
To caffeine, should I wish
x
But there is
Something better
I am sure
Something to find my spirit
In the rut
If not a hole
And pull me through
x
It’s feelings
It’s truncated thoughts
And more
A weight of sin
Perhaps
Though don’t we bear that
Every day?
x
Well,
Design
And draft away
And with a shape
Construct
A frame
Add more materials
For texture
And color as that matters much
On Earth
x
And get it done
For presentation
Monday
By five
Or six
Or seven
Then find our friends
Beside what we call
Colloquially
The watering hole
That other creatures need
The literal
More direly
x
But let’s go in
And break
Exhale
Find solace
Even in this world
In trust
x
Or
You know
We could go home
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Daniel Gregoire on Unsplash
x
curated in “Friday clouds”; looking like mountains—Friday mountains?—with the moon an evening invitation
x
(x = space)
x
x
Dance Again
x
What shall I do today?
Well,
There are things
How is your day
So far?
I hope it’s good
You should have a good day
And another
They should string along
Like lights above the porch
Because
There’s a party
An accumulation
Friends
Good food, good things to drunk
When we’re a little tired
We’ll sit
Under the lights
Under a combing of the stars
Pushed closer
Just for us
Your day should promise
All of this
And more, of course
i don’t know exactly what
Is on your list
Or if that matters
Gifts are free
And you should have this day
Like a gift
The cost of grace
Yes, spiritually
Maybe a bit in style
Good things for free
Good day
Good day
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash
[photographer’s story] Whilst I was taking this picture opposite Saint Paul’s in London, a few people stopped to ask if I was a paparazzi and if I was taking a picture of someone famous. This made me chuckle!
[maybe we could all meet there]
x
(x = space)
x
x
Future Perfect
x
What is that, Father?
The child asks,
Pointing
Like accusation
x
That is a gun, the
Father says
x
Over the mantel
Perched
By law
x
But, observes the child,
It’s falling apart;
I can barely tell the shape
Of it
x
Yes,
Father replies,
And that is the way
Of all guns now,
Now that we’ve grown
To take
Care of each other
And put the guns
Aside
And, as we have,
Reminders
x
Later in the day,
Mother enters
And has news
From work:
x
The assembly made the choice
At last
To take them down,
To put up other tokens,
Totems, symbols,
What have you
What have us
Instead
x
And so
The gun is taken down,
Parts swept off the mantel
And
For a while
The peaceful emptiness there
Pervades
While the family
Talks
About what to put there next
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Patrick Metzdorf on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Late Cancer
(diagnosed, lived out)
x
My brother
Might have to be moved
Again
He is frustrated
Wants to be home
Before he wanted to be
Elsewhere
But elsewhere isn’t working out
I understand
The purpose of a medical setting
Is not to settle in
But to leave
When well
Stay is contraindicated
Home
As it cannot be managed
Still remains the prize
x
He’s in pain
Palliation only goes so far
Before the pain
Folds in again
He’s also frightened
I would be
I am in contemplation
Though these are his days
And shall the cancer
Diagnosed too late
A year ago
Take him to another home
Prepared
At last
To last
x
But there’s today’s pain
I don’t know how to wish
The pain to go away
Without invoking
The scary, heavenly alternative
But prayers aren’t magic
We aren’t dealing with a genie
Waiting to misstep
Our hopes
In misspoken entreaties
Heal my brother
Still
Is every prayer’s day
That might make nothing happen
‘Til the pain-releasing thing
Must happen
Tragically for us remaining
For him who suffers
Most of all
x
It is late December
I agree it is a magic season
How much amazing
Might be borrowed
From days
Of extra stars and circles
Green and all the other colors
Only for him
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Kalle Kortelainen on Unsplash
[photographer’s narrative]
A crisp afternoon around 3pm in Dalsjöfors, Sweden these incredible snowflakes appeared on the hood of our car. You can almost hear the crisp snow creaking under the soles of the winter boots by just looking at them. Pure natural magic.
x
clcouch123 
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