(x = space)
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A Letter Came from Ephesus
(1 Corinthians 1:3)
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Grace
Hopes and maybe wishes
The visiting
And writing evangelist
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We can ask
Any, all
And sometimes ask aright
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C L Couch
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Photo by Mihai Moisa on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Clusters
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I sigh and sip
the morning is progressing
I have an artificial breeze
a measure for tinnitus
while outside, the tarn effect
persists
another day in more or less
a string of days
x
I’m clustering my thoughts
until one group of them take over
travels on its own and further
a thesis for a theme
process and product
you know
x
and hopefully approve
because I’ll be doing this tomorrow
until the cows come home
or other herded things
within which are groups of one
like thoughts
there you are in your thinking
hi
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C L Couch
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Photo by Adolfo Félix on Unsplash
Love Letters
x
(x = space)
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Be Serious
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I should say something about God,
because I like God
though I wonder how God likes me.
x
Love and like,
like the basis
For a friendship.
And Jesus is our friend,
a revelation given when they met
for supper one last time.
x
So if Jesus likes me,
which has been the implication
then somehow, in some way
I must be likable.
x
I know God is all-giving
and all patience
with everything that’s perfect,
and my regard hardly necessary.
x
And I suppose
friendship must be doctrine
in this tradition, anyway,
though we switch it to indifference
when we think we might,
x
when we want to forget
until outside the booth
that God was there
in everything,
made complicit by us followers.
x
We are reverse claustrophobes
on Earth—we want to tunnel in
where we might take the rocks
and build small tyrannies,
x
which is not friendly action,
though if God is removed
by our convenience, how easily
each other?
x
Friendship with God,
a treat by Christian doctrine, I
suppose,
while others don’t forget
the awesomeness of God
and that awe means fear;
x
we could stand some friendly fear,
for it is God who loves
and calls us loves even from
prophets and lawgivers.
x
Jesus as our pal?
Our buddy at the bar?
It’s fun to think that way
(I think so),
x
though Jesus of creation
and of Sinai,
of Golgotha and victory
in hell—how trivially
is made up by us;
x
but God is always God
who cries, who creates,
who sacrifices—maybe, then,
deserving of
an attitude of more.
x
C L Couch
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(x = space)
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Invitation from Earth and Sky
x
Briefly then,
There are good things
On the earth
And inside sky
And inside far below
We can ask for
Closeness to good things,
And we should:
x
For good warmth
From the sky,
Good feeling in our bodies,
Good reason for
Decision-making
x
The substance of the
Asking might be
Prayer of a kind of
Cosmic negotiating
For agnostics
x
Either way
Or with simpler hope,
We can let goodness
Have its way
With core and crust
And breathy atmosphere
x
Inhale, exhale—
Walk to stretch things out
x
Extend our fingers,
Reach out with our palms,
And turn our wrists
x
The cosmos will
Appreciate our reaching out
So and more so
Would the mortals
And the ineffable
x
Let all mortal flesh keep silent
And in fear and trembling stand
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Each year there is an advent
And most days,
Our response invited
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Our planet awaits
As does everything beyond
The sky that our shiny satellites
Detect, now draw from
For extraterrestrial
(extra-lunar)
Samples
x
The maker awaits
Here and there as well,
Inviting us inside
Community, one by one
And altogether
To believe
x
C L Couch
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Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash
Strong wind, frost and rays of sunlight created this wonderful pattern on my windshield.
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“Let All Mortal Flesh” is an old hymn out of the Christian tradition.
A newer hymn, “Earth and All Stars,” also comes to mind.
