2 poems kind of about brokenness (sorry)
When the Circle’s Not Unbroken
The Lord
Invites us
To the circle
Or the square
Or something oblong
Maybe
Rhomboid
To something
Maybe broken
For design
Or due to
Some experience
That seems
To break up everything
Fear
And anger
Breaking out
Without
The lines
To keep it in
To keep what might be loved
Therein
Though love remains
In the fragments
The Lord
Cares for us in these
And if the situation
Backs in
From extreme
The parts
Maybe come together
In a new shape
If partial
While we gesture
Talk
And work on fixing
For a while
Call it prayer
Call it Bible study
Call it therapy
Or medication
Every means
That helps
In measured
Dosage
And discretion
‘Til something like
Our circle
Even as
Something else
Shall come together
Maybe with a new
Amen
March on Two Left Feet
(or right)
The fifth already
Seems like
March is
The right name
The lion hasn’t really
Come
Though are there hints
Of lambs
Is a fair question
It’s in-between
A kind of academic
Purgatory
While the sky
And Earth
Decide
To fix the things
From winter
Into spring
We hope
The flowers undeceived
The planting happen
In its own
Good timing
That might have to change
Or not
Should good-guessing be required
By planters
Of all kinds
Who typically
Are breathing through
Northeastern cold
While waiting
For green seasons
To begin
C L Couch
Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash
Manic Monday
(and don’t panic)
God sang
The song into creation
The lion did as much
And our holy words
In works
Imply
We are created
We are that song
Or its interpretation
In darkness
And in light
And the bestowal
Of a garden
With the first object lesson
For the teachers
That the garden
Stands
For something we
No longer have
While we must work
In labor
And in labor
For
What we got
Each era is a lesson
We could say
And maybe they progress
The human ages
Which is why
We say
They’re ages
(we get older)
We grow
Some
We adapt
Physically
Some
Though not as much
As one might think
For as long as we’ve
Been here
And this might not be
So much by us
As by
The touch of God
God knowing
We’ll need adaptive parts
As we go on
(grow on)
What do I know
It’s Monday
And I’m feeling existential
With the blues on electric pages
Making less sense
To me
(than could it be
our music style)
Than paper
With its white
And off-white
Receiving of
Our pen strokes
Painting
With black ink
C L Couch
[note to me and now to us
so what’s this poem about?—it’s about thinking and writing, yes, really about both]
I am having trouble with the blue lights on computers. Or the part of the lights that are blue. Or maybe feeling blue. I think it’s both.
The result is that I’m even more recalcitrant in using this thing. This vital thing. I’ve had to use it for a while then rest my eyes. Rest my eyes upon the rest of the world.
So if I’m worse about responding than is typical (and typically it can be pretty bad), then I’m sorry. But as the emperor said quite uselessly, there it is.
--Christopher
Photo by Marija Zaric on Unsplash
Nous existons. Vraiment.
Lift
(the congregation sings)
Humble sign
Of
Ordinary execution
Ancient
Egyptian
Means
And then Roman
One by one by one
And two
We make this cross
Depict it
Empty
Or with Jesus on it
C L Couch
Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash
In Ev’ry Condition
Something spiritual
That
God is love
And that
This is
The hardest thing to know
The strongest
And most difficult
To know
And to apply
C L Couch
Photo by Scott Blake on Unsplash
Who Wins, What Is the Prize
The devil never sleeps
And I’m not sure
That’s so
Do angels sleep
Do persons in the Trinity
Maybe
Take turns
Or shifts of angels
And of demons
Unless the boss of all
Infernos
Demands no rest
For its agents
Or agencies
That must be busy
In corruptions
And
Winning souls for hell
Which is
Backward evangelism
Though real enough
In goading
Forces for
An Armageddon
C L Couch
Photo by National Library of Scotland on Unsplash
Texas fires
I cannot say enough
about
the fires in Texas
and how those
who can
should fight them
toward containment
and cessation
and then
the multifarious care
of victims
and how
those of us who can
as in fight fires
go there
and those of us who can’t
remain behind
to offer aid
and give it from
where we
might be
it’s fire
folks
and politics aside
it is a horror
a series of horrors
from what burns
and who’s caught
in the way
can't say enough
because it's time to act
c l couch
photo by Michael Held on Unsplash
About the Praying
I haven’t
prayed so much today,
not yet.
