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How We May Live

(x = space)

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How We May Live

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It’s all right

We don’t have to agree

To have a family

Or a nation

The world is filled with

Variance of thought,

And opinions bleed

And stay still

Like colors

And affiliations

Of the rainbow

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Democratic theory says

That you and I

May argue toward no

Solution or a change

Today or ever

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And democratic practice is

Even better,

For you and I may feed the hungry

And encourage those

In all kinds of trouble, all

The same

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We both and together

May fill bags

With sand along

The growling, killing river

As we (after washing) may

Dispense soup

To the rescued

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This is how to live

With variation

And to live with variation

Active in

Needs that are subsuming—those

Of the hungry or the flooded or,

After fire, the singed

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Arguing the other situations

When we may breathe

Again with clarity

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Happy days

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C L Couch

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Cairns, Australia

Olive oil on water. “Immiscible 1”. The photo is called immiscible because oil and water don’t mix. The background colours come from a painting behind which is titled “Joy” and is itself bubble shapes like balloons of cheerful colours, where I have tried to express the emotion of joy in a painting, much like Mark Rothko.

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Not a Game Day

(x = space)

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Not a Game Day

(maybe another day)

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We’ve had dark days

(two days’ packed clouds

and rain)

And that’s all right

We don’t soothsay

The weather, anymore

Storms are a nuisance

Comets intriguing

Too many withering days

Does not mean

God is judging us, though

God might have another

Idea, not about

Judging us through

Weather (God might be

glad we’ve outgrown that)

But keeping count

Regardless over

How we’re doing with

Created places

x

There could be a book

Maybe a computer bank

Maybe angels tasked with

Keeping score

Except there are too many

Teams to count

And Earth and each day

Is not a game

(sorry)

Most of the time

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C L Couch

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Photo by Zhu Hongzhi on Unsplash

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Laid Up

(x = space)

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Laid Up

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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

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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

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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

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But I’m sorry,

You weren’t asking for

A negative apology

And I was asking for a story

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C L Couch

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Photo by Olesia Misty on Unsplash

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Humilitas

Humilitas

 

And does he have the shoulders

For the world, and shall

We place a wheel and turtle

Under him as well

Maybe add a hazelnut

The world on an axis,

On a pin

Where angels dance

And wait for orders

To Megiddo and apocalypse

 

And is everything so fragile

A speck of virus brings us down

Remembering that vanity

Leads us to the feet of Ozymandias

One day

Maybe today

 

And should Atlas need some help

Before his feet have slipped

And all the foundation

Maybe what we have in orbit

Could help

If not, we might also

Ask what we are doing there

 

I’ve left off

The marks, signs

Of use and abuse,

Because they stand

As statement, too

There is a quality should save us,

If we understand

Its works

It doesn’t mean stop everything

Or ball up into fetal uselessness

In fact, it calls for greater

Energy and effort

That simply will not pay

The same

 

But will save the fragile, spinning Earth

Of us

And all we’ve done to

Knock it off its pinions

And platforms

And should it have a course

To meet faces of other worlds

And the face of God,

Should all or any have us

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by GMB Monkey on Unsplash

Chin-Up on Rings

 

10

Summits

Summits

 

Hi, Earth

I hope you’re doing well

Though I know you’ve

Been beset with challenges

The heat is rising

Water, too

Islands in the Chesapeake are

Disappearing

And I know this because

It’s local

What is going under elsewhere?

I’ve read about the polar regions,

Too

That’s big news

In every way

What about the corners I don’t

Know of

Who is in those corners who

Know nothing of me?

 

Oh, Earth

You’re probably in trouble

And it’s probably our fault

I count on nature’s

Indifference, but I think it’s getting angry

Could a tornado or a hurricane

Be vengeful?

Hail in indictment,

Earthquakes cracking open

Rage, eruptions open wounds

That must have their way?

 

I don’t know

There is romance in nature, too

I don’t want to lose that

There’s gold in the ocean

Silver in the sky

Diamond where’s there clarity

Gemstone colors everywhere

Though the real wealth

Should be love and understanding,

Which of often indicates

A partnership

Is that still possible?

 

I want to know you, Earth

Travel all your courses

And maybe, were it possible,

To find something new

We could meet around a rock,

So many of us

Celebrate your sponsorship

Of human possibility

Resources for

Exploration

 

But we must give something

Of our own, speaking for

My kind

We can’t attend the rock-table

Empty-handed

With something in our pockets

No tricks up our sleeve

It’s too ideal, isn’t it?

We’re too cantankerous on

Either side

I wouldn’t be surprised to find

We both have our illusions

To fool each other, yes

Also to keep us going

You there,

Us here

It’s cynical

It’s fearful

It’s not, to use another idiom,

(we make idioms of you

salt of the you,

for instance)

Cards on the table

 

So what to do, then

We simply go on, as is?