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(x = space)
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Good One
(in pandemic time)
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Watch the game
Through the phone
Or tablet
Or computer
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Eat with the group you know
And keep it small
A family parameter is fine
If not the number that
You’re used to
x
Eat
Laugh
Play games
Clean up
x
Pretty good, overall
Thanksgiving Day
Reborn in the USA
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C L Couch
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Photo by Anastasiya Romanova on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Reading Lists
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Adrienne Rich
Wrote about Aunt Jennifer’s
Rings and tigers on screens
And diving into a wreck
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These were the poems
We interns were assigned
To read and teach,
And that was all right
x
But reading on one’s own
With no one’s rubric but
One’s own
Is so much better;
I’m sure we were supposed
To instill some kind of
Critical process regarding
Life and reading in it
x
But I’m not sure
How well that worked,
What kind of processes
We might have instilled,
What seeds grown,
What personal
Allegiances to one’s own
Mind and heart
x
So was a new generation of
New readers of poetry
Begun? Has it flourished?
Are they among the ones who
Turn to poetry when there’s
A tragedy?
x
(read up how we
took to verse after the
Towers fell)
x
I like Rich, though that
Would not be enough
In that we were serving
A learning process
x
It was a small, state school;
I never heard from anyone
Again, though nothing and
No one is due me
x
A state away and many
Years, I wish us well
And to take up small books
Of miracles from time to time;
I do this, Mary Oliver’s
Most recently
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C L Couch
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Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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The Twenty-Third Song
(a paraphrase)
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My life is wrecked
I feel ruined
And here you are, Lord;
I don’t know if I asked for you,
And I am so relieved
That you are here
x
I thought there was a desert
But, look, there’s water
Cold and clear;
It is the best that I have tasted
And I have no doubt
That it is good for me
x
This is more than I deserve
And maybe I should leave—well,
I feel your hand
Guiding me back;
I should stay a while
x
I thought this was the end,
That I could not lose any more
And it was getting dark;
But you are here,
And maybe you were with me
While I was stumbling
Back there
x
Look, here’s food:
And who are those around me?
They don’t come any closer
x
Before I eat, please
Bless all this
And maybe me;
You are the one
To do it, after all
x
Should you be with me
Through all that is to come,
Then blessings
Will continue, even in
The splintered times
x
And because of you,
Your presence in my life,
When this life is done
And the next mystery begins,
I shall be with you
With a living place in heaven
Or on Earth renewed
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C L Couch
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Photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash
The Forum, Roma
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(x = space)
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“The Rape of the Lock”
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Is a poem-story
About a theft of hair
(a basis for satire)
From times when
“Rape” meant abduction
(bad enough, though
if you know
The Fantastiks, then
you know)
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Even so, not a good
Word, made worse by
The way we use it
Now—given charge
And change
With reason
Words have power,
Don’t they? Sometimes
More than action: try
Proclaiming “dictator”
Inside democracy
(listen to the only
speech in Chaplin’s
The Great Dictator)
Or cry “freedom” inside
Tyranny
x
Then there’s
“Joy” in a
Cheerless place,
Challenging the time
Another way
x
Have a gentle day
And mind (and mine)
Your choice of words, and
Take comfort from
The people with whom
You don’t have to
Fret so much
x
C L Couch
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Photo by Kristian Strand on Unsplash
Type
x
(x = space)
x
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To Pilgrim
(at Thanksgiving, USA)
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Pilgrims
On Thanksgiving
x
We make fun
Of their hats
And buckles
x
They might as well
Have been a foreign
People to the
(rest of the)
Whites as all the
Indigenous to
The whites
x
And they were:
They were a foreign
People
x
They carried faith
And dignity,
Faith in dignity,
To what all the western
Coastal, European
People called
A new world
x
Through stratagem
Or accident, they
Settled too far
North
x
They struggled;
They strove
x
Everything was
Struggling and
Striving to them
x
Moving, going
On their way
x
For them, to be
A pilgrim was
An action
x
On a journey
Neverending, ‘til
The end of this life
Start into another
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C L Couch
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Photo by Dhimas Widrayato on Unsplash
It was 22:39, I went out to get some fresh air after some coding session then I saw a big moon on the sky, so I grab my camera then go to open space to shot this picture. The photo was taken in Tangerang, Indonesia.
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