bless the wild
better than
form
is the love you place on wild things
blessing
these with
spirit and adventure
to
let them go
while under care
to dance and run and
love
in all the untame ways
that were
created
then released
while forms are fine for form
but
let the lightning-forces go
never the same
to strike
even with danger in
the magic
risks
in release
but how does freedom that you show
go in any other way
so model this
and
everything outside broken cages
as
the bars are devil’s interest
and love is as roarious
as you
c l couch
photo by wallace Henry on Unsplash
Heat
(a kind of review)
Fire burns
Which means that for survival
Fire’s good
And yet fire destroys
The fuel we place
But
Everything that gets away
The flames that ruin homes
For animals
For us
And everyone
And everything
Of course
That burns
The spirit of the Lord
We equate with
Fire
And I don’t know what is means
By denotation
To fire as in to separate from
A job
Still
It is ubiquitous
It seems
Like “they”
And though its forms seem drastic
As in warming
As in cooking
So we live
And by heat often through the night
And yet
To take away survival
Too
There being the matter of its
Wildness
That is the problem
That makes the thing hideous to
Destroy
Without fixing as much
As only to build over for
Recourse
Yet there is God
Again
Whose spirit is not wise the way
We think is wise
And is not
Tame
The way we think only in formal matters
Should God
Be relegated
Rather
God is wild
Even in wildness
You know
The wilderness
Which we won’t like for lack
Of building
Compartmentable
Purchasable
Convenience
(and the promoting of a market)
And
Who knows how God might feel but
Uses such heaths and
Pagan places
Anyway
Tame and wild
Which shall we have
Of course
But both
Let God normalize
And let go
If lovingingly
Amok
Like fire
In a frame
And who sets the flame
(out of
lovingly flammable
inflammable materials)
But the tame
The comfort in
The very God while also dwelling
In the zealous flame that both
And must
Love
As well as
And often even as
The heat
And I guess we must mean
The heat of all kinds
C L Couch
Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash
“Bonfire Night”
(x = space)
x
x
the blast of war
x
God
grant not my will
but yours
yours and mind when
we’re allied
but if it’s you or me
better to be you
and yours
I know
I’ll be there, too
that sometimes frustrates
when I want something
all my own
and maybe
you would not agree
all the way
better for your will be done
and mine left out
you’ll remember me
and several billion
while caretaking
all who are asleep
a world that’s cracking
you will let it crack
split into pieces
that we insist upon
who says
my will be done?
yours will keep the planet
and humanity
behold what
our will has done
and save us
by your modest will
gentle
or ferocious
x
the quiet desert
and the storm at sea
are yours
watch over these
and the tame or wild places
of the mind
the heart
and spirit
we should ally
keep us from all tyrannies
with a will
for freedom
x
c l couch
x
x
photo by jonathan bowers on unsplash
x
Christ for the Celts
At Whitby, they were quieted
We were told to keep it Roman
None of that wildness in
Worship, thank you very much
No more statues with odd lumps
No more the branches and
The flowers and the bonfires
Stop the dancing, too
The music we don’t recognize
Romans one, Celts zero
The Celts respond
You say
But in a thousand years, you will
Be asleep
And it will turn out we’ve only been
Resting, waiting for the time
To waken and resume
The merging of our styles
And traditions
Sorry, Augustine
(first Canterbury)
We want to respect you
But we were hoping for a little back
Before the final gavel
So we’ve taken to the trees
Under earth and over skies
We believe
And we believe
Maybe you’ll find out how much
And how thoroughly
God and creation
Christ who bought us from the devil
The Spirit that transpires
Who is the better negotiator
And keeper
Of us all
C L Couch
Iron Age Castro culture triskele, reused in a barn. Airavella, Allariz, Galicia
José Antonio Gil Martínez from Vigo, Spain – Trisquel de AiravellaUploaded by Igrexas, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20104869
I saw the title Christ of the Celts (from my list) and thought for a moment it was Christ for the Celts. I imagine Christ is for the Celts.
(Synod of Whitby in 664)
Where V Means Wild Geese
I wished I lived in someplace cool
It’s relative, I know
Cool to me would mean, well, cool
A northern clime, I suppose
But cool in the other way
James-Dean cool,
Which for me means a plethora for metaphors
The kind that blesses Mary Oliver
In her turn,
One season followed by another, each day
Therein a chance for some new bird
Or amphibian
Or wild flower, unbidden, that rises
I live in my small town with brick surroundings
I like it well enough
And, if I must say, there are worse places
Sometimes the days go gently by
Sometimes there is a thrill
Inside all right angles
C L Couch
Canadian Geese in Spring
Rennett Stowe from USA – Canadian Geese in Spring, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26301433
Civilizing Shoes
I’ve been wearing slippers now
As I’ve trod through my place
In part, because of the season
In part, because it is a more
Civilized way to live
When I think of wearing shoes,
I think of Huckleberry Finn
Who, when made to lace- or
Buckle-up the things, felt
The fastenings had trapped
Him in a binding and controlling
World and, eventually, he
Must, you know, light out for
The territories
(USA doesn’t have official
Territories anymore, at least in
The lower forty-eight; I guess
Huck would have to go to
Northern Canada, nowadays)
It is the smaller of things
For the rest of my life remains
Unplanned, in piles, and
Unscheduled—it’s still wild
In there
And, for all I know, when summer
Returns to the US Northeast, I
Might simply have to abandon
The slippers again
To live again more Huckleberry-like
More hobbit-like
And, most likely, more like me
clcouch123 
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