Saturday haiku
(senses applied to what’s outside; maybe each verse stands alone; maybe they all have to go together)
the skitterers wait
leaves falling then branches cleared
skittering delight
what is there to hear
surprised or unsurprised sound
to like or endure
out front I smell town
cars and bricks and street work there
out back trees and leaves
unconvincing taste
air that’s all mixed together
good and bad to breathe
touching the splinters
old drying frame of window
trees too far away
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photo by LR HULTS on Unsplash
two poems about me, all of us
a story for me
(and you)
let’s
see what I recall
she asked me
do you know what your name
means
and
I said
yes
it means cross-bearer
to which she then asked
do you
know the story
and I didn’t
there was a wide river
and a man who
for a living
carried people to the other side
one day then
a child
came to the man
the child requesting
to
be carried across the water
and
so he took the child on his shoulders
and proceeded
and as they moved
it seemed
the child got heavier to bear
and then
heavier
the current of the river and the distance
made
everything more difficult
though it was the weight of the child
that mattered
most
so that the man
said to the child
I feel as if
I’m carrying the weight of the world
to which the child replied
you are
and that’s the story of the saint
named Christopher
and
I’ve kept that story from
my teacher
when in school and to
this day
so
I know there’s much to write about
about
earthquake and war
fire
flood and strikes
and such
and not
to dismiss
anything in the world with which I often
feel
uncomfortable
and yet
must love so much
but
sometimes it is me
as it is you
and we are one by one
as well
as
together
and each one matters
as
togetherness matters
and sometimes
you know
there is the day and only one soul
then
another
and what happens from inside to
the outside
through one and then another
to
the world
eventually
is what we have
one
two
together
more
the world
forever
c(hristopher) l couch
photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
“long exposure image of a river flowing in the forest”
2 disparate poems (one poem about church, the other about art)
church time
liturgy
a language for the church at prayer
though we can go through
the mass book
on our own
the missal
I should say
not sacred language
in whatever language
unless
there is a translation
of glossolalia
but
as far as I know
normal words
that
enable me to go through
devotion
or a service
on my own
or two could
do
and this is church
is
said
that two or three are gathered
and no more
which means I’m not
a church
by myself
and
should have company
in prayer
and worship
(prayer for worship)
if
we want this to be church
as if it’s us
there is
perhaps while in the formal feeling
again
I ask
does art come from pain
and must it
always
love what we do
do what we love
we’re told
trite
cliché
advice a trope
along with dream big
I suppose
and
we know that life is hard
the artist thrown out from the start
or
disenfranchised once
the vision’s owned
because
normalcy
without a challenge is what’s
paid for
and
not the art
except that it appear
magic
at the show
someone decides to buy it
for
colors that complement
or
honestly could be because someone
is moved
(and
the colors complement)
never pay the artist
though
assuming
grants
or commissions
that for most
are in an air
too rare to breathe
and so
we go like the bohème
in a garett that’s happy enough
while
poor
until the poverty should bring disease
without a cure to pay for
by medicine
or
southern Italy
with the means to rest
and so
sun-heal
and I exaggerate
and
don’t
and so after
losing
what
the ordinary company of
one
next to another
having lost most of the world
already
there is work
and it might be art
and
I think shall be
proving
the thesis of the ages
I suppose
except for those who were not poor
to art
who
I imagine
started out that way
by something else
and then the provocations
to the institutions
true
freedom and creation
that outcast
as they please
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photo by The Cleveland Museum of Art on Unsplash
Harmonious Times, Paul Signac
Annunciation school and church
shame
what is the shame
humiliation in
allowing such things to happen
such
awful things
and those who seek to move the world
but
cannot keep children safe
by lesser measures than vainglorious
and is that
it
we cannot say
one cannot say
I did this
and the mountains shook
the seawaves vibrated
by my hand
I pressed my enemies into the ground
beneath the beneath
and
took on God’s role for myself
over heaven
over hell
no
we simply mean to keep our children safe
most of us
that is
to remove the means
for harm
from them and from those
who’d
just as soon hurt them
to let Annunciation
say
these are the children
these
are welcome
we will keep these in the world
and
rise and fall by how we do
to have them in the school for learning
in
the church for faith
at last madness all to own
and
did it say
I hate those Christians
for
what is there to believe in
not myself
only the power I might bear
a little while
‘til I’m caught
‘til my
life is over and what
do I care
this is significance
blood
and flame
I’m like a king
a stupid
conniving
thieving king
a king
of nothing
this is what I am
what I’ve
become
and by such cruelty
and madness
I shall die
only
for remembrance
of them
not who I was
but
what I did
and even then only the loss
and hoped-for judgment
of
the flames
except for those
forgiving
even though I hate the Christian
almost
as much me
then
as I must hate
certainly deny
if not
forget
their God
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MINNEAPOLIS — Mass was underway Wednesday morning to mark the beginning of the academic year at Annunciation Catholic School when bullets started to come through the glass.
