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A Lost World

(x = space)

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A Lost World

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I took my .22,

Shot at paper targets

I wasn’t very good

There were

I’m sure

Excuses

x

I could not shoot Bambi

There are those who could

And use the food

At home or to give

To other,

Hungry people

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A bullet from a distance

What might Cain

Have devised?

With such Indiscretion

And the safety off,

He might have gone

After Seth

x

Then where would we be

For progeny

With only wives surviving, were

They out of range?

x

They might retrieve

The guns

Then learn to shoot for life,

Maybe instructed by

An angel

Out of Eden

x

An imagined state

Doomed,

We’d think

Excepting life to find a way

x

C L Couch

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Suspect nabbed in stray bullet slaying of 1-year-old Brooklyn boy sitting in stroller last summer

The accused shooter in last summer’s horrific stray bullet shooting of a 1-year-old boy outside a Brooklyn playground was charged Thursday in the devastating death that shocked a pandemic-stricken city and rattled Mayor de Blasio.

. . .

https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/nyc-crime/ny-suspect-arrested-stray-bullet-brooklyn-baby-stroller-slay-20210506-nbuzgsa3xzcivdlo7t7jbwzohu-story.html

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Photo by Omkar Jadhav on Unsplash

Bullet Marks [jallianwala bagh], Gali Number 7, Ramanand Bagh, Katra Ahluwalia, Amritsar, Punjab, India

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The Lost World by Arthur Conan Doyle, then by Michael Crichton

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1

What You Will

(x = space)

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What You Will

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It’s Wednesday

A good time to think

On God

There is no holy day

I know of

x

Either way,

God cares

And doesn’t care,

Welcomes us anytime

For prayer and

Conversation

x

I know,

A mystical transaction

But there it is

Sometimes mysticism’s normal

Underhill might agree

(Evelyn or Frodo)

Gerald May

Or Parker Palmer

Mary Oliver

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But let’s say

Ursula K. Le Guin

Who stirred with genders

In her work

Long before the rage,

Who lived

In writing

And in company

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C L Couch

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a brief bibliography

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Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness, No Time to Spare

Gerald May, The Wisdom of Wilderness

Mary Oliver, Upstream or any publication—any gathering—of her poetry

Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism

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Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Tree in Forest, Autumn Season

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0

The Salton Sea

(x = space)

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The Salton Sea

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I’d like to go into

The desert

Because I don’t know what

I’m saying,

Which isn’t true:

I lived in California

For a time

Went to the desert there

Saw the stars

At night

One day went to Palomar

Never got to

The Salton Sea,

Not knowing what I would

Have found then—

A miasma of

Mismanagement shown

In rusty signs and

Rotted beams

Or tries at reclamation:

Burying

Dead animals

Nailing together boathouses,

Pubs,

And homes

Maybe re-servicing

The Navy base

Maybe putting back in

All the water

That used to be there,

That kept

The crafted ocean

And habitation

Viable

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Chris Montgomery on Unsplash

Salton Sea, California, USA

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1

The Fall from Mount Meron

(x = space)

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The Fall from Mount Meron

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I can’t imagine

I don’t want

The press of flesh

And muscles and of

Organs and of

Bones

While a ritual

A practice

An assembly turns into

Another kind

Unkind

Remembrance

x

It’s brutal

Terrible

One could say

Awful

Filled with awe

And we pray for peace

And wonder how

A time to mourn

Was manifest

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C L Couch

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Israeli watchdog to investigate deadly festival stampede – Los Angeles Times (latimes.com)

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Photo by Yeshaya Barron on Unsplash

Har Meron

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1

A Pair of Socks

(x = space)

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A Pair of Socks

(from Philippians 4)

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Jesus says don’t worry

Perfect present tense

No need to count

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Flowers contain beauty

On their own

A sparrow falls

I must admit

I like to think it’s caught

Maybe that discloses lack of faith

In falling without catching

When something good

Can happen,

Anyway,

And in a plan of which

I don’t have any understanding

x

How do I understand

Victory in a plan for failure?

On a good day

Or a bad one,

I have to embrace paradox

Death for life

Peace for enemies

Even assisting them

Who wants that?

x

Blake is good

At embracing contraries

Blake is correct

To do so

South is not the bottom

North is not up here

Certain maps

Do get it right

x

We conclude that in Philippi

In a time of persecution

There were directions

Not to be anxious

Over anything

Or to be anxious

Over nothing

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C L Couch

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Photo by Havilah Galaxy on Unsplash

socks in the street

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0

Devotionism

(x = space)

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Devotionism

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I talk with God

God talks back

Sometimes through

The trees,

As happened last night

When I went out

Encountering a roar

From a single tree

Near the garage,

A tree that always

Reaches

x

With the wind,

Maybe someone

From someone

Wanting to take notice

Of the night

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C L Couch

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Photo by Florian Hesse on Unsplash

Vegårshei, Norway

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0

An Excuse Not to Ask Directions

(x = space)

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An Excuse Not to Ask Directions

(you know electrics fail from time to time)

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Back roads are best

They still need

Paving

Until I get

My Jeep or an ATV

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State routes are

Good

Try Route 8 in

Western Pennsylvania or

Route 22, across

x

Or any road

Inviting small adventure

Maybe there are

Trees

Or a turn,

The end of which

We cannot espy

x

C L Couch

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Photo by Adam Thomas on Unsplash

Utah, USA

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2

Wounding Time

(x = space)

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Wounding Time

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Hot, rainy day

I could be in Brazil

Except for lack of

Verdure

Did you know that the

Big mark of the equator

In Ecuador

Is wrong?

There is another line,

A smaller line,

A ways away

x

I’ve never been

To Greenwich,

And I don’t know

What might be wrong

There

Or in Geneva

x

In the planetarium

When I was young

(it has been

moved),

There was

A Foucault pendulum

Enormous,

Knocking down pegs

So faithfully

Marking through collapse

The hours in the day

x

Atomic clock?

I’ll take a sundial

But then

I don’t need

Tactical precision

In my day

Microseconds for transactions

Bids and buys for Wall Street

Testy parents

Watching watches

x

Olympics

Boats skimming water

Shoes on tracks

So many things need

Measurement

Of time

I’m sure

I hope

The athletes have joy

In their work

Pleasure in the wind

Running under the sun

x

There is a tower

Somewhere,

Where four faces are

Four clocks

Each clock noting time

Each clock a little off in minutes

From the other

So that

When people meet

There,

No one is late

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C L Couch

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Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Goodwood Festival Of Speed , Chichester , U.K.

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4

There’s a Story at the End

(x = space)

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There’s a Story at the End

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I don’t know what to say.

I need the birds to

dance across the

page

with their feet dipped in ink.

It’s a medieval riddle’s

answer,

though it would be cruel

to force birds’ feet

into wells.

x

I guess we take their feathers,

turn them into quills;

maybe we could wait

to find quills

inside forests:

gifts from the sources of stories

and the desert

and the sky

and moving waters

taking the shape

of earth below.

That’s what I want to tell,

a story!

Something for everyone.  And

is there such a thing?

x

Once there was a child

in a forest

Who came upon a grown-up

clearly starving.

The child gave the grown-up

the only piece of

bread

in the child’s bag.

The adult rose up and thanked

the child.

Then they noticed that

the child’s bag

had a hole through which

crumbs had fallen—and through

forest-magic

had not been eaten

by birds or other creatures!

x

They knew certainly where the

crumbs

would take them,

so they went home

where everyone was

known,

because everyone was

home.

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C L Couch

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Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash

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