Bilbo’s dream
and
in the dream
the hobbit wandered room
to room
looking for something
and not finding
it
and if a dream is working out by night
what
we can’t solve by day
then
what is it the hobbit wanted that
took a dream of blank spaces to find
well
to find what
or is a need expressed
to be on the move somehow
somewhere
maybe
to a lonely mountain
lonely
as his life
to look for something there
not so much treasure since
he’s well-to-do
but
the story of the treasure
then the quest
to find it
dealing with adventure on the way
and clear evil toward
the end
and to be done
everything rescued
deserving rescue
and
the halfling goes home
now out of
but having to tell
the story
won’t be as lonely anymore
with
mementos and
memories turned into
pages
and who knows what friendships
so to keep if neighbors go
on
thinking
he’s a strange one
anyone with Took then Tookishness
inside might disappear perhaps
a while
and now
he’s returned
Bilbo does disappear
or so
it seems from time to time and now
we hear of a big party in the making and
those with young imaginations
might recall
the wizard who arrived
before
and launched fireworks with
shapes both to fright
and
well
delight
everything dreamworthy now if with
some nightmares
added from the unanticipated parts
of stories
which
he might not have thought
of
even hearing at his own unexpected party
that dragons by day yet
terrify
note
then dreams of home might not
come across
so confusing now
since
he knows where he is
at last
or will Bilbo wander
time to time
through Bag End in waking dreams
still
looking as
any might look for something
and
not find it
yet
c l couch
The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien (Chapter 4—and I’m writing from recall, since my copies of The Hobbit got mildewed; so where I might get text-details wrong, I’m sorry; where it’s interpretation, I cannot apologize except in the classic way of apologies, which is to explain)
photo by bypalm on Unsplash
Salvation Chair
Really
Now
And should the Spirit
Come to call
After the dancing
For the sky
After all the lights released
Half
A world on
That’s felt
One’s own half of the world
After ingesting
All petitions
In all the other continents
Even on the
Needful
Melting fields
To the south
And north
Between the poles
It stops
To dwell a while
In my
Clay house
And maybe find a room
For me
In a truly quiet hour
While I give all the rest over
To
Possession
And renewal
At the same time with
All other crises
And the stretched-out needs
So
Casually asked
Sometimes
Please
Sit
Have something
While I work out with you
How to have
My own
On both sides of enigma
That is
Mystery
Of faith
That is
Saved
When given over
C L Couch
Anne Bradstreet, a prominent Puritan poet, employed the “clay house” metaphor in her work. In her poem “As Weary Pilgrim,” she reflects on the impermanence of the physical body and the longing for spiritual rest. Here are some lines from that poem:
A pilgrim I, on earth, perplext
wth sinns wth cares and sorrows vext
By age and paines brought to decay
and my Clay house mouldring away
Oh how I long to be at rest
and soare on high among the blest.
https://www.poetry.com/poem/3075/as-weary-pilgrim,-now-at-rest
(the note before the excerpt by Copilot)
Photo by Asim Hamid on Unsplash
with or without a garden or an upper dining room
well
God
I’m here
and where are you
why
look
you’re here
you’ve always been
and it’s
so much
the patience to remain here
while I
prevaricate
to think a million
other things
as if
they matter more
and justify
the saddest
putting-off
for
my specific greetings
my confessions
petitions
for my needs
and needs
of others
more specific
and for the entire
world
and the whorls
of the cosmos
that need
you
out there
and I’m sure
more than
in here
in this hour
when I happen to awake
to find you here
or
in a
sleepy moment
to unlid
my eyes a little
see you
then and there
surprise
as well
always
a miracle
and I’m chagrined
to take up
your presence
and your time
the way
I do
not
to say I need a bell
or other
signal
from assemblies
(though
I like
bells
generally)
and shall you send
an angel
as an agent
for assistance
homely
and extraordinary
though it’s
especially
your Spirit
that is
needful
as a saving source
and guide
your word
you
as word
is needed
to get me there
and then
with you
and to remain
even
while here
for all my faults
and prevarications
but also
with broad hints
of there
(un-agnostically)
say
through the song says
after here
live
in your house
that follows
and is filled
with goodness and mercy
and is filled with
forever
c l couch
1Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. 4And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. 5Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?
John 14
https://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/John-14-2/
photo by Lucas Hoang on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Walking in Beauty, Like the Night
x
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
—Byron
x
The only place I live
Ironically
Is in the clock
(absurdly called the grandfather),
A prisoner
Of time
And time
x
There’s a dark space
Behind the weights,
Behind an ornate board
In fact, taller than I
x
I listen to the clock
x
I hear its beat,
Its announcements
Count the hours along
x
I got good at guessing
When it’s dark
Outside,
The dark of night and mortal people
x
So I might slide
As if it were amusement
Into the room night,
Of shapes and shadows,
Followed by another room
And then another
x
Accommodations for
Ghosts among the living
In a place
Where both reside,
Divided places aren’t worked out
x
When light touches me, I burn
And if it weren’t an issue
For the gossamer of tissue,
I would burn for shame
x
Life was love
Attended
x
I thought I’d be released,
But immorality
So far has judged me
Here
x
Where I must hide
In filminess
And flimsiness
Inside the dark
Of this dark place
By day
x
C L Couch
x
x
This work is in response to a prompt for horror writing from Katie Metcalf who writes supernally about the dark and winter and folklore and endurance. Here is the link for you to try at your own magickal delight:
https://wyrdwordsandeffigies.wordpress.com/2021/01/30/writing-in-the-dark-horror-writing-prompts/
x
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash
An old blue creepy haunted house | Please check out my blog at: matthewtrader.com/unsplash
x
Quiet
I wake up and no one’s
There
The noises of the house remain
My sister’s probably in her office
On a conference call
My brother-in-law in the master
Bedroom getting ready
What a brief time it takes
To get used to company
It all feels strangely empty
The house without its people
I have entered from another place
Where loneliness is normal
But I have changed
In such a short time
I’ve picked up sibling silence
And placed it in my pocket
C L Couch
Photo by JAYAKODY ANTHANAS on Unsplash
Bread Alone
A crumb set on a windowsill by a wayward mouse
Seen through the dust, returning to grab up
The part of grain
Clever mouse
Hungry mouse
Field mouse—headed back where it belongs
Leave it alone
It’s an old house
We might need an ally
You want to be in the right place, too
C L Couch
Gutted
Walking through the house
Was strange: your
House that burned, now
Skeletal and
Perpendicular
Beams and cross-beams,
Bannister askew—rooms
Awash
In neutral shades of earth
And ash,
An appliance here or there;
For all the blackened parts
And where textures are
Impressed with soot and
Shadowed particles,
The house we see
Could be
Rising from the ground
As new:
Save for a generation’s
Life, now endowed only
By memory as legacy,
Which I think you saw
Upon the bones of
Your remembered home,
As we all walked through
Neighbor House Afire
I saw the newspaper article:
It looked like someone else’s
News
But it happened to them
Before newspaper-reading,
I received the message;
Something caught fire in
Their garage then, needing
Room, the fire flexed
Garage gone now—the car,
Too, the house and who
Knows what else damaged
Fire out, three days now
Insurance is good, my friends
Tell me
All are well; the cats were
Rescued first by the one
Human who was home
Now in alternative shelter,
Plans by all in unison are
Made (except the cats who
Make their own), even while
Breathing takes over again
Pray for my friends—they’re
Raw in crisis
And I won’t presume to know
All that they need
clcouch123 
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