gospel according to excess
the White Queen
cried
what is this waste
that was
the Christmas
celebration
reminding me of
Fezziwig
and the few pounds it
took to make
a merry Christmas
for so many
people
and
Christmas is fine
and sad without it
but the point
is the excess
I guess
and all there it about it
what a waste
this Christmas is
and all
that is about it
and
do you keep the wrapping
paper pristine
or
relish
in the tearing of it
into useless parts
and then
with the trash bag
to go ‘round the tree
after
all the opening
is done
and it has been
a merry Christmas
so far
or a happy
birthday
or a Hanukkah
an Eid
or other celebration
of the wonder
in the living
and
if this is
waste
well
waste on
we need such
excesses
for tearing up the lines
the margins for our crayons
time to time
so
merry
anytime
and feel free to rip apart
(with some
small civility
perhaps)
bright paper
even the bag
it all
came in
c l couch
(English teacher notes)
The Chronicles of Narnia, "A Christmas Carol"
sweet-dreaming
why don’t we want
to sleep at
night
why do we ask instead
for one more story
one more sip of water
even a longer prayer
a bit of
conversation
with a grown-up
before
the lights are out
and we invest ourselves
inside
a blanket
and the sheet beneath
but here’s a wish
good night
good night
good night
clc
photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash
(like a metal lion on the door, freed of its metal ring)
the pursuit of (someone’s) happiness
how shall we
album all our finds
as in
what are the pages made of
nowadays
there’s something like the NFT
(as in
“choose something
like a star”
or an “obscurity
of cloud”)
somehow owning
electrons
in a pleasing form
worth paying for
there are or were
the pages made of paper
though we should remember trees
before what remains
is in memoriam
only
we could try metal
though we’d have to make that
too
from the finite things
of Earth
even though
it seems
we don’t mind making metal
anyway
I remember learning
(being shown)
headlines made by water
for a newspaper
a daily
meaning that
I guess
we change the water
with the stories
making
(as well)
the water a fair metaphor
for the transitory nature
of what means
something to us
for the day
also the nature of the substance
to take
the shape of its container
like the audience who
once bought
newspapers
but it is
a finite planet
its molecules
like its days
(to say)
are numbered
I guess the easy answer
is we need more
and so we mine the moon
(mere
rocks were not
enough)
then reach out
toward Ares
maybe taking Demos
and Phobos
with us
on the way
on the way
of exploitation
that is
we mean
exploration
then there are asteroids
of which
the heavens can afford
to lose a few
there being
so many
(how many)
after all
c l couch
an exploration coda
I think we are allowed
to use this
stuff
the stuff of Earth
and as we find what rings
within
the bands beyond
but there are rules
and there should
be rules
and they should tie us
there
to here
by radio
and ethics
both worked into
the speed
of light
and light
clc
photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope on Unsplash
Frost
the tree
the tree of knowledge
was left there
in Eden
behind the angel
with the sword
now
does all this
seem fair
for what we paid
and all the consequences
promises
of pain
by the way
should we have access
to the tree
or given a seed
to take
to plant between the rivers
where we had to
grow the other things
to live
maybe we could have learned
more
with more servings
or at least
one more bite
if that’s all there was
(and if so
such punishments
for such a single
bite
two bites between our
mother
and our father)
does the tree
with Eden
stand there
still
is it like
the one we’ll meet
in
New Jerusalem
if here
it would be
the first and final
treasure
maybe a good thing
sigh
that as with the garden
in entirety
we don’t know what happened
where it
is
how we might have it
maybe enjoy it
later on
c l couch
Genesis 2:17
photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash
a few poems for Sunday that for some—well, many—is a longer day not by the count of hours (minus seconds adding up toward Leap Year Day) but the clock that reckons with the strings of heart and mind and even metal, also pendula inside
A Monk Still in the Suburbs
Were there bells
I would not know when
They first struck
An hour
So ignorant am I of
The schedule of
A Book of Hours
Matins
Vespers
The in-betweens
And all-arounds
I have books
I can consult
But I don’t have the instinct
Bred by a lifetime
Even a part
Of a lifetime of devotion
I pray
But it’s my words
I read the Bible
When it suits
When I’m needing to find something
Or researching generally
Out of admittedly
A long life of following
And interest
But I can’t leave my cot
Lift up an over-
Robe (a cowl?) to don it
Over me
Place the hood on the right side
Of my head
So I may see
Then scoot myself in
Silence once again
Toward the chapel where we assemble
(peers and I) for
The first readings
The first rhythms of the day
Much worse
Were I a hermit
With accountability
Beyond a bedside clock
Perhaps
Next to which
A psalter gathers dust
But not the novels
Let’s face it
An anchorite I’m not
Nor a peer
For any monastery
I am brother me
At best
And sister me
