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Boxen

(x = space)

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Boxen

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After filling boxes

Moving boxes,

Filling them again

Trying to keep empty boxes

In one place,

Filled boxes in another

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Then realizing there’s too

Little space for all

The boxes and myself,

I pause

x

This isn’t any way to live

But I’m not planning (and not

moving boxes)

For a lifestyle,

Though it’s true my life

Has been in containers and

In stacks on shelves

Until it all came here

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Where without office

Space (or shelves),

Everything got bigger

As in more in the way

x

So I’ve tried to push things

Near the door to show

Myself they’re on the way

Out

Even though

Except for the idle offer,

No one is showing I know of

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Which makes me sigh

Thank goodness for

The ceilings;

They’re cracking and they’re peeling

But they are up

High

x

And I am thankful

For the space above,

The tall windows I can

See through yet

And in that slightly higher air

Envision

Many things,

Among them

Boxes being gone

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C L Couch

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Boxen is the world Jack Lewis and his brother Warnie imagined when they were children.

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Photo by Guillaume Bolduc on Unsplash

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True Cross

(x = space)

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True Cross

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It doesn’t matter

Anything

Going around

One by one by one

By two

Will serve

It is a symbol of rude

Death

An execution of

No one

In particular

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Ancient Egyptians,

Romans

Not-so-ancient Nazis

Executed criminals

This way,

Leaving displays

To teach

The rest

This is how much

We care

Should you deviate

From imperial

Reasoning

And the protection

We afford

The laity

x

Add it

To the trash heap

On the outskirts

Of the city

Add two thieves

Say all were

Detriments

To the local good

Hung by lies,

They die

x

Should any

Die in faith

Even in a final

Moment,

Knowing for the living

That goes down in

Consternation

(was the

death-bed profession

real?)

That is,

Thankfully,

Not our job to

Manage

x

Two thieves might

Have gone

(their remains)

To a potter’s field

The third

Into a borrowed tomb,

Lent by faith

Itself and love

x

So put two sticks

Together,

There’s a cross

True enough

For residence of

Faith

A common symbol

Even less

No superiority

To go

This way,

To carry into life

Nothing special,

Child of God

Like the one

Like anyone

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C L Couch

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Photo by David Libeert on Unsplash

Kortrijk, Belgium

The Cross

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2

Remembering a Song Often Sung on Sunday Night

(x = space)

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Remembering a Song Often Sung on Sunday Night

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O God, our help in ages past

Our hope for years to come

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It’s Sunday night

And the chapel service is ending

We’ll all be leaving soon

To ponder Monday morning

Then what should be done tonight

That might be done

And what will be ignored because

The sabbath time

Is measured, still

x

Our shelter from the story blast

And our eternal home

x

Sometimes it’s too dark

And quiet

The winter will be worse

Not to be bored or frightened

We don’t fear wolves

Or wolverines so much, anymore

Except the allegories

We encounter Monday morning

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Time like an ever-rolling stream

Bears all its sons away

x

Daughters are as sons

All are borne by mortal time

Away from what we know

Into a mystery

That we believe has

A final solution

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They fly forgotten as a dream

Dies at the opening day

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The scripted dream

Cannot be retained

Maybe it’s a contract

Between imagination

And the ages

Some keep a journal

About retaining something

The week begins,

Regardless

With the night, the dawn

And then the waking hours

Everything we know

Pushing away

What subconscious rules there are

When sleeping

Plus working out in

One brief act after another

Who the playwright is

Who will not let us

Keep our lines

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Amen

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C L Couch

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Photo by Deleece Cook on Unsplash

Cambeltown, Australia

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God Only Wise

(x = space)

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God Only Wise

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God is good

Not because we say so

Not when we make God

In our image

God is not a he

Not a she

God is both and more

(you know this)

God is a spirit

(rejoice, all animals with spirit)

God arranges and then manages

All the souls

Given in residence

To us

So many things are

The other way around

We should go to holy words

To find our agendas,

Not to apply them

We should pray

Not for confirmation to our worldly

Decisions

But to find the reason

For them in the first place

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God is easy

That is not wrong

But is paradox

For how much may God require

Ask of Stephen

How much comfort will God provide

Check still waters

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C L Couch

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Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Jervis Bay Territory, Australia

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The Forest Rounding Heaven

(x = space)

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The Forest Rounding Heaven

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On my way to heaven,

I walked into a clearing in

The dark and then heard

x

Music and saw shapes of

Beings gathered; then the

Clearing shone with

x

Silver, moonlight having

Cleared away, it seemed, some

Heaviness in clouds;

