ours
it’s my world
though the wars are far away
I could complain about war-chemicals
in the atmosphere
and more exigently about
war’s cost of life
the sad and tragic loss of life
by artificial means
those who had been alive
the moment before
and who am I but an Israeli
I am from Ukraine also
and of the Palestinians
Lebanese and Egyptians
Iraq
and Iran
and Russia
knowing some fine people there
I am of all despot states
especially the ones who say they’re not
I am of Earth
and so are you
and so means of destruction
hit at the statues of our lives and states
destroys us
piece by piece
one oppressive act by the next
whatever takes out freedom
will
and life
hours
exchange
one deadly volley
then another back or
somewhere else
maybe
toward allied
then the arcs overlap
and collapse
order
of things
and then we say it’s over
‘cause we say
and then ceasefire’s broken
and
who is left
respecting whom
worse than chaos is
the void
we shouldn’t move toward such
things
such lack of shape and substance
and the life itself
one life by one
c l couch
photo by mauro mora on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
first holy saturday
x
1
x
it seems there’s nothing
but a void
after which is fear
there could be doubt
but what is left
to believe in
first
x
the body’s cared for
there’s the irony of a guard
to keep things safe
while making sure
we don’t get in
to take him
x
so what is left
but us
and an enormous world
ready to quash us
and to take our air
our allotment of
anything
allowed
x
we have gone too far
they’ll say
but we have killed the head
and now the serpent
body dies
and we shall have it
or leave it
shriveling in the shadows
or bring it to the light
to finish
dessication
and metaphors aside
we mean you
and to have you
x
your paltry movement
and there are many crosses
provided by the Romans
and the Greeks
and Egyptians
before
x
you are done
we shall have you
you are annihilated
not even space on Earth
shall have you
x
we can delight
considering
a line of graves
underneath the field
that we buy
with the silver
Judas has returned
x
well
not well
and so we hide
small care for each other
we dare to send for food
and prepare it
without fire
to share it in the dark
x
these are holy hours
we try
to pay attention
x
some count the hours
most of us
cannot do
something so constructive
x
it is finished
last words
we heard them
so did they
we wait for
we don’t know what
we have forgotten all the miracles
and all of what was said
to go with them
x
we hide
and that’s the hell of it
as it seems
that hell has won
x
2
x
there is the edge
of a hole
through which we see
what we have been taken from
and shall we try
to return
a circle
an eye
we hurt
wait, an eye
who sees
we see
does God look at us
or Rome
or the Sanhedrin
x
how can God look
God died yesterday
we saw
we heard
and it is terrible
but there’s nothing more
even from the cross
were the words
that it is finished
x
we can’t even wait
we can count the hours
but there’s nothing there
there is grief
the rightness of it
rituals
for a while
x
but then there’s nothing left
we are ridiculed
then captured
captured and then ridiculed
when it’s safe
when we are bound
bound perhaps
to crosses of our own
x
why do we even have
this day
it is a holy day
so to say
holy hours
holy minutes
x
if yesterday
had been the day
if the cross beam was
a blooded lintel
then the deadly angel
missed
or misread
and took
the righteous
anyway
against the plan
x
but it’s not fair
to miscast angels
who are commanded
by a God
who let
if not arranged for
all of this
and now has disappeared
gone to Sheol
though how can God
wait for God
x
there are no answers
only rumors
that we cannot hear
the world has closed us off
in here
and we will not snipe
or bear false hope
or cheat
material truth
x
while we are waiting
worse than that
having nothing
to wait for
x
we mourn
we cannot look
or look
taste and see
we miss our God
we were friends of God
for a little while
x
we are lost
after our paroxysms
maybe we
catch our breath a little
and shall we go where
we proclaimed it long ago
that without God
there is nowhere
the nowhere of the Sadducees
maybe
x
but on to night
and after night
not daylight
but a void
judgment perhaps
but what could we have done
when we were told
what we were told
x
friendship for hours only
new love
and now
it’s as if creation
matter
molecules
might as well
have never happened
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Filip Kominik on Unsplash
x
Not a Trick
Easter is a surprise, the
Rabbit out of the hat, one
Might wryly think
From where and when
Comes the trick-tradition
From Easter and the tomb,
I think, and Spring, generally,
In the land and from the
Time and place in which
Top Hats were popular
Something living retrieved
Out of nothing—something
Drawn out from the void
The rabbit is fecund (rabbits
Always are, aren’t they?),
The hat circular for the cycle
Of mortality, moving in
An immortal way
Hoping that, in coming ‘round,
One will pass the door to
Eternity, maybe to pause
There
Our magic with the rabbit
Is illusion—dedicated that
Way—but here’s what is
Real: the pure, created one
Has escaped the rounded
Maw of death, leaving (this
Time real) magic words working
As miracle
What is lifted now is living
Truth to behold
No applause needed or any
Desired, for this is grace
The cost of admission offered
Always, for all, a price to us
That’s free
Recent Comments