. . . which killed two students and wounded more than a dozen other people, . . .
(MSN)
https://kstp.com/kstp-news/top-news/ways-to-help-victims-of-the-annunciation-church-mass-shooting/
(KSTP)
photo by Jacob Bentzinger on Unsplash
celestial travel ecumenical
the journey crost
over
the bar
a star that guides
the journey each of us have to
take
hoping the water’s navigable
and the pilot
knows the way
and has firm grip upon
the wheel
and can command the crew
both technically and
kindly
then Tennyson has sailed this way
crost to the other side
and
we might do the same in variants of
faith
and transport but
to arrive
to disembark or simply step
from this life into
heaven
or
what you call it
how you get
there
that
we may study
talk about
while we pursue
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Crossing the Bar
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
after Tennyson composed the poem, he requested that it appear at the end of all published collections, and it did
photo by Gene Gallin on Unsplash
"Cherry Branch-Minnesott Beach Ferry, North Carolina, USA"
2 poems about perspectives (and prompts)
anyone by Tennyson
(reflecting on “Ulysses”)
and if
Ulysses leaves
then
something wrong in Ithaca
something rotten
like the other precedence
to say
maybe his administration by which
his parting
will take the ill with him
and
shall we be ruled
then
by Penelope
who knows how to weave and
keep
the promise
loyal as all promises
are pledges
in
themselves
and so security humanity
in adventures bearing truth
and
at home
bearing love
reliably
secure
the place for that pursuit of happiness
also from the Greeks
to know
and so by wandering and settling
to have
yet
do not settle
say Ulysses and the followers
though
yet there must be a place
of ours
enacts Penelope
and
shall Telemachus serve as medium between
the parents
and the warring notions
of the heart
and will
battle well
the main place
the parts
where battle matters
“Ulysses,” a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, published originally in 1834
the ray
these
things that Bing promotes
the rays that fly through water
by Galapagos
they swim
they point the way they’ve gone
to mark the way
for what should follow
also
to defend
and promise that through the long black
point
that each possesses
and they do all of this
these creatures
and
the species
thousands of miles from here
though there are analogues
closer in
the beings have a mind
but no mind about this
they
do not move aware
of us
as we think we should be observed
and
recognized
rather
they move in life
and life
is what they know
both need and celebration driving
which is all to strive
against
our vanities
a lesson in moving existence
in all
“spotted eagle rays in the Galápagos Islands”
presented by Bing/Microsoft (Tui de Roy/Minden Pictures)
homepage 8/15/25
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photo by Maksim Shutov on Unsplash
Lisbon Oceanarium, Esplanada Dom Carlos I, Lisbon, Portugal
two poems about help
once cadging up
God
you got me moving
if only a little
that you’d have me take more steps
and reach within my limits
if
all right
on the inside first
too many things are plain
yet I can’t see with any sense
worldly
or
soulful clarity
too easy to feel down
and
while there
from looking up at shapes there
perilously blurred
while what is
to see
is round confusion and so
where
is the way
I cannot get for
steps
or if there were a ladder hiding from
me
existentially concealed
and who’s to say
for ears
to hear
look
there is the way
still in prayer
tired
too tired to look up
too doubt-pressed
if
something about the hills and rescue
though I think that is reaction
wishful
thinking for a rescue
that in a better
mind we know that if comes
it shall come
from
wherever
any direction
of
one source
then why to look at hills
maybe to inspire
prayers
in
nature
sign of encouragement
by the sign of rising
earth
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. . . from whence cometh my help.
2 My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
Psalm 121 1b-2
KJV
(some think question and response)
photo by Marc Babin on Unsplash
a couple of cosmic verses
two nebulae
birthplace of stars
and
were we a nebula before
if so
what shape
and
did someone name us
for a form
maybe matching a myth
from
their own lore
and will they tell us
our own story
for
a reach
we do not have
older than us
sure
and yet extant with penchants for
visits
and conversations
unaware of angels
a favorite story
the older couple who
entertained divinities without
awareness
yet greeting needful
strangers
as it seemed
gave welcome to their shoddy place
and
offered the last food and
drink they had kept for themselves
before they’d
die from their own need and
lack
and yet in that meal
the plate
and pitcher
kept refilling and would
do so
forever
by the way
and after sleeping
the two awoke to find their hovel
changed into a manor
filled with
all signs of prosperity
to own and live
while
the valley town that would not
welcome anyone
or open
anything to strangers
more so those who did not appear
as they
well
that
town with the valley
now was flooded as gods
in judgment
and in brutal mischief
may decree and
do
(it’s a story of Greek gods, cited by Saint Paul as well)
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photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash
simpler green day near
solstice calls the summer start
then shorter green days
orange autumn day
equinox incites the fire
by red longer night
winter silver blue
longer days the promise bear
by solstice we met
spring the ground awake
spring equinox pale-promised
pastel growth begins
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photo by Bozhin Karaivanov on Unsplash
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