the poet-friend
I heard it from a poet
once
that there was no following
because
grace was dispensed
by
those who claimed authority
to give it
and
by their terms
I’m imagining a water-cooler with
a foreign hand on
the tap
a line that goes away
from
there of those to drink
who
are bestowed with an upside-down
triangle of a cup
inside
of which are stips of official
pardon and
toward
the price of another metaphor
a ticket
to
the show
while grace if free
and
has no agency but God
if I may say
three parts to
one
with grace soaring everywhere
and everywhere it’s
needed
to cover and to heal as
that song-balm
the sin-
sick soul
and why not fly by music
of
the spheres
an angel chorus to announce
and
to remind us
freely given is the love and salvation
of the Lord
and
is the vision made
the poetry
perverse
and I don’t know but that it’s better than
the tyranny of will that despots
try
and yet prohibited by better will
and inside each
of us
a part
as if to fuse with our own
elements
our spirits to
save
grace
angels
our own will
and we are saved
if
against the world
and
those disillusioned and me
angered in
their
favor for who dispenses
grace
and blessing but
the Lord
and not the red
and black
the gold of breaking majesty
while
what we have
on our own
even alone if need be
faith
and love
forever
freely
grace like justice flowing
even better
c l couch
photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
the Heaneys at a christening on realizing everyone else had brought a present
write something
she said
he went in
went up
and wrote something
c l couch
(a story he told at a reading)
photo by Leonardo Iribe on Unsplash
birthday bard
born
or born
near this day
our lord’s year
1564
some educated
beyond
believed the local school
more so somehow
illuminated
aware of the world
where it is
where it was
who
and how
topical
which could be daring
writing about the father
of the kind
all sorts of guess
how he lived
except to know he was not
the starving artist
but
did well
poet
first
then actor
better-heeled
as poet
married
buried near the altar
for respect
and
perhaps some sort
of sponsorship
and
when dug up
to find all bones except
the head
as someone might have wondered
about Einstein
and
the brain
war
distant
near
love places and time
with something of forever
in each effort
magic
discovered
undiscovered countries
also
ethereal
tried as practical
the identity of one who could
compose
so much
and so penetrating
about us
peers
yes
and peerless
and
happy birthday
were you here
while we are here
yet
look forward to a part
with all
great dramas
in the legacy
of
the greatest play and art that
of eternity
c l couch
photo by Samuel Regan-Asante on Unsplash
“Stratford Station” (for translation)
Stratford, London, UK
from the tent it is a sand and then a water world
I set my shoes
outside
as if I were entering
sancrosanctity
though really the sand-filled things
would not be convenient
in the tent
still
something east of here
and like a desert
calling
and I guess deserts go to coastlines
too
as this beach doesn’t go to desert
actually
but in its narrow strip
still calls what
to us might be
exotic wanderlust
c l couch
from a prompt provided by Melissa Lemay at https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/2025/03/24/melissas-fandango-flash-fiction-challenge-313/ (photo by Sara Cottle on Unsplash)
my thanks for Melissa!
https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/
(at) https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/2025/03/24/melissas-fandango-flash-fiction-challenge-313/
Hello! Welcome to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. Each week I will post an image I grab off the internet and challenge bloggers to write a flash fiction piece or a poem inspired by the image. There are no style or word limits.
If this week’s image inspires you and you wish to participate, please write your post and use the tag #FFFC. Please create a pingback to this post and/or manually add your link in the comments. I hope it will generate some great posts. Don’t forget to stop back and read/comment on the posts of others.
Thank you for participating!