As well
And if I have a robe
It’s for the shower
Or I might find for fun
Something Jedi=like
You know
For Hallowe’en
But I believe
And I reflect
I study and I read
(with eyes I have)
And pray nearly
All day long
In dialogue
Simply not according to
The holy schedule
Time Amok
And have we
(have I
yes
though sometimes
I tire of I
maybe you understand)
Thought so much
Of the world
Today
A water main has broken
In the town
And we (locally)
Must worry over
Boiling advisories as well as
Promises
Of timetables
And yet in Gaza
A place was hit
A school turned to a shelter
And some sixty people
Inside
Perished
And there’s a push at the border
Of Ukraine and Russia
With no doubt
A pushing back
While Iran wants to attack
Israel
Over the death of one
Of its own
While Israel
Closes in on itself
While keeping allies somewhere
Too
And in how many parts
Of the planet
‘Sides our own
Is there great flooding
With the consequences
And quake
And fire
Enough inside our cycles
Should we add them up
We could compose
New lists
Of plagues
For letting people go
Which is to say
It’s quite a world we live in
A planet we live on
And we have technology
To follow
More than ever
Better
(stronger
faster
Colonel Austin)
And
Hey
The Olympics close up soon
With all the claims for bragging rights
Displayed
And soon the second set
Will start
Impressive
Being second
(they try harder
as I think
Hertz or Avis
used to do)
Goodness
All the filaments
To make a globe into a lightbulb
Illuminating
All that may be seen
Unobfuscated
By agendas that go hiding
Certainly
I mean more than eyes
And also ears to hear
Or counting each one
All our limbs
For those for whom the count
Uniquely
Goes
(as these next Olympic exercises
show)
With what we have
And haven’t
Se may sense
And we may suss
Adding all we might receive
And so
Abstractly make
A world
To fill in with all the physical we know
And thus have
(from inside out)
What in school is called
A worldview
Our sense
(using sense)
Of how things are
And are perceived
And how we are
With these
Weather
Conflict permitting
Maybe we should each
Take a walk
A little ways
Today
To think
To feel
To probe on this
Like sonar
Radar
Laser
Microwaves
To find the Earth
That’s ours
Where we left it
Or where we pick it up
Anew
As if
Regardless of our age
But trying
Anyway
For the first
Time
Speaking for Joel Chandler Harris and Well Me
I don’t know how correct
Br’er Rabbit is
I mean
I read the Wren’s Nest
And I see the photographs
More so
I want to get
The colors right
That Uncle Remus lay
With Mister Harris
Behind
But it’s
You see
A memory
On records
(those flat black round things
we used to play
that have come back)
And we would hear for hours
About Br’er Bear
Br’er Fox
Br’er Rabbit
And also of the Tar Baby
Black
But what do you want for tar
Which is to say
I want someone more
Expedient and also longer than I am
To tell me
What’s all right
Down South
And in the Yankee land
To keep ol’ Remus in my head
Which by the way
He won’t be leaving
Anyway
Though I’ll hush up about it
If I should
C L Couch
Photo by Hans Eiskonen on Unsplash
alonely
who sang that song
you know
that in a crooning line
about
being so lonely
and who was it
sang
that naturally
is lonely
and how awful is it
really
how far
against the law
all right
if one
were better nature
we would each
have one’s own planet
and we don’t
we have
interlocking parts
quite
frankly
maybe starting with
our fingers
we see into
something
when
we see
into
each other
eyes
not required
we have tingling senses
spider-people
when
we’re sure that someone’s
in the room
with
us
and
yes
of course
we have our voices
that
talk
that reach
through space
or on some paper
through
machines
again
voicestrings
unrequired
we get across
somehow
a message
when
we’re dedicated
to
the messaging
even
urgently
we find each other
speak
silent
say
we need to say
and yet
the bodies have their skins
and in
no way
can we be
each other
and when not
together
there is one
alone
surroundings may not matter
and isn’t there
some goodness there
sometimes
in face
when we think of it
quite often
and shall
the hour
go well
in which we think
reason
consider a resolve
to this issue
and that
one
(sometimes that one)
goodness
we might
write
you know
(you know been
known
to happen)
and so
the goodness
even of the Lord
who made us
one by one
even by one
sometimes by minutes
in between
the twins
of things
the Lord shall
love us
one
by one
by one
and
yes
for sweetness
when
we’re all together
by the way
and by the way
of all things
showing that we’re joined
on planet Earth
in systems
solar
in all companionship
through which is ringed
frankly
the gravity
separate
ringed together
cosmos
c l couch
photo by Elijah Hiett on Unsplash
Well, I collapsed. Without warning. By the car, outside the store. It was hot and the lot was asphalt, though I was told later on that heat was not the reason (yet unpleasant). Ventricular tachy-cardia. For which I have new medication now, while adjustments have been made to the device underneath the flesh, as it were. And I lived in fear and nervousness while in the hospital, even though the people there were very good to me. It’s the “without warning” part that scares me in addition to mortality.