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Then I saw they were in

Front of me, why, animals

Of all kinds: some playing

x

Instruments, the rest stepping

Freely, animated as I

Perceived by the zeal of

x

Knowing they were free of

Hunger and the need to

Watch over their shoulders

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One came up to me, a

Raccoon who knew my

Language and must have

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Noticed both my wonder

And confusion—“Hello

And welcome,” said the creature,

x

“We are here at last, aren’t

We?” then she or he said more,

“No longer do we have

x

To eat the best we find

In trash, and we don’t have to

Worry about predators

x

Or mischief from your class,

Sorry for offending”—opening

Arms to the circle,

x

All the groups in pairs and

Threes and fours inside, “Please

Join us in the dance;

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Don’t worry, none of us is good

At this”;  I saw all the turns

Taken awkwardly,

x

Squirrels twirling atop

Badgers, dogs embracing

Mountain lions, hares with

x

Other hares, with wolves

As well; I didn’t know

How long it would take

x

For all of them to tire–but

I had to move along,

Which after tries at stepping

x

To magic tunes and dancing

Without shoes, I did;

I walked farther and further

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On toward what heaven

Might have for me—for

My kind and one by one

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C L Couch

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Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash

Driving through the Laguna mountains as the sun rose in deep fog. This little glen had a mysterious and quiet feel to it.

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Hearting R.B.G.

(x = space)

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Hearting R.B.G.

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Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Has died

And we should be sad

Not clawing over each other

Rending into politics

For her replacement

On the bench

She died

At the end of the last year

It being Rosh Hashanah

Now

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The thing that lurks

In the swamps of Washington, D.C.

Has not praised her

As much as it

Can only praise itself

Older, white, male, fat, ugly

She was slender and knew

How

To live her age

And beyond her age

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A person for the ages

And for agelessness

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I hope for the court in heaven

She is excused

Having served already

An eternity on Earth for

All pre-heaven people,

Though God and she could

Talk about

All the thorny cases

Here on Earth

Two old, wise, strong, gentle souls

Who understand

Each day’s re-creation of

Love, justice

Love for justice

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C L Couch

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Photo by Casey Clingan on Unsplash

Purvis, United States

This is a shot that I took from my front yard of the Great American Eclipse of 2017.

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Good Signals

(x = space)

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Good Signals

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I had the extra headache

Yesterday

Today, eyelids are heavy

(really are)

So with the tranq

That puppy dogs at veterinarians’

Get,

I could stand to sleep

For twelve hours or so

There was the time

When it was so bad

I got taken to the emergency room

At night,

Where I waited a long while

To be told to leave

Without assist

(except to be told to leave)

Six months I had slept

Maybe an hour a night

I was falling apart

Inside,

Which might be the kind of thing

That leads people

To scream in emergency rooms,

Which I didn’t

But didn’t sleep that night,

Either

x

Finally, nothing kept happening

And sometimes

I could get more sleep,

Though it took

 A heart attack to move me forward

With the world

If we wore signs,

Would that make it better?

The signs would have to

Talk as well

Maybe give off scents

And have a taste

So that the senses become

Part of the message

(sending and receiving),

Too

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Well, I have this day

(clearly, so do you)

The headache band is eased

Somewhat—and one might not believe

That I’m thankful

For all this

If so (if not), maybe it takes

Appreciating the knock on the gate

To be told in silence

Not time yet

And in reaction

Gratitude

For day-to-day mortality

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C L Couch

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The Grounds of Alexandria, Alexandria, Australia

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Exegete the Rocket Ship

(x = space)

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Exegete the Rocket Ship

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The shortest verse

Is Jesus wept

My favorite one is Help my unbelief

And then the verses about

A heart created clean

By God,

Presuming that means re-cleaned

As well

Doubt and renewal

Sorry, they’re important

I think we need them

Though, yes, I’ll speak mostly

For myself

When it comes to meeting means

For spirit and or in the flesh

The realms where we dwell

Without preference

Or will

We simply are in these

And must do our best,

Which can be exciting

On our planet buzzing through the universe

Of lithesome opportunity

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C L Couch

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“Axel Tschentscher,” CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83143301

Church of the Holy Ghost in Bern. This is the spire in evening light with a clear view of the 4000-meter peaks of the mountains Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau.

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Demand the Gospel

(x = space)

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Demand the Gospel

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We are loved,

Which might be the hardest thing

To know at times

Because it’s so abstract

We are loved by something

In the air

Or so far inside

We have to wonder why it’s hiding

x

Call it something

Spirit friend

The machine in which is God

Call us something

“Star stuff,” he used to say

Or maybe

Renegade from grace

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Fit for a book

Or a one-way conversation

Sunday morning

But really we need something

We need someone

In the flesh

Or whose magic

Makes a miracle of something

We need fixed

Or to have it

(define it)

Feel better

x

No phantoms, please

There are enough in hiding

Speaking of which,

Where are you hiding and

Why do you hide?

Is there a base I should run to

As in a child’s game?

Enough, we need something real

Into which we shouldn’t

Have to plumb,

Imaginary depths

There shouldn’t be

A question

You should be here

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C L Couch

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Photo by Laith Abushaar on Unsplash

La Machine Dragon, Ottawa 2017

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