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Peace for All Time

Peace for All Time

(a three-part cycle)

 

1

Machine Language

 

Each moment’s a decision

To exhale,

To circulate some blood

To let the body stir for a while longer

To let the synapse burn

Brightly with mind-fire,

Transactions between what’s happening

And memory

Much of this is done for us

But there’s a partnership, I think

Between all parts

The automatic will take over for

The temporary

When immediacy of thought and movement

Are tired out

Call it sleep

Call it the second cup of tea

Taken on the porch

When for a time there’s nothing else to do

And this has been invoked

Because needed,

The ending of which we’ll debate

 

Peace an invention,

A transaction

Between all partners

Serving on the inside

 

2

Contrition

 

I won’t take it back

Not yet

I need to know the outcome,

Did I get anything I wanted

 

If penance is a prayer,

I’ll do my part

If it’s in bad feeling,

I’m already there

And counting

 

A return to normalcy

And what is that

It takes me out of this

Otherwise, I want

The special moments back

 

But it’s the future, now

Plu-imperfect

 

Please

Say them with me, maybe

All the prayers,

Then let’s move on

 

3

The Answer Is in Someone Else as Well

 

Inner peace

That’s cool

It’s not enough

If I’m in my chrysalis

And have no sight of yours

Or time

 

Where is my peace

If not in you?

This is cheating an invocation,

For it’s not a talk to God

But to you

The one nearby

And not inside

We need transaction, too

And more

 

You need to carry me

And I a part of you

A magic story in which twins

Keep a gem lit by the light force

Of the other

And there’s responsibility

 

In our story,

We will partner differently

That is, for real

Not to prevaricate conditions

But to say push on

Make peace because

We know each other now

To arbitrate

 

And there’s no other way

To build the day

That each must have

Into a present contract

As the future

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jarrod Reed on Unsplash

 

0

Don’t Mind Me

Don’t Mind Me

 

Oh, Christopher

Christophoros

So you’re nothing

Nothing’s good

The mystics would be envious

I don’t mean annihilation

That would be bad

But death to self is something else,

I think

Because you do not go away

As if there were nothing left of you

You are woke into a different place

With people you might know

Some kind of belonging

We might call it a heavenly host

But you are retained as you

You are even loved

Now and you know before

As it may have happened, then

 

The death to self is prayer

So cleansed and clean

As to have nothing left but righteous intercession

Something to be gained

Such a death to self so that

There is only prayer for others

Disinterest in agenda

But the willingness to bleed some more

If like a transfusion

It might bring some living to another

This is sacrifice

Not immolation but

A gift of love

From which nothing will be returned

 

A love I do not understand, for now

Or the peace that passes it

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash

Santa Barbara, United States

A shot I captured during dinner with my Grandpa and my niece.

 

2

Secular Gospel

Secular Gospel

 

We cannot save ourselves

Though there is something for us

In soteriology

 

There is a cracked notion

(I tried it once in college

as an exercise)

That a ruinous approach to everything

Will hasten Armageddon

As designed by God

 

To think that we can hasten divinities

Is vanity

That aliens would not presume

In visitation,

Our unbelieving version

Passing for so much heaven

 

We must do what we can

We should

In tandem

Propelling our machines

That forward health

(that kind of prosperity)

Dismantling others

 

Swords into ploughshares, maybe

Cooling off the world

For fuel and forward-thinking

The gospel that’s enough

For now

Securing then beginning

The next chapter

 

C L Couch

 

 

Arts of Peace in Washington, D.C. Sculpted by James Earle Fraser.

Dan Vera – Photograph of public monument, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6616749

 

0

Lent 26

Lent 26

 

Sometimes, when I’m afraid

I write

Or when I’m sad

Indecisive

Or frustrated

But if I looked back through my journal

(I haven’t done that often)

I’d find, I believe, expressions of

Thanksgiving

Sometimes for sleep that didn’t go so badly

Sometimes for coffee in the morning

Sometimes for cold water, when

I’ve arranged it

I don’t know how much happiness I can have

But it seems I can have gratitude

Which has pieces, if only whittlings,

Of the larger parts

Of joy and peace

 

I think somewhere in there

Might be an invitation, which is

Why I write about this now

 

Because maybe

You’ll find something in the formula

I didn’t plan, and

I didn’t plan

 

Simply saying thank you

To the universe, to God

To a spirit, to an angel

For some measure of something

That will, if only as a single pea

(sorry if you don’t like peas, for

I know those who hate them),

Yet add nourishment to the day

 

A pea can accomplish something

It makes a whistle work

And disturbs the sleep of the

Princess

 

Something small can move along the tale

If only silent thanks

 

C L Couch

 

 

Mateusz Tokarski, ca. 1795 (National Museum in Warsaw)

Mateusz Tokarski – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26953289

(still life with peas)

 

0

Lent 21

Lent 21

 

Have you ever run the sponge

Along the bottom of the sink

And felt the satisfaction?

