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There’s a Story at the End

(x = space)

x

x

There’s a Story at the End

x

I don’t know what to say.

I need the birds to

dance across the

page

with their feet dipped in ink.

It’s a medieval riddle’s

answer,

though it would be cruel

to force birds’ feet

into wells.

x

I guess we take their feathers,

turn them into quills;

maybe we could wait

to find quills

inside forests:

gifts from the sources of stories

and the desert

and the sky

and moving waters

taking the shape

of earth below.

That’s what I want to tell,

a story!

Something for everyone.  And

is there such a thing?

x

Once there was a child

in a forest

Who came upon a grown-up

clearly starving.

The child gave the grown-up

the only piece of

bread

in the child’s bag.

The adult rose up and thanked

the child.

Then they noticed that

the child’s bag

had a hole through which

crumbs had fallen—and through

forest-magic

had not been eaten

by birds or other creatures!

x

They knew certainly where the

crumbs

would take them,

so they went home

where everyone was

known,

because everyone was

home.

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash

x

1

What We Will

(x = space)

x

x

What We Will

(6 January)

x

I don’t have anything

For you, but

There is this:

There is a story

x

It is winter, now;

We have passed Twelfth Night,

The yule log is expiring

In the manor home,

Epiphany will have

Its celebrations;

x

Winter, then, will be

Full upon us

In the north;

x

And it will be, between

Any festivals, such a

Good time for stories

And storytellers

x

Who should be invited

Then blessed on their way

To comfort others in

diverse ways.

x

Should there be no tellers

At hand, then we must

Become them—every group

Has a story,

After all;

And if yours has none to tell,

Then write it

(there will be a text

for now, for later on)

And then tell it:

x

Hear it, everyone!

In the north, it is

Such a good time for this.

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Lance Anderson on Unsplash

Akron, United States

x

2

Love of Story

Love of Story

x

Mostly, we read stories

Now

To children at the end of day

Or sometimes in

A social situation when

The elements

Are undeclared and

Might surprise us, if we knew

x

There are official

Storytellers, having trained

Or trained themselves,

Maybe belonging to

A kind of guild

x

Mostly, the storytelling

Voice is left to books

Without our

Participation except

When reading to ourselves or

At the end of day

Or in the backyard

With our friends,

While some meat

Is cooking on the grill

x

Our ancient texts

Have voices, but we do not think

Of them (or them)

So much;

Their lessons are alive,

Sometimes their prayers—but

That there are

People talking to their people

Then and to us now

Is not so much a matter,

As it might have been

Outside the book

x

Is this a problem?

Well, it might be:

We might benefit from allowing for

Human presence in our

Stories—yes, our prayers—through

The ages,

Divine intrusions (or,

yes, divine inspirations)

Notwithstanding

x

But these are our stories, too,

If only by intent of audience

(which is to say

they are for you, they are

for us),

Which is to say we read them, have

Them read to us:

We engage,

We respond,

We learn

Sometimes we are changed

And at any age,

In any age,

Are grown

x

So keep the stories living,

Let’s tell our own

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Melanie Lim on Unsplash

Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur, Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

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3

First Story

(x = space)

x

x

First Story

x

The Bible is a book

Stories, sometimes

Told in poetry

The thinking of a people

And, certainly, their feelings

Faith based on

Invisibility

Not to be fanciful

But there’s a lack of evidence

That is the design

x

A collection of books,

We say

Sixty-six or seventy-two

There are reasons

For the difference, we’re told

But some of us

Are wondering if

Judith was left out

By the Protestants

Because she is so heroic

While also

Scolding

Cowering men

x

But take our pick, it’s still

An impressive collection

There is truth in it

In the one story, overall

Parts of the world

That point to it

Pages on leaves,

Waves telling it aloud

And other texts

And other storytellers

x

It’s a book of faith

Behind that, it’s a book of love

That was the first purpose

The pleasure in the making,

We can only guess

The peace,

We’re told, is passing understanding,

Too

But maybe we can take

A guess at love

We can think it

We can think it through

We can feel it

We can feel it through

x

The story is compelling

As it is pervasive

We can enjoy it

(try the creating)

