Following
I have to get rid of things
So many books in boxes
Don’t worry, I’ve got some
Hundreds still, around
If they should take in mold
And mildew, well, they will
Though I’ve taken to
Dry atmospheres as well
Too many than I’ll read
They’ll live in piles, waiting
For the ones who will come
After—eager or indifferent
C L Couch
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Cold Morning Jazz
1
It’s a cold and rainy day
I’m grateful
It’s been too hot
Maybe the neighbors turned
Up their heat
We’re all connected, you see
Like scratches on an antique plate
Like fog inside the city
Like rain
2
I’m not sure what to say
That hasn’t been said better
By someone else
But I’ll keep at it
Not for the sake of being fresh
But because there is a forum,
Here
In which we should all take part
I heard some truth yesterday
That I have heard before
How fossils added to
With imaginary flesh
Made way for the chimera
All combined animals of myth
She spoke her truth as if it were new
But I first heard it long ago
You see, each generation needs
To own its own
Not plagiarism
(plagiarism’s willful)
But new ownership
The sphinx is beautiful
Its paws upon the desert floor
Whose head is that
We think we know
Whose body
Name the lion, please
There’s work for you
3
I’m glad I’m not a city mouse
Somewhere there are mice
Plaster mice
We painted long ago
My brother made the city mouse
Many colors, elegant
Creative
My country mouse was simple
In blue, not much else
Than blue
We painted these at camp
Then they were put away
To look at, every now and then
Mine has a chip upon the ear
He can negotiate the city
I do okay,
When I have to
He is the -politan
I try to be the cosmo-
He is so good at what he does
And for my place I guess
I’m glad I am a country mouse
Who lives on Drury Lane
I should return his mouse
Next time I have the chance
C L Couch
Photo by Sash Margrie Hunt on Unsplash
The Martians
I feel a mechanical breeze
And I’m thankful
There’s real light in here
And from the lamps
Thank goodness for invention
As for my invention,
I’m not sure what to write about
A kind of hazy, light-colored day
Or the gift of light,
Colors on the rest
I think were I on Mars
I’d see there were a tint
Or some kind of curtain lowered
Over everything
Maybe eventually
I’d see the ochre tones as normal
That this is color for a Martian
My transitory home
‘Til there be oxygen in the sky
To breathe
And then what of the color?
Maybe it would look like Earth
A baby blue on everything
Though ancient Martians
If only microbe denizens
Could no longer
Look on home
C L Couch
The Hours
It is a quiet day so far
The only noise I hear is mine
Short steps here and there
The creaking microwave
(yes, it creaks when working
sometimes me, too)
Soft murmurs from the television
The illusion that we’re
Interacting
It shouldn’t have to be
The start of a campaign
A march for quiet times for
For writing or whatever
I’m grown: I should have it
When I need it
Raise some noise
When I want to
Otherwise, the timing of a cenobite
Who wishes only to be left alone
In prayer
A world of prayer
In which the supplicant, petitioner
Enjoys a pure way filled with silent atoms
Paving the way
For all the calls, complaints,
Requests to God
Sometimes too much, I think
The hermit should get out more
If at all
There is a world
The one prayed for
We should know it better
Before closing off
To help it
A fortress of solitude?
Is that why the heroes need one?