Knowing that the dishes cleaned

Are in the rack

And the quiet from the running water

Now turned off

Is a pleasure of pressure

On the ears

 

I’ve done that today

You have your own form of this, I’m sure

A small act always needing doing

And for a moment, when it’s done,

A small, small part of the world

Feels right

Feels righter

For being cleaner, a little more at peace

For a time

 

I don’t know if it’s a model for anything

That’s larger

It is its own peace

 

But access to hot water isn’t everywhere

Even soap can be hard to come by

Against a savage promise of starvation

Looming like an open maw, nearing

The family

The one

 

And so might there be peace in this:

That we must invite assurance

Of all things lent us,

Partnering

So the jaw of need is shut

 

For this time and in our keeping

Our maintaining

And our growing

Enough for God’s pleasure in our own

Because we’ve done it right

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jim DiGritz on Unsplash

 

0

The Skiff

The Skiff

(Advent, anytime)

 

It’s the twentieth

Now we count for real

 

Will we have peace—

Will Bethlehem be accessible

This year

 

Peace in the heart

Might be all that’s left

Sometimes it must feel that way

And, honestly, it’s a good place

To start

 

Accent on the time

To find the quiet

Or stop the world another way

Pause it now and then

 

Five days

For remembrance

Make it our own liturgy of

Supplication

Over whatever waters we might have,

Still or stormy

 

Reaching for, and as,

A beacon through the mist

That’s joy

 

C L Couch

 

 

By laszlo-photo – https://www.flickr.com/photos/laszlo-photo/110887318/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5948809

In the early morning, a fishing skiff remains docked on the waters of Santa Marta Bai near Soto, Curacao (Netherland Antilles).

 

0

Commemoration of an armistice.

 

Commemoration of an armistice.

Remembrance, acknowledgement, and honoring of all veterans from all wars, everywhere.  What do the warlords care?  They care for strong backs and arms that shoulder fearsome guns.  But in a democracy of feeling, the rest of us know individuals.  Hopefully, we know their stories and we tell them.

What do I know?  I know their service is a wonder.  Their sacrifice a heartbreak.  Their strength shoulders the mind.

I went to Gettysburg in late December.  I felt it the saddest place on Earth.  How many open battlefields have we?  How many can house or canopy the service of the dead?  The preservation of the living?

Yes, there’s Flanders Field.  Somme and Gallipoli.  Israel and Egypt in week-long wars.  Massacres in India and China.  Killing of indigenous that maybe should be classified as war.

Why do we have war?  Elihu Root claims that it has to do with keeping peace, an irony of iron substance.  The New Testament asserts it’s because we ask amiss.  We ask for things we cannot have.  And so we take them.

I don’t know.  I don’t know anyone who favors war except in movies.  I don’t think real people do that, favor war.  We fight so there’s an end.  We fight so that the fighting stops.

Will there ever be a battle in Antarctica?  Can we keep one place clear?

I hope we cherish veterans of service and of war.  And the peace they promise.

 

note

This is from my journal entry for the day.  I wrote a poem, which I should post.  Not because it’s great but because it’s timely.  When I wrote about the day this way (excerpt above), it seemed appropriate, too.  Hope so.  Hope you’re all, veterans and civilians, really well.  If not, I hope you’re better soon.

 

 

https://albanyvisitors.com/explore/veterans-day-parade/

The Albany’s Veterans Day Parade is the biggest Veterans Day celebration west of the Mississippi.

 

0

Emergency Calls

Emergency Calls

(remembering 9/11 in the USA)

 

Today in my part

We are remembering

A horrific attack on innocents

By crazy people

This kind of murder happens

Elsewhere

My country is not the battleground

So often

Syria, Yemen, Colombia, Myanmar

The Philippines, Somalia

Sudan

We’ve sometimes had a hand in these

That might have made the crazy

People crazier

Enacting their cause here

 

On this day, we remember here

Where death came to passengers,

Firefighters, office people, and

The rest

Companies of normal people

Noncombatants, we would say

If this were anything like war

Between fair nations

 

I suppose on planet Earth

Wars and war-like actions must

Happen in someone’s yard

The playing fields, business places

Farm, and town

We have few dedicated battle zones

The DMZ, maybe ocean surfaces

And depths

Air and now we think to weaponize

Space, above and beyond

 

So war must happen close to home

Inside

And things warlike, if not war

Which then we call killing

We call it murder

And I suppose on someone’s ugly surface

There is a plan to do it again

Pray that we stop it

And praise those who do

 

But as we honor peace

So may we honor them:

The victims, those who ran toward

The concussions of air and sound

And matter

Turned into explosion and horror

Metal, blood, and bone

All those who died first

First helpers

And the many who were saved

Who are with us, still

 

We are here

Remember

Celebrate

Pray for cessation

Pray for profusion

The horror gone

And peace prevail

 

C L Couch

 

 

By United States v. Zacarias MoussaouiCriminal No. 01-455-AProsecution Trial ExhibitsExhibit Number P200066Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons by User:Russavia using CommonsHelper., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15252009

 

 

0

Destiny of Manifests

Destiny of Manifests

 

How we can disperse all hope

Or think we should

Why we think we are the best when,

Point by point, we’re not

Several are more literate, many

More able with math

Many with armed forces

That train and guard more than

They have to fight

 

May peace prevail, the pole proclaims

In many languages

What language do we use

When talking with our neighbors

May implies condition and will

What do we condition

What do we will

 

It is a wonderful statue

So many monuments are

And nearly all espouse a cause

With some nobility

I can drive down to Devil’s Den, now

A reminder of

The awful cost of slaying a

Brother in the split of war

 

And what war does not take a sibling

What part of Earth is not destroyed

What town, what hold for families

Is gone from the roster

Of the world

We all are charged to keep

 

Independence Day is on the way

Many nations have one

They speak to freedom

Of the mind, the will

The charge to make the planet whole

Especially

When we ruin something of it

 

C L Couch

 

 

image

assembling the Statue of Liberty in Paris

 

 

 

3

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