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Spice

(x = space)

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Spice

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The flowers

They are ending, I suppose

The ones of summer,

While chrysanthemums

Are having their time outside,

This time

Their time

And we pause and pause

Maybe because it’s raining

Or it’s cold for the first

Time in a while

I’m speaking to where I live,

Which is in eastern Pennsylvania

In the middle of the

MidAtlantic, USA

Wherever you might be,

It’s fall up north

And spring down south where

The flowers that are dying

Here would rather be

So that their color

And their smoother shapes

Might go on,

Though I imagine in a relentless season

There would be end to

Flowers, anyway

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Here, the chrysanthemums

Shall have their way

For a while

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C L Couch

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Photo by Nadiya Ploschenko on Unsplash

Ukraine

today’s mood

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Angel Thieves

(x = space)

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Angel Thieves

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A metaphor

For God and God’s arrival

Is a thief in the night

A strange metaphor

But apt

(regardless of

negative connotation)

We cannot plan for the intrusion

While the thief doubles

The confusion of nighttime,

Which is to say

Without light,

It seems

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But the thief may

Plan

And, I suppose, typically does

The mortal thief may or may not

Succeed in a theft,

Though we can surmise

That God as thief

Would do pretty well

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But what would God have

To steal?

God made everything

And thereby own

Except one thing maybe

That is human will

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Perhaps, then,

God comes to steal

Us

Steal us away

As a rescue

Then take us to paradise

Where no earthly

Theft or other sort of brigandry

Can harm us

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Where we are loved

Without shame or abrogation,

Where we might forgive

A thief who steals us

This way

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I don’t know if we’ll miss possessions

There,

Even the ones with stories

Maybe we’ll have new ones, maybe not

But as we are created in the image,

As is said,

We might have a share in everything

That lasts without corruption

Our new homes, our new bodies

Everything will last,

While life is perfectly dynamic

There

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Angel agencies defend us

Angel agents thieve us home

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C L Couch

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Photo by Chirag Nayak on Unsplash

Shop 24, Ground Floor, Building TL5 Morning Glory, Tropical Lagoon Phase 3, Anandnagar, Ghodbunder Road, Thane West, Thane, Maharas

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Foolish Wise

(x = space)

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Foolish Wise

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It’s been a while

Since a Bible study came my way

Or on occasion

When  I’ve formed one

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I miss the circle

The things we say while, frankly,

We are on our better behavior

After all, holding the book

That guides the way

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Not that we are free from sin

Or won’t resume our earthbound

Lives when

We are done for the hour,

Sipping coffee, shaking hands

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But for the time

We are good

The doorway to the spirit

Has been opened

And we are closer to the selves

We want to be

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C L Couch

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Photo by Alex Perez on Unsplash

Marco Island, United States

Make a splash.

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The Bird of Alcatraz

(x = space)

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The Bird of Alcatraz

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There’s red outside

The leaves are changing

The sky is painted blue

Behind them

Maybe it’s a perfect autumn day

Not that the window panes

Are bars (I know better),

But there are so many things

In here to attend to,

And the meanness of the neighbors

Has an imprisoning effect

As well—I know, you’d think

It would drive me out as

Often as possible

x

Well, the car needs work

I could simply walk somewhere

I’m not feeling well

In my head or in my stomach,

And there are so many things

In here

I need the energy to manage them

How did so much accumulate?

Maybe it’s a consequence

Of being poor,

Though much of it came

From the work I used to do,

That was taken from me

Through jealousy

And worldly machination

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Well, I’m here

I just exhaled

I can do that

Consciously or through

Human impulse

I hope that it continues for

A good long while

Along with the other part

(inhalation)

I’ll wait, eat, drink something

Then get up and go

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C L Couch

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English teacher note

The “Birdman of Alcatraz” is a person who became the basis for a book and a film.

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Photo by Pete Nuij on Unsplash

Langley, BC, Canada

Robin on a branch.