I cry

You rain

We terrify each other

Ruin things as well

Us by force of will

You by an imbalance

That certain Protestants would say

It our fault, too

Finally, I can only speak for us

And our own

Will and ingenuity

For all you have and all we take

Oh, Earth, I ask of all

We must find ways

To give each other chances

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Denis Linine on Unsplash

 

6

We’ll Burn the Palms for Next Year’s Ash

We’ll Burn the Palms for Next Year’s Ash

 

Today is Palm Sunday.  I recall this because I saw,

just now, an image with two pieces of wood, tied and

at an angle.  I suppose many are celebrating—feasting,

in fact, since it is the end of Lent—the way I am but

with honest hearts.

 

Lent is done, although the days of ash continue.  Nothing

new for planet Earth and the people of it.  What do we

know of ash but that it’s final in remembrance?

We might take the stuff and try to rework it, but what it means

remains the same.  We are of ash.  We’ve tasted it.

 

We try to contain it, though it’s mischievous in

blowing around.  Where does that wind come from?

“Dust in the wind.” “Turn, turn, turn.”  Every generation asks

the question, needs an answer, doesn’t get one.

There is ash.  It’s everywhere.  We think it’s dust, though we’ll never

clear it out.  We can’t.  As I say with all the singers,

 

it is us.  We are ash.

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Niklas Tidbury on Unsplash

This was a picture I took just for fun. One of those “that would look cool”-moments. I only realised the contrast between the new, fresh, ready-to-burn wood and the spent ashes of a campfire, like the wood was ready to meet its maker. Kinda sad actually.

 

This begins a week-long devotional, “Holey Week.”  The title is intentionally spelled.

 

6

And Can It Be

And Can It Be

 

And can it be

That on a day when the sun

Shines somewhere behind clouds

Basking indifferently above horizons

That the industrious

And inventive

Will find a way

So that, as she says,

All shall be well

 

The hazelnut she sees as the world

Will crack, the softness inside

Exuding into earth

To make the world anew

Two parts come together, then

 

Nature and ourselves

Nature and nature

We could be allies

We could protect each other

Let air

And ground,

Let blue and green,

Let wildness and cultivation be

 

Admit mistakes on all affected sides

Find solutions that

Don’t kill but use the planet well,

First things first

But never only

I wish it could be a simple song

But the harmony must be

Complex,

Composition worked out carefully

Remembering to consult

With the conductor

 

It is a vision

That can happen

She saw this

The touchstones matter

We can find our own

Use our words

Apply our talents well

So that all, as she ways,

Shall be well

 

And can it be

A healthy alliance with the cosmos

And productive

I believe you know

It must be

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay

 

3

Benevolence in Apocalypse

Benevolence in Apocalypse

(4 parts)

 

1

 

God,

I wish you’d take us out of this

The way you took us out of Eden

Bring us back

But all of us, please

No one on the world’s side of the gate

Except maybe so many angels

Restoring everything

To where it was

No, where it will be

 

2

 

Maybe it happens every age

A garden and a promise of plenty

And forever,

Then we ruin it

Because will is more important than

Whole people

Eden is closed off again

The angel with the flaming sword returns

While we are exiled

On the other side

‘Til in the next era, Eden is offered yet again

While human discretion

With all good and bad proclivities

Cannot work it out

Especially in numbers

We are cast out again

 

3

 

Comes an age, there must

When human will

Becomes a complement, at last

We understand we have a place

It is not owning everything,

Which is too jarring on creation

And creation will,

As it does,

Push back

But we knew we are a part,

It is sufficient, and there’s always room

To have what we should have

And to grow

Throughout the age so that

There is no need for the next one

All will not burn in fire

Or die upon the ice

We will have instead

The drama of a fitting universe

With enough unknown to hold us

Wrapped-up wondering inside

 

4

 

And should there still be

Curiosities, even evil, out there

Should we be surprised?

There was a war in heaven, after all

Maybe it will not have been worked out

Everywhere we go

Meaning pre-heaven we will have

Important things to do

Discoveries to make

Victims to rescue

Cosmos, maybe cosmoses, to save

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

scratching the sky

 

3

Naming Things

Naming Things

 

A first prerogative in the garden

That’s a cow and that’s a dog

That’s an Edsel, that the World Wide Web

And if we don’t like them

We can blame the editors,

Translators

There are nicknames, too

Blame-free alternative

 

Did God name day or night?

Who said that they’re good?

Whose naming,

Whose words?

 

Knowing origins

A story fills the void

Words is what we got

We set them on a stool

Play them with or without

Syncopation

The jazz of

Genesis

God’s making, our telling

Listen to the teller

Hear the names

Respect the language

Of the singer

 

No one knows the maker’s words

What we have

We perform in parts

Rehearsing for Parousia

Last words to name

New heaven and new Earth

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Rafki Altoberi on Unsplash

 

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