I exhale now; I sigh. What will happen. But I guess no one knows. Though usually one can guess depending on the current second and the next one, should we have it. And we live expecting that we shall. I have some extra air on me, which helps with the anxiety. Pills to take, then hours to count on and even bear up into a useful mound of current muscle that can be used toward something good. Some small service. Some smaller destiny.
I hear the rain against the window and am thankful.
Thank you. I mean you who hear this, too (who are frankly reading and are frankly reading), and mainly in the moment.
Thanks to you.
to eternity (even from here)
somewhere there was a first creation
first nothingness
first abstractions
of the light
and of the darkness
then the substances
of day
and night
and how marvelous
and then more substances
of water
then of land
and all things
in the water
on the land
how marvelous
an evolution
of grace
and power
that decided to make
to turn around
as on a wheel
an Earth
and on it
us
and then a day
to rest
also
to set the model
for the rest of us
(even
to invent
a weekend)
and also
set the model
for delight
for it was marvelous
all this making
and to set us all
inside it
over it
and with it
work
then play
astounding play
with muscle and with heart
(also) contributions
of the sixth day
or thereabouts
somewhen there was a first day
of creation
and among the things
made
was now
is now
the hours that we have
(nothing like sixty minutes
that are
a useful construct)
the time in the years
of the Lord
until the Lord say
enough with all the brittleness
of sin
and literal degradation
time for the re-making
into fluidity
and solidarity
that last
and do not use up so much
the graying molecules
with the withering grass
and flower
from the center
where mortality
has been dwelling
time for something new
marvelous re-making
(not like Fernando)
into the kind
of sloughing off of cells
that perfectly
shall feed the grass
and raise the trees
keeping inside
the new creation
and
who knows
we might get
to take part
in all this
wonder
(marvel)
like
sand between the toes
like children playing
knowing that this
serves
grown-up causes
too
children knowing this
for growing up
with new allowance
to grow up
a glorious day
as certain songs
have sung
and keep on singing
on the bitter ground
the tarny water
even
of the way
we have things now
maranatha
Lord
and as
Immanuel
be with us
as at Bethlehem
for birth
through all of the experiences
there
throughout western Asia
northern Africa
unto Europe
and the world
as we have marked it
finally
no borders as
seen from those of us
who get
to orbit
except for lines
of wonder
become only invitations
to the flesh of interest
colors that fascinate
with shapes
and textures
for our learning
in delight
for we keep learning
growing
through Parousia
and the new tasks
even exigent
that might be set before us
in what happens
now
c l couch
photo by Eugene Golovesov on Unsplash
A Sleep of Prisoners
A magnificent exchange
Of prisoners
By politics
Years in the making
Like many
Epics
What details we don’t know
What it
Took
To have this happen
By two countries
Cold with each other
In a world
So much more complex
Than what we knew before
(and how tired
must be
those fingers on the buttons
since the fifties)
It seems we can say fairly
Coming home
In whatever state
Whatever health
Free people
Once again
And may we say
Free
At last
C L Couch
Photo by Mario Scheibl on Unsplash
break/dance
in other words
(and
do I mean
at base
at heart)
please
allow
sit
still in
need
be quiet
when alone
then
talk with other
or others
who might be there
who come along
or might be asked
by you
or yet another to
join
then get up
and get on
with the day
we have
as gift
even
smally
domestically
and
don’t worry
the universal wonder
and the joy
are
coming
too
if later when
we don’t know
(and how about
we don’t merchandize
on this)
day
gift
alone
together
break
dance
c l couch
photo by Isabel Galvez on Unsplash
Bread and Un-Circuses
(respecting actual circuses)
Please don’t let them
Tell you
They own these
Or manage them
As on
Great stools
In circuses
(for ticket prices)
Grace and miracle
In miracle
There’s grace
In grace
There’s miracle
And they are free
And should go
Wild-seeming
As they may
Go
Outside
Our doctrine
Though we try to capture them
Ring them
As it were
With naming
Precepting
And merchandising
These better
Things
They happen
In the timing of the Lord
Salvation being instant
And grace
Cooperatively
Then the rest
(of grace)
And miracle
As if wild
Breathing and galloping
Over a health of possibilities
Exigence outside
Called in
By kairotic
Signals
And ugently
Once given
Salvation
Grace
And miracle
Let go by God
And without cost
Or a doctrine of control
But
Freely through
The cost
Divinely paid
Against
The worst of human means
Free of us
They turn around
And turn us around
(they turned from assigned or
unassigned
location
while us turned
by repentance
that means
turn)
To come in from the wondrousness
Of wilderness
To ordered Earth
Breaking through the ordered
Or the chaosed
To save us
So then
These
Beyond subscription
So we might do no better
Than
Simply
Marvelly
Even irascibly
Turn from the other intrusions
Rather
To open
Ourselves
Freely
To accept
Freely
Twice as much
To receive
Then
Feely
Twice as much
To give
C L Couch
(the song with “freely, freely” as I’m recalling is a hymn of forgiveness and salvation, composed by Carol Sue Owens)
Photo by Dannie Jing on Unsplash
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