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First Story

(x = space)

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First Story

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The Bible is a book

Stories, sometimes

Told in poetry

The thinking of a people

And, certainly, their feelings

Faith based on

Invisibility

Not to be fanciful

But there’s a lack of evidence

That is the design

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A collection of books,

We say

Sixty-six or seventy-two

There are reasons

For the difference, we’re told

But some of us

Are wondering if

Judith was left out

By the Protestants

Because she is so heroic

While also

Scolding

Cowering men

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But take our pick, it’s still

An impressive collection

There is truth in it

In the one story, overall

Parts of the world

That point to it

Pages on leaves,

Waves telling it aloud

And other texts

And other storytellers

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It’s a book of faith

Behind that, it’s a book of love

That was the first purpose

The pleasure in the making,

We can only guess

The peace,

We’re told, is passing understanding,

Too

But maybe we can take

A guess at love

We can think it

We can think it through

We can feel it

We can feel it through

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The story is compelling

As it is pervasive

We can enjoy it

(try the creating)

We can be persuaded

We can be grossed out from

Time to time

We can be changed

We can be saved

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C L Couch

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Photo by Aleksei Ieshkin on Unsplash

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How We May Live

(x = space)

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How We May Live

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It’s all right

We don’t have to agree

To have a family

Or a nation

The world is filled with

Variance of thought,

And opinions bleed

And stay still

Like colors

And affiliations

Of the rainbow

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Democratic theory says

That you and I

May argue toward no

Solution or a change

Today or ever

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And democratic practice is

Even better,

For you and I may feed the hungry

And encourage those

In all kinds of trouble, all

The same

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We both and together

May fill bags

With sand along

The growling, killing river

As we (after washing) may

Dispense soup

To the rescued

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This is how to live

With variation

And to live with variation

Active in

Needs that are subsuming—those

Of the hungry or the flooded or,

After fire, the singed

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Arguing the other situations

When we may breathe

Again with clarity

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Happy days

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C L Couch

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Cairns, Australia

Olive oil on water. “Immiscible 1”. The photo is called immiscible because oil and water don’t mix. The background colours come from a painting behind which is titled “Joy” and is itself bubble shapes like balloons of cheerful colours, where I have tried to express the emotion of joy in a painting, much like Mark Rothko.

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Who Knows How to Live

(x = space)

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Who Knows How to Live

(not a question)

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It’s evening now,

An old movie is on TV

If there were a cat

As there has been,

She would be sleeping

Until she wakes, eats

Something, demands

Face-rubbing, then

Goes to sleep again

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C L Couch

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Photo by MILKOVÍ on Unsplash

Los Gatos Theatre, Los Gatos, United States

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For Those of Us Not Good at Praying

(x = space)

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For Those of Us Not Good at Praying

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Good God,

Please grant us

Clemency,

A fancy word

In church or court

For mercy

But don’t be fancy with us,

We need help, that’s all

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Simply and, well,

In miracles

There are hungry people

Many sick with disease

There is disease of mind

As well

And those who want

Their way and want

The rest of us as well

And there is evil in that,

The kind you say

In your book

Is under the sun,

Meaning every day

And most likely every hour

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So we must pray for food

(safe water)

And for freedom

A cure when your nature

Hurts us, a cure when

Others try to bring us down

In the other way

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We might be

At traffic lights, just now

Sitting in back seats of cars

With ear-pods in

Our ears

Or other things

Distracting

Sorry, we get around to this

Too late at times

Well, most of the time

(most of us)

We are not saints

Whoever they might be

We are only

People in need

Amen,

We should say amen

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C L Couch

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Photo by Kristy Kravchenko on Unsplash

Minneapolis, United States

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Storied Creatures

(x = space)

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Storied Creatures

(story people)

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Elves could come

At night

And cobble me some

Shoes;

Maybe a storied dwarf could spin

Some straw (maybe

the recyclables)

Into gold–

And since I know the name,

We’d keep

A healthy distance

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The kraken could rage at

All the red tide

In the bay;

A dragon could riddle me

For treasure

(I could offer books

in which these

serpents with wings and other vanities

appear to

good effect)

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A dryad could point out

Poison ivy

While I walk, while

A sibling naiad

Translate calls from frogs at ponds

For me, because

I’d rather be an ally than

A foe

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I’d like to know the spirits

From the stories

Even though there’s eldritch strength

With talent, which I

Could never touch

Or could be

Burned by

Since these creatures are magic

And their skills,

While we are mortal and

With what we do

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But, oh, the draw of living out

Some lifetimes

As these supernal creatures

Are supposed to live

(and if so,

then they must live

even if in tragedy of feeling

or of fate)

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But let’s say in the meantime

We tell all the stories

Though

Their foundation be–

Maybe the key to knowing them be–

Separation

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C L Couch

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Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

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