Shut oneself off
To better understand
The causes that we fight for
Extract ingredients from the bowl
Before they’re mixed again
Before we fly back to Metropolis
To take it all on
Again
C L Couch
Photo by Keenan Constance on Unsplash
This Magic Moment
I don’t want anything right now
Except to breathe
And that’s conceit
I’m sure there all kinds of things I want
To feel a breeze (there,
I’ve adjusted the fan)
To have sleeves to push up my arms
(I have those)
Enough vision to see what I am writing
Enough sound to believe
There’s interaction
In reality
In reality, I’m writing free,
Which is not so bad
I bought this moment
And I own it
Now no one else can take it back
Like some, small precious thing
You know the kind I mean
Kept somewhere
A moment of your company
Is something more
I can only ask
C L Couch
Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash
HMAS Australia, Rotary Photographic Series, ‘The Only Girl I Ever Loved’, 1914 -1918
Ending of the Week
(through the sickness)
It’s a special day
A day in Ramadan
Sabbath time will start for Jews
Christians may anticipate
A sabbath, too
For those who don’t believe,
It’s Friday
And it’s now
There is no better time
For breathing and for other
Action
Speaking of breathing,
The Buddhists can teach
The rest
Something about that
And they do
As far as I know, we are between
Times for special Hindu
Celebrations
But fauna call for
Remembrance all the time
We all should respect nature
So well
And this is what I know
Not so much, really
So many stories to see,
To hear
I won’t receive them all
But I want to
For those without a weekend,
It is different
I can feel for you,
If you don’t mind
I used to have my weekends
In the week
But for the front-liners
Standing, acting against disease
With everything that
Conflagrates
I don’t know what to say except
You rank me
And thank you
C L Couch
Photo by Gift Habeshaw on Unsplash
Breastplate-Thinking
God
Is something
Someone
We look up to
But if the breastplate’s right
We can look down to
God as well
Look ahead
Turn around
Lift up a scoop of earth
Part some water, just a little
We can look at hills,
Even mountains
Down inside a valley
Inside mouse holes
Even a glove compartment
God is not trapped anywhere
God waits on freedom,
Actually
God is in the well
And above the spaceship nosecone
Maybe there is laughter
Maybe there are tears
Maybe there is anger
There is always justice
With a willingness to heal
God’s is there
Breastplate-thinking’s right
Insofar as
God is there
And for our times,
Is God inside the germ?
Yes, even there
Somehow, lovingly
Inside the germ
Not to say that plagues,
Crusades,
Other eradications
Are God’s will
For I don’t think they are
Certainly not God’s pleasure
But where there might be comfort
In the presence
In anything inimical
Deep or shallow,
Yes, there is God
For Earth
For us
C L Couch
(from) The Breastplate of Saint Patrick
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I arise,
. . .
Worship
Worship must have been
Brutal, then
Fierce dancing to fierce rhythm
All sorts of things prepared
To sacrifice to God
Where the divine had any interest
In such rites
(how did they know?)
Ready to let blood
Human wine
For penance and redemption
In the world where crops were
Eradicated too easily
Enemies banded ‘round to take out
Any towns or collections of
Humanity trying to set along
The river’s edge or in the center of
Even a place of hiding
Too easily exposed
Or maybe it was grand
A city on a hill
Still the gods need something of us
To turn attention there
To give us weather
Or health enough
To go another year
No notion of indifference
A neatly civilized invention
The worship here
Must match
Barbaric nature with the
Barbaric parts of us
There was awful authenticity
Because the only choice
Was awe
This was a fearful task
Reaching a god
To know its name
To know what it wants
Or left to guessing the rituals
Demanded in a world of
Circling barbarity
With no neat form, no room for
Showing up
Life was on the line
To hope in every baleful way
That God might answer
We don’t want it back
Why should we?
Though we’ve lost the awe
In awesome,
The part that means to fear the Lord
Not as in scared
(though that)
But in respect that God is there
Might be set over a scale
Might be listening
Not for what’s refined
Something that’s raw
As from the scoured human heart
The table might be symbol
But inside, where the marks are
God can reside
Wildly there
So what do we do
At evening or at sunrise?
Or when we feel we’ve wakened up
Enough?
We can find God
Too easily
Before we’re ready
We might have a sibling conflict
Or no notion of our Sunday best
God will take us on
Together, one by one
Maybe not fierce worship
But something honest
Tears rather than
Blood
Focus rather than rage
Though through it all, whatever,
Love as well as fear
For God is God
Not wanting us to quake
Perhaps
But recalling first obedience
Afterward, attending
To the second
Have worship, then
Leave afterward
Taking something of the altar
With you
Like a burning coal set inside
Something that will never burn
Away,
The part of God that’s present
Not without expectation
Not always well-behaved
But always loved
Come back to me
Come back again
I am with you now
C L Couch
Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash
Around
You should have a good day
You deserve it
If it’s not today,
Keep it
In your pocket
Or your bag
Then pick a day
To bring out when you need it
Saying to yourself,
This is a good day for me
And there should be enough
For someone else
Share it
If only a wish
For that one to have
A good day, too
C L Couch
Image by Miguel Á. Padriñán from Pixabay
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