Sorry about that.
Can prayers move back in time?
I think
they can,
not as an excuse
but to place them where
they’re needed,
God of where
And when.
Amen.
C L Couch
Photo by Ahmad Ossayli on Unsplash
My Friend from School, Steve
(add in your friend)
My best friend
Locally
Was Steve
And Steve was Black
Mainly
Though
He was my friend
He brought me in
For a while
Even to his house
His home
And he told me how difficult
It was
To buy that house
In rural Pennsylvania
Where selling to a Black
Man had been
Difficult
Though he had money
And persisted
He let my cat
Stay with him
Too
She liked to run around
The house
And try to dominate
Queenly
The feral cats outside
Near the barn
Steve
Had two lovely children
Long grown now
I haven’t seen them
In a long while
Though I imagine
They are lovely
Still
Inside and outside
Hard-working
Like their father
Also loving life
Like their father
Steve was ill with things
A combination
Or a last thing
Took him at the end
That should have gone
Differently
He should have had years
Of relative health
And joy on Earth
Even though
No doubt
He’s doing better
Where he is
We were friends
At school
Where we worked
His office was a friendly place
There were rows
And stacks
Of things
To appreciate
Mostly
It was that they were illumined
Embodied with his presence
Sharing wisdom
Sharing life
A resting place
Even
For others
For me
I miss him
Even sharply
Every day
He had a way
I miss his presence
He was easy to be with
Whatever the mood
He was my friend
I miss him
Every day
He had a way
C L Couch
I write this because it’s nearly the end of Black History Month. I can think of Black inventors and I do. And so many Blacks I’ve known with all the talents, attitudes, and contributions. But my famous friend for this month is Steve. He was a teacher. He was skilled. He was welcoming. He had a home and had a life. He is my professional and personal Black history. He should have had more time on Earth. He once called me his brother, and I have felt that strongly ever since. He was mine. He was my friend. I miss him sharply every day.
Photo by Dylann Hendricks | 딜란 on Unsplash
2 poems about the ending, the beginning
Panoply
I was thinking
Of the stars
In the Chronicles of Narnia
The stars
Who are people
Who had arrived here
Long ago
And the people-stars
Who will descend
In the last
Hours
A star
A sun
With a personality
Like the face
By Georges Méliès
For the moon
Except
The stars-as-people
Won’t have spaceships
In their left eyes
I guess
We have anthropomorphized
Everything that’s
Up there
And to place them up
When they
Are all around
A stellar populace
And are the comets missiles
Taking centuries to land
Because a century
To stars
Is an age of dinosaurs
On Earth
A stellar war
An interstellar war
With weapons
So slow
And more rarely hitting targets
As the universe has settled
That the gods of war
Must be red
In their frustration
For the cosmos
Clearly gives it up
No interest
In who wins
The interest is in
Sentience now
Like theirs
Worlds have it
And the possibilities
As life is
Sent around
First as microbes
Then support for all the lifeforms
As they grow
A day
An age
Inhabit all the Earth
As each Earth was made
Earthstruck
Early
Sun is prepping
Not appearing
Yet
Moon is tired
From its performing
Ready to set
To rest for a while
The stars in their courses
Seem confident
I think they will stay there
For a while
An age or more
Perhaps
An eon
If that’s longer
Then to fall
One by one
Onto the Earth
Of an apocalypse
Or so our own myth
Goes
And does the Earth expand
To catch the stars
Or will the stars
Actually send meteors
As
Representatives
Ahead of
Armageddon
How real is it all
All the blood
From the sky
And on the planet
Maybe
All of it shall happen
As depicted
And shall the saved
Be gone by then
Perhaps
Perhaps
Some of us must wait
Through tribulation
To send
The message
While there’s time
Even through the
Revelation horrors
Hurry up
Believe
More evidence around you
And the world is breaking up
Though there’s still time
Still pushing your agendas
Give them up
It’s over
But something new
And wonderful
Is coming
You shouldn’t want
To miss it
C L Couch
Ramandu (“star at rest”) and the daughter of Ramandu (no name given for her, though in the stories she is active) from The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis
Photo by Alex Shuper on Unsplash
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