eternal delight
(Blake says this of energy)
we wake up
do things
something propels us
if only energy
it seems
though there is cause
as well
we believe if rather subconsciously
in something
in
sensation or
satiation
with or without
then
ideology
we might be moved
by more
by something seen or heard
by
interpretation of a fact
to make a fact
somehow believe
that
this is true
and reason enough to go on
and if not the reason then
the rest
might be in peril
so maybe we need more
and
something lasting
or at least holding on to chores
and to
the rest
if starting with the smallest thing
the chore
(the
regular work)
or
simply to breathe first
a reason
before purpose
and a plan
let that go deep as well as
ready on the surface
so that
we move by not saying
or
by saying
faith
in
something
to have us in the night
and keep us
in the day
(reversing that
for
third shift)
could be God
could be someone
something else
though
should be easy strong enough
to last
not in perfection
‘cause basically that’s not
us
but fixable
as we are fixable
and
we are
tissue that doesn’t tear
like the Roswell
paper
the bulwark that Luther likes
cannot be overthrown
though
by the way
and by
the book
the gates of hell cannot themselves
prevail
against faith and collective faith
the rock it’s
said
of God
by all means
prompted by energy
and
so to have it
rest
and work
and play
also let grace and faith propel
our part
belief in something
by
the way we’re made
and so could take on
the maker
c l couch
Matthew 16:18
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake
photo by Eugene Golovesov on Unsplash
poppies for soldiers
fields of poppies
fields of gravestones
all traditions
and maybe
nonbelief
should leave a blank stone
with name and
service
on an even shape
I wish that poppies were
non-soporific
although
I guess the sleep effect
is good
in what the poppies mean
for
those who sleep beneath
the flowers
and the stones
and those who sleep elsewhere
for the same reason
after service
after sacrifice
should sleep
each
should sleep
until the final call
that would be
a gentle and firm word to say
wake now
you’re well
and all
now
shall be well
c l couch
photo by Laura M Goodsell on Unsplash
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
(from) “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae
(x = space)
x
x
Invitation to a Wake
(with a toast)
x
We invite ourselves to
A meeting of ourselves
To celebrate a life
No longer with us
With all the possibilities
Frustrated to resolve
This side of things
And we can’t drink ourselves
Into oblivion
Because oblivion has form
And so frustrates annihilation
Of our senses
Besides, we want
To remember
And with gratitude
Share memories,
Enumerate mortality
Until the count and everything
That counts
Is ready on both sides
x
To one or those no longer
But an absence,
Here are drinks
(one of these
per one of us)
To aid sensation that
We hope will aid selection
Of desired sun-and-shade
Remembrances
Of memory
To tell
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
The Mystery of Richard Bruce
x
I think it’s Saturday
The twenty-eighth
I’m
I don’t
Really have to know
The sun is bright
Through filmy
(rented)
Windows
And on the dusty
Hardwood floor
(I can take
care of that)
And, well, he’s gone
Meeting God so closely
In ways we only
Imagine
And how much we do imagine
Is in the books
How much we want
To know
He was suffering
That’s over
I’m glad for that
Though catharsis should not be
The main reward
They know what to do
The professionals
My sister says
They’re really good people
Plus they know their jobs
The government
Has funded a good deal
Of everything that’s happened
Our tax dollars working
Is there one administration
Or another
To approve?