We can be persuaded

We can be grossed out from

Time to time

We can be changed

We can be saved

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Aleksei Ieshkin on Unsplash

x

1

The Tell

(x = space)

x

x

The Tell

x

Another dark day

Good for hiding dust

No doubt the motes are flying, still

Informing the dust bunnies

Where to warren

Why not dust cats or

Dust crocodiles, I do not know

But we may delight

In invisible inhabitants,

All the same

The pixies that our cultures tell us

Do and don’t exist

The magic inside

Each of our stories, especially

Once shared

x

Pull up some chairs, the four of us

Let’s play some cards

And, please, let’s talk

It isn’t tourney play, you know

Let’s show something of

Ourselves besides

The tells

We don’t think we have

x

C L Couch

x

x

photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

playing cards in a bar-room near Reserve, Louisiana

x

2

Laid Up

(x = space)

x

x

Laid Up

x

There are stories

There are stories

I’d like to hear one story more

It need not be fantastic

Save for telling of the human will

In wisdom or in folly

In virtue or in vanity

x

What I’m saying is

Make it a human story

Though we might truck with gods,

It seems most days it’s only us

Our gods so far away

Perhaps not to hear,

Maybe not to care

Certainly not

Mortal evidence discloses

To attend our

Perilous half-moments

x

It isn’t this way

God doesn’t have an unmoving face

But tell it to the storm

That seems to bear God’s enmity

In visage

And the promise of

A curse upon our gentler feelings

God is there,

But in the curse of human will

Must relegate our drama

Mostly to ourselves,

According to the action and the lore

The machinery of God

Last act upon the stage

Notwithstanding

x

But I’m sorry,

You weren’t asking for

A negative apology

And I was asking for a story

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Olesia Misty on Unsplash

x

0

One More Act

One More Act

 

Regarding salvation,

Theophilus,

It is an easy plan

It has to be

Don’t be disappointed

Each one of everyone

Must perceive

The Lord

It can’t be a secret,

Though for now we need a secret

To survive

A code

Or something

 

Somehow, each one

Gets the story

In a saving way

We can’t be hiding that

Thank goodness, we don’t

God would crowd in, anyway

Should we get it wrong

There must be

Truth in belief and a cadre

To keep it

 

Somehow the story

Must appeal

To the old, the young

The angry and the fearful

How much we know cannot be

The matter of

God’s apprehending each

Once the hand is raised

And if no skill to do that

Raised with help

From proxy friends

 

But each one’s own

Encounter

Must compel

And must, because there is

Perfect love in the process

A compelling invitation

Stamped with joy

Delivered in peace

Whose cost, mind you,

Is nothing

 

It’s a great day,

Theophilus,

Even though we scratch

Into the ground for recognition

We are fishers

With the perfect net

That will not kill or maim

Or serve up the wrong fish

Into the boat

Or on the shore

Consider it a plan

Better than any other

There should be no wounds

Outside or inside

Except those delivered

By the world

 

The net actually fails

There is no net

Yet the job is done

It’s done in thread

That holds nothing together

So must we in peace

Proclaim the Lord,

Which will be hard for us

Though God demands somehow we keep

The opposites together

 

(a greeting in my hand)

My peer, my student, and my friend

It is the hardest work we do

And rise above the scars

Yet the prize is easy

It is not ours

But kept by one who knows our names

Better yet, prizes our spirits

Gain the faith in truth and love

A day of gladness when there’s one

And only one

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Brina Blum on Unsplash

Trèbes, France

It was on a lovely and sunny day in Trèbes in France. I found this lonely and lost mailbox on the wall of an old house. Looks so beautiful.

 

 

 

14

Fox and Grapes

Fox and Grapes

(the nature of a scorpion)

 

There are so many stories

Out there,

Which is grand

Here’s one story you know

 

The tortoise and the hare

The hare should have won

It stopped to take a nap

It should have finished the race

First

Then had all sorts of time

Appointment-free for napping

But there was vanity

He

(I’m going to say he)

Could not resist

And there are morals

 

If you’re a tortoise

Find and maintain your pace,

For that’s your job

If you’re a hare,

Remember modesty

In a wider world

And turn your energy

Creatively

You could have helped the tortoise,

After all

 

C L Couch

 

 

Scott Rheam, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

Black-Tailed Jackrabbit (lepus californicus). Image from public-domain images website.

(public-images.com, Wikimedia)

 

6

Door Prize

Door Prize

 

Through a door to Narnia

For others, it has been a dream

Or through a wall

Something that opens between worlds

Because we have to be there

There is a story half-done, only

We must change something

And be changed

And someone else will tell

The now-whole story

And we who might not go anywhere

Will go through, too

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Ronald Cuyan on Unsplash

Antigua, Guatemala

 

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