a few poems for Sunday that for some—well, many—is a longer day not by the count of hours (minus seconds adding up toward Leap Year Day) but the clock that reckons with the strings of heart and mind and even metal, also pendula inside


A Monk Still in the Suburbs

Were there bells
I would not know when
They first struck
An hour
So ignorant am I of
The schedule of
A Book of Hours

Matins
Vespers
The in-betweens
And all-arounds

I have books
I can consult
But I don’t have the instinct
Bred by a lifetime
Even a part
Of a lifetime of devotion

I pray
But it’s my words

I read the Bible
When it suits
When I’m needing to find something
Or researching generally

Out of admittedly
A long life of following
And interest

But I can’t leave my cot
Lift up an over-
Robe (a cowl?) to don it
Over me

Place the hood on the right side
Of my head
So I may see
Then scoot myself in
Silence once again
Toward the chapel where we assemble
(peers and I) for
The first readings
The first rhythms of the day

Much worse
Were I a hermit

With accountability
Beyond a bedside clock
Perhaps
Next to which
A psalter gathers dust
But not the novels

Let’s face it

An anchorite I’m not
Nor a peer
For any monastery

I am brother me
At best
And sister me
As well

And if I have a robe
It’s for the shower
Or I might find for fun
Something Jedi=like
You know
For Hallowe’en

But I believe
And I reflect
I study and I read
(with eyes I have)
And pray nearly
All day long
In dialogue

Simply not according to
The holy schedule


Time Amok

And have we
(have I
yes
though sometimes
I tire of I
maybe you understand)
Thought so much
Of the world
Today

A water main has broken
In the town
And we (locally)
Must worry over
Boiling advisories as well as
Promises
Of timetables

And yet in Gaza
A place was hit
A school turned to a shelter
And some sixty people
Inside
Perished

And there’s a push at the border
Of Ukraine and Russia
With no doubt
A pushing back

While Iran wants to attack
Israel
Over the death of one
Of its own
While Israel
Closes in on itself
While keeping allies somewhere
Too

And in how many parts
Of the planet
‘Sides our own
Is there great flooding
With the consequences
And quake
And fire
Enough inside our cycles
Should we add them up
We could compose
New lists
Of plagues
For letting people go

Which is to say
It’s quite a world we live in
A planet we live on
And we have technology
To follow
More than ever
Better
(stronger
faster
Colonel Austin)

And
Hey
The Olympics close up soon
With all the claims for bragging rights
Displayed
And soon the second set
Will start
Impressive
Being second
(they try harder
as I think
Hertz or Avis
used to do)

Goodness
All the filaments
To make a globe into a lightbulb
Illuminating
All that may be seen
Unobfuscated
By agendas that go hiding

Certainly
I mean more than eyes
And also ears to hear
Or counting each one
All our limbs
For those for whom the count
Uniquely
Goes
(as these next Olympic exercises
show)

With what we have
And haven’t
Se may sense
And we may suss
Adding all we might receive
And so
Abstractly make
A world
To fill in with all the physical we know
And thus have
(from inside out)
What in school is called
A worldview

Our sense
(using sense)
Of how things are
And are perceived
And how we are
With these

Weather
Conflict permitting
Maybe we should each
Take a walk
A little ways
Today
To think
To feel
To probe on this
Like sonar
Radar
Laser
Microwaves

To find the Earth
That’s ours
Where we left it
Or where we pick it up
Anew
As if
Regardless of our age
But trying
Anyway
For the first
Time


Speaking for Joel Chandler Harris and Well Me

I don’t know how correct
Br’er Rabbit is

I mean
I read the Wren’s Nest

And I see the photographs
More so

I want to get
The colors right

That Uncle Remus lay
With Mister Harris

Behind
But it’s

You see
A memory

On records
(those flat black round things

we used to play
that have come back)

And we would hear for hours
About Br’er Bear

Br’er Fox
Br’er Rabbit

And also of the Tar Baby
Black

But what do you want for tar
Which is to say

I want someone more
Expedient and also longer than I am

To tell me
What’s all right

Down South
And in the Yankee land

To keep ol’ Remus in my head
Which by the way

He won’t be leaving
Anyway

Though I’ll hush up about it
If I should


C L Couch


Photo by Hans Eiskonen on Unsplash