Paradise Unfounded
Helene was bad
What’s coming’s worse
Historic
I keep hearing
As in
Worthy of a history
And maybe someday
Someone will write about
The storms
We’ve had
And how we made them
Worse
Because of climate change
Which at last
Maybe we’ll say
Is real
As the ice shelfs melt
And habitation on the coast
Will have to move
Inland
Farther than
We had been thinking
If thinking
At all
Everything we’re using up
We’ll need
More of
And more of
Milton will take
More lives
Away
And things that were alive
Like animals and crops
Fauna and
Flora
Generally
Plus the living spirit
Of the cities
And the towns
Farms
So many places
That had energy
And
Semblances of unity
Now gone
Someone named a hurricane
Whose most famous
Name’s
Sake
Wrote most well-known
Not about regained
But how we
Lost
Anything like
Paradise
C L Couch
“Milton appears headed for Tampa, where the National Hurricane Center is warning of up to 15 feet of storm surge.”
NBC/MSN
a little more than half an hour ago
Photo by Demure Storyteller on Unsplash
Beautiful sunset at Clearwater Beach in Tampa, Florida.
[photographer’s caption]
“Unsurvivable”
Hurricane
Helene
Has killed through
Its own force
And
Maybe we’re complicit
For
The lack of means
We should
Provide
Even
Long before
I don’t know
And in the moment
Don’t care
Probably as much
As
I should
But I have family in its way
And maybe you do
Too
How about we pray
Then find
Additional ways to
Help
How about no matter
Who we are
Or where
We pray
Then find
Additional ways to
Help
C L Couch
Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash
Debby
the storm has arrived
our part in it
the water runs
through branches of the trees
as if the branches
sponsor
and organize
a fountain from the sky
out front
it’s hard to see
through screens
and wide drops on the screens
their rivulets
translucent lines
that add
a close-in feeling
to a field
of fog
or mist
the falling rain
all from forever
flash-flooding
well
is flashing
as a warning
today
a kairos
to the organized
who have
a rush hour to maintain
it’s called areal
when the flood
be truly
local
when the streets become temptation
for drivers in cars
sure (drivers
that is)
it can’t really be
that deep
and really is
there are the parts
south and east
mostly
I guess
where like the ever-
rolling-stream washes crucial things away
like lives
and also stays
for days
I’m inside
dry on the second floor
I think
and with power for now
don’t think that I’m
not grateful
for I am
and hope you might be on the better
side of high and dry
as well
busy with bags
or something else or
wet
resting
from it all
I can only hope
straightforwardly
and
yes
and
pray
that you are safe
my dears
c l couch
photo by Ayla Verschueren on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
In Mexico and California
x
Hilary’s been visiting
With water
Wind
Pages of destruction
Formed by words
Of storm clouds
We run away who can
There is great sense
In this
Those who can or must
Weather
Well
We weather
Waiting for her to pass
Astarte
Or Ba’al
Some god in the storm
We do not sacrifice
On stones
Or inside fires
Elijah’s altar
Would be dowsed
By Hilary
And so prove the faith
When manifest
The truth
Is given
Wait
Maybe wait as those
Who wait upon the Lord
Except for the things
That are destroyed
And us
Left in the center
Trying to stay
On the mortal side
Of all this
How long until
The juggernaut
Leviathan
Has passed
Here
We could use water
Someday shall the satellites
Serve us
With such saving deliveries
To here
From there
Both termini
The people
With our properties
Yes
Our things on Earth
Kept
As rescuing
And keeping can
Stay live
As you and others
Can
Nothing else matters
Until this
Until us
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Alexander Jawfox on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Nicole
x
Hammering the east side
(no hyperbole)
Working its way over now
To wreak havoc
Like the dogs of war
On the panhandle,
Then move north
x
We’ll get remnants
No one seems to care
Up here for here
(good)
But six hundred thousand people
Without power
How shall they do?
How shall they cook
And read
And watch TV
Manipulate keyboards and screens
And stay cool?
x
It’s still Florida, after all
x
What can we say
To habitual destruction
Only to build the same, again
And maybe many times?
x
I’ve not been there enough
(not enough)
To understand the charm
x
Their politics are weird
But I wish for them
Electricity,
Dry days
x
I could wish that
This would learn us all
Something of our neighbors,
Their catastrophes
That linger years
In loss and less than everything
In daily rise
And style
x
For now,
Floridians
We pray for you
Really for now
For all the wreckage
You must live through
And as they come
For fair winds
And following seas
And maybe for
A long, long while
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
x
The Unforgiven
(over three hundred now)
Matthew kills
Two hundred eighty
In the place that Papa
Doc abused
Where the recent
Legacy of earthquake
Leaves homes
Waiting to rise
For five years’ passing
On toward Florida,
This is not
The succession of an
Apostle but the
Random naming of
A storm
That, anonymous,
Would rise and fall,
Slam and flood, beat and
And take the
Breathing from too
Many enfleshed
Fragile souls
clcouch123 
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