present

Partly inspired by “There Will Come Soft Rains,” a chapter in The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. This part of the story speaks to what is left of us. The chapter’s sad. Nonetheless I often think upon it.

Sci-Fied

Should the bombs fall

And I am atomized

And you

And the insects shall find

Nourishment

Not through flesh

(I’m atomized

so are you)

But through bits of trash

I had not the time

To take our back

And shall the Earth survive

To have another age

I remember

In the days of Strontium

We said we could

Destroy the planet’s crust

And so leave

The molten mass

The could heave

Or be

Settled down

Nostalgia

For a future guess

The Earth might have

Its own

As it once held us

There could be bees

And flowers for the bees

Or something

For pollen

So that something could

Pollenate

And there be land

With flora

Feeding

And softening

What’s left of our platforms

For another age

Of Earth

Arthropodic

Or could it be with feathers

Things that move

And have their being

Avoiding shadows

Form which

There used to be

Something in charge

Though now

The lesson’s different

This time

The arthropods

And feathered things

Have sentience

And speak gospel

While the Earth

In its own way

We never got

Though it was there

Shall smile

C L Couch

Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash

December 19, 2023 0

You and You Will Be There

(x = where)

You and You Will Be There

I haven’t mentioned you

Today

Though you are intertwined

Threaded

Through everything

Like gold inside a tapestry

Running to be seen

Or rediscovered

Later

You were there

Of course

You were

Our time alone

Is really for companionship

And when things are like Fatima

Well

That’s obvious

But when the world is busy

With phenomena

Broadcasters don’t find you

To interview

Preferring mortal leaders

And settling

For pundits

Well

How may we ask questions

Of an invisible God

On the scene

Or even chez lui

In a church

Or temple

Or where you’re really home

I guess

We can’t take our wires

There

Until we can and may

Maybe at Megiddo

Maybe at the gates

Or just inside

For justice

Given a chance

To know the words

The one word over

Under

For salvation

Ticket

For a journey

To the other side

North

And south

And west and east

Of Eden

With new promises

Across the world we’ve known

Pushed

Riotously

Perhaps

With celebration

And good humor

Among angels and the saved

New grace

New creation

C L Couch

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

November 24, 2023 0

2 poems about ecumenicity

(x = space)

2 poems about ecumenicity

Many Things to Make

(nothing like a rant but a ramble)

And there are other great traditions, too,

About which I know next

To nothing

Remembering the Gulf War when

Some of us felt ecumenical

And took part in gatherings of Christians,

Jews, and Muslims

Where I got to hear the testimonies

Of the followers of each

And who they were as persons

And believers

There was a young woman

Of Islam

Who articulately smoothly,

Even beautifully

That who knew her better than her parents

With regard for her

And so who better to arrange

A marriage for her?

And I was convinced

And I disagree

And there was beauty in the

Disagreement, too

Doubting that we changed much

Of anything—there

Was still a war, and our young

People left to fight—but

In the moments

Of these hours

There were the points of light

The President then

Had been asking for

Inside the nation

There is so much more

To learn

About my neighbors

In the nation

And the world:

Who are the believers?

What do they believe?

What is the story of their faith?

Might they respect

The disagreements, too,

So that our world

Has a chance

To survive

To prosper

To believe

So that with integrity

We might reach for another world,

Too?

Pray the world lasts

Until we meet upon Megiddo

Not to fight

But have a meal,

Exchange apocalypse in faithful terms

And human

For a conclave

And a celebration

Of each other

Reasonably

Most of us believe

And there are those who don’t

Though binary’s not enough

There must be more

Than defining one thing

By its opposite

Humanists

Secularists

Unitarians

People of the Renaissance

Who gave science a category

Near faith

Without faith

Objectivists

Phenomenologists

People of reason

Rationality

Naturalism

Modernism

Fitter for post-modernism

Than the rest of us

Who could lead the way, in fact,

In appreciating

Difference

And diversity,

The creative celebration

Of the mind

And the experiment

Sorry I must

Define these as an

Other

But they must be

Welcome at the table

They could welcome us

We could invite each other

coda

Yes, which is not to say

Believers are irrational

Some are

Some want to be

And there are those who keep

Their faith as

Something in the wild

Those who lost at Whitby

But kept the Celtic

Style and ritual

Below

And now in daylight

Seek in celebration

Understanding for the rest of us

But faith has reason;

Might we say

That reason is creation

By creator?