No Birds in Gaza
(from Rosemerry)
An unknown casualty of war
Except for those who know
How nature has
Absconded
Or simply stayed there
To take it
Based on exigence
Of seasons
We think of as
A cycle of life
Demolished
However
Goes the cycle
With reason
That which left
Shall not return
With those who are destroyed
On site
Well
They
Shall go to God
And not come back
To us
So that there’s nothingness
Which is
The cause of war
CLC
https://ahundredfallingveils.com/2024/07/07/at-four-forty-six-a-m-when-i-cant-sleep/
Photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash
(I should promise a haiku for tomorrow)
a portrait
1
weird stuff today
not crap
but honest words
inside
made into visioning
a way to read
to see
to hear
witches
and ghosts attend
here is something
for your spells
that comes
quite honestly
against the grain
out of the fire
of unusual thought
and destination
for spirit-care
away from regular thought
even away
from the
machine
2
I think Joyce had
a plot
maybe an outline
that enforced
provided banks
at least
for one side of the stream
that it might roll
and also
tell the story
desired
the story that we say
had no beginning
or no end
save the luck of covers
but then a passage
would be honest
rising above
the paltry things we know
moving away
like riders to the sea
epiphany
on either side
then movement
into daytime
and the quieting
genius
after “Araby”
at night
3
now I have coffee
all the colonial thieving
now fair-trade
it’s bitterness
it stains my teeth
it also helps
with my heartwork
and also
headaches
so I’ve read
so I like
to believe
I washed a dish
and made a noise
am I allowed
am I allowed
(I ask for litany)
something so normal
and a normal
life that was eluded
I eluded
for so long
the good family
mobile family
taken from me
while I was afraid
to move
to move
at all
and so I’ve slid
sloughed says my friend
from place to place
a modicum of gumption
rented
like the truck
(that broke down)
for the moving day
the vegetarian thing
again
but I have memories
of burgers from the grill
roast beef
wreathed with vegetables
from the oven
even corned beef and cabbage
on Saint Patrick’s
which I’ve not seen since
the food
or such a green
a day
hark
it is two bells
not for sailor’s time
but from the phone
maybe reminding me
I have a heart test
in a couple of hours
taking blood
again
my veins
it seems
acting tired
recalcitrant
to give the protein up
and all the cells
of all the colors
(some that change
with oxygen)
not wanting
to disclose
for tests
anymore
4
and while there’s wood for
furniture
and while there’s hope
in love that’s
set upon
the cushions
and the wood
metal beneath
or on the floor
while
passion
knows no bounds
beyond the flesh
and spirit
in between
I’ll play the art
it seems
from which
so far
I haven’t earned a time
in fact
paid for
the time that I have here
and while I have it
but things
are precious
aren’t they
sometimes our deciding
which is which
as in
do you remember
this is our special place
this will be
our song
and so it goes
with lovers
and with friendships
of all kinds
with the bad place
and season
too
too bad to recall
but there it is
is it a balance
I don’t think so
as good will out
and bad
descend to its own
nothingness
so
too
will memory
not deceive
but prioritize
what matters most
upon the porch
in recall
C L Couch
Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash
call me crazy
call me late for dinner
I’ll be writing
over here
(x = space)
x
x
Saint James
x
That’s good
Now will you add some O-s with me?
That’s gooood
And now
That’s gooooooood
The gospel
The jazz
Making everything
That is
You know
So created
And insinuated
(maybe with
a little slide)
GOOOOOOOOOOD!
x
Then we may
In the
Genesis world
With its poets be
Saintly, too,
And who knows
Maybe
(maybe a little whispery
for humility)
gooooooooooood
x
C L Couch
x
x
saying, singing (playing) “The Creation” by James Weldon Johnson
x
. . .
Then God smiled,
And the light broke,
And the darkness rolled up on one side,
And the light stood shining on the other,
And God said: That’s good!
. . .
x
Photo by Leonard Alcira on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
MS. Found in an Electric Bottle
x
How do I keep
These?
x
Mostly, they’re electrons now,
Some of these a day
Over some years
Now
x
Shall I print them all,
Keep them like spells
Inside my crystal cave?
x
Well,
Maybe
Maybe I should
x
I can select from there
With those
To hope for publication
Or another egress
Out to you
To share
x
My part in the circle
And the stars
And the spells
x
We share our pages
With the magic words
That say
I’m here
With everyone
x
Read us;
Hear us
x
C L Couch
x
x
“MS. Found in a Bottle,” a short story by Edgar Allan Poe
x
Photo by Douglas Bagg on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
The Conditions of the Prophet
x
What shall God say today?
Not to me
I am not a vessel
Until God doesn’t mind the cracks
And grime
Under the rim
And maybe not:
Maybe God calls on us
To call
Who are not unblemished alabaster
Uncracked
Ancient yet young
To appreciate
x
Well, there are no museums here
Not inside the person
If there is a purpose
And I’m told
Rather explicitly,
I’ll follow
Though there are conditions
x
I can’t be crazy
Or made crazy
There must be gentle tones allowed
Simplicity
Would be instructive
While dignity
Would be grand
x
If these can be traits
In a manifesto
Then I’ll call it
x
And if these traits
Cannot be followed, well,
I’ll follow
Share the word
With the same conviction
Sigh,
No conditions
And apologizing for
Conditions
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash
x
clcouch123 
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