The family,
We talk with each other
And our friends
There won’t be a service
He made that clear
He approved a wake
An experience of drinking
And appreciation
Since we tend to be
Micks and Scots
And even if we weren’t
This gathering appeals
My sister
And her crew
(my brother-in-law and
nephew)
Had done so much already
The burden for
Being there
I guess I can relate
There was a lease
Apartment filled with furniture
A car
All the bureaucracy
That places our lives
In containment
Then the boxes must be emptied
When it’s time
There should be more
There must be more
There is
There is an end to pain
And remembrance
That’s on us
I’m trying to recall
His sense of humor
It will return
His last days might have
Been sullen
Save for staff
And asserting to my sister
He did not want
To be there
Though there was too much
To do
To allow for decent care
Anywhere else
Too much immobility
Too much medication
There are degrees
I understand
I made such decisions years ago
And do not like it
When there should be more
x
We’re down
To four now
In the immediacy
Of things
The math is weird
The hole
It feels substantial
Holes should have no feelings
Gaps are an absence,
After all
My feelings are dry and sad
Like edging on a desert
Upon waking
Or simply turning around
I want to feel grown-up
And I do
It is the wake that follows
A wave anticipated
Always a surprise
She’ll have the family in
One more burden
Though I think everyone
Will try to behave
(not a pub, you
know,
though even there)
We’ll ponder mysteries
Though I doubt
We’ll talk about them
Memories might be easier
We’ll look for something positive
Or funny
Or strange
He took off once
And I have no idea
What transpired
I was a child
I guess I wasn’t allowed
To know
x
C L Couch
x
x
My older brother Rick died on Thursday night. He died as if he were asleep, and I suppose he was. His last insistances were not to have a service and to have his ashes scattered (not held onto). A wake was approved.
x
Photo by Kamil Feczko on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Wake Up, Now
x
I haven’t heard
Or read the news
Seen images move
Across the screen
Or be still
There
x
So what happened
Overnight?
It’s Saturday
What high schools
Might be happier
For Friday’s games?
What nations
Changed?
Who might be in charge
Now?
x
How many
In the hospital
From one of or some or all the reasons
Who is on the way to heaven
Or purgation
We can only pray
And hope
For good things now for them
x
What have I wakened
Into?
How is my home
Of planet Earth?
What’s happening outside
That we only know now
As news,
Carried from light years away?
x
And what might happen here
Today?
I won’t know, of course,
Until the hours
Come to me
And I to them
Good morning, world
Good morning beyond the world
And inside
Where things are happening
Cellularly, too
x
And can I think of God
First thing?
I don’t think I can
I’m not devout
I’ll get to God
Once consciousness
And the lines of things
The shadows
And the shapes of light
Are seen
And anything to hear
Is heard
Maybe what woke me up
If the timing is untoward
x
I’m thinking of God now
For correction
A moment of chagrin
Wishing
(one wish of three wishes,
if there were a story
happening)
Wishing
I were faithful
Like the faithful
Waking up
To hear
And somehow see
Taste and smell
And touch
The agencies of God
And then the world
x
Sigh,
Good people
Special people
Waking up
So wonderfully
And usefully
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
Death and Saint Patrick’s Day
(17 March 2022)
x
There has been
A death in the family
We will gather tonight
It might seem
As a wake
Though really it’s for comfort
Something pleasant
In all the difficulty
x
Which is maybe what
A wake is
Why the Irish developed
The remembrance
Bittersweet
Like coffee with sugar
Porter in a glass
x
Though the glasses
Won’t be broken
Ritually,
It might feel like a christening
Launching a spirit
Into heaven
While
Our part in having something
Unofficially good to do
x
Goodbye
Farewell
Fair winds, as sailors
From many nations say,
And following seas
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
Dialogue
Atlantis at night must be beautiful:
Lights once-Greek quietly
Illuminate the shores and other surfaces
And textures
Gold outside, silver-lit within;
We make it up, naturally,
Because we need to
Because
We want to wake up tomorrow on
An unknown shore that has
The best of what we are.
C L Couch
In Memoriam 17 March
I miss you, friend
I drank scotch (not Jameson’s)
At your wake
You always liked this day
When we celebrate the troubles
And pray through beer for
Peace—you are in heaven, now
While I remain on a
Purgatory of earth
I believe; and I hope to see
You someday, which is more
Of an Amish than an Irish
Thing to say
Be in peace and joy and all
Green in forever living
clcouch123 
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