Say no

Say yes

But allow for some very smart people

To believe

No one has to change

Except in violent intent

It should be an instinct to

Understand oneself

When understanding others

Keeping in mind

With hopefulness

That the one requested

Will in turn

Turn toward you to say

And what is your story?

Delightfully,

Be ready

C L Couch

I was writing before dawn and thinking about the seasons that are upon us now, wonderful times—and that in the spirit of this or that we might serve each other not only better but also for the first time, the stakes being, well, everything

now it’s dawn

by M. Garlick/University of Warwick/ESO – http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso1627a/, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=99645426

December 19, 2022 2

Story Time, Please

(x = space)

Story Time, Please

Oof, I’m tired

Aren’t you tired?

If you’re energized, please

Let me know

Maybe chocolate

Inspiration from a movie

Or a book

An entertaining story

From someone who

Tells stories well

I like storytelling

I like listening

I like to think of people

Gathered ‘round tended fires

From ancient times

To hear from a bard

(roving poet)

Some other teller

Adding historically to lore

More urgently, to move us

With the tried

Or taking chances

Now

C L Couch

Photo by Obed Hernández on Unsplash

August 17, 2022 2

Surgent Prophecy

(x = space)

Surgent Prophecy

Flood

Fire,

Crushes at the border

Pandemic

Surgency of variants

Afghanistan has fallen

To a group we have called

Terrorist,

Though a while ago

Alliant in and as the

Mujahideen

Farther east in Asia

There is disease

There is prison

For dissidents

Sounds like end times

Too many will believe

One of the riders is

Pestilence, another

War

Famine and Death—and

We can make a case for

These

So is this the start

Of the end,

Of apocalypse, Parousia?

Could be

Probably not

Against the march of days

That has marched and

Most likely

Will march on

But who knows?

Someone who we are not

We can be ready

It’s not a matter

Of bunkers

But of the spirit

Are we loving animals

(and do we love

our animals)?

Are we ready for straight roads

For the coming of the monarch

Over land

Or under sea

Or through the air?

Will we have good stewardship

Reports to make

About the

Earth that has been our charge?

Well, we’ll see

About it all

Though our part

Is ready now

Believe

Harvest

Care

Preserve

Plant and move around

What will grow anew

And what will grow forever

C L Couch

Burning Down the House

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash

Kittitas, WA, USA

September 3, 2021 0

The Salton Sea

(x = space)

The Salton Sea

I’d like to go into

The desert

Because I don’t know what

I’m saying,

Which isn’t true:

I lived in California

For a time

Went to the desert there

Saw the stars

At night

One day went to Palomar

Never got to

The Salton Sea,

Not knowing what I would

Have found then—

A miasma of

Mismanagement shown

In rusty signs and

Rotted beams

Or tries at reclamation:

Burying

Dead animals

Nailing together boathouses,

Pubs,

And homes

Maybe re-servicing

The Navy base

Maybe putting back in

All the water

That used to be there,

That kept

The crafted ocean

And habitation

Viable

C L Couch

Photo by Chris Montgomery on Unsplash

Salton Sea, California, USA

May 4, 2021 1

3 brief poems for the new year

(x = space)

May I Sell You a Machine?

(end of December)

According to commercials

At this time of year,

We should be losing weight

Grinding on exercise machines,

Finding our food in a box,

Engaging meditation maybe

Thirty seconds, maybe

Less

I suppose the box companies

Are doing well

And companies that make

Machines—I wonder

That machines are always doing well

We lose weight,

They weigh us down

Contemporarities

(2021)

God, help us in new years

Whenever they begin

In calendars,

In life

When someone dies,

When someone comes to life

Because she or he is born,

Because there is a return

To life

After pain, as she says

When the formal feeling comes

And something after

Our Sci-Fi Lives

Now is the science-fiction time,

Far enough into

The twenty-first century

That we may have some expectations

For reverse magnetism

And anti-gravity

For cities in the air and mining solely

By machines, enough that humans

Have jobs again

In new alliances

But we know how to fix it, at least

I hope we do,

The Earth that we have harmed;

And when we go, the missions we take

With us will not harm

C L Couch

I was a suburban kid but grew up in or near mining and steel-making country. And our city fell apart when the industries fell apart. If they could come back in local and safe ways, I should be relieved and very glad.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

. . .

Emily Dickinson

Photo by Fabrício Severo on Unsplash

Saint Fin Barre’s Cathedral, Bishop Street, The Lough, Cork, Irlanda

December 31, 2020 0