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Solstice Properties

(x = space)

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Solstice Properties

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Stonehenge is a solstice

Property,

As is Newgrange,

Machu Pichu,

And anywhere there is

A sacred pointer for

The movement

Of the sun

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Earth will now start

To tip the other way,

Technically; we enter

The winter-half

Of the year

While officially (as we are

official to ourselves),

Summertime has only

Begun

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I guess I’ve

Thought about this

Quandary for a while

And wondered about

Other people’s

Calendars—after all,

Shouldn’t this be the

Halfway point of

Summer?  And do we not

In certain ways and places

Call these days

Midsummer?  The mix

Of math and culture in me

Doesn’t understand

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But it’s official,

And I hope this is a

Pleasant season for you;

We certainly need one

And the next season

Could be pleasant,

Too, for all our weariness,

For those who have

Persevered

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C L Couch

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Photo by Adrien Aletti on Unsplash

Ottawa, ON, Canada

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If All Were a Leg

(x = space)

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If All Were a Leg

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The pain is rising from

My foot and

Shooting through my leg,

Because my leg is trying

To replace my ankle

While

Doing its own job

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Not working out so well

I think my ankle’s

Bored, and my leg doesn’t

Need a second job

So

Here’s hoping everything

Will have its own back

Soon,

Because healing has the overarching

Task of taking chaos due to injury:

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To signal a

Rearranging necessary

For the moment, which is

Fragile,

Toward a time when the body will be

Less

Sore and

More sensible for managing

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C L Couch

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17 If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything? . . . 20 Yes, there are many parts, but only one body. 21 The eye can never say to the hand, “I don’t need you.” The head can’t say to the feet, “I don’t need you.”

1 Corinthians 12:17, 20-21

New Living Translation

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Photo by Guilherme Stecanella on Unsplash

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Sunday Best

(x = space)

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Sunday Best

(for Juneteenth)

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I celebrate from a distance,

Thinking of church

As an invitation

I received

Several years ago

In a Black church in Louisville,

Kentucky

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I was there for meetings

And on

Sunday morning

We went to a church

Some of us

Had known about

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Arms rose into the air

For hours, and the choir

Never seemed

To stop

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And, I’m sorry,

I don’t remember the

Preaching

But remember the music

And the dancing in the air

Of arms and words

Carried up

By song

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And if the Spirit could be

Smoke, we

We wouldn’t breathe

But as it’s air

We breathed in life

And exhaled

New visions

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And we were welcomed,

Such was love

In the airy cloud

That prismed every color

With invitation

Courtesy

And movement

For outsiders

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We were there for hours

Without knowing

This was Sunday best

At its best

I’ll be a part of it again

Someday

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For there

There was freedom in the

Spirit

As there should be a day for it

Then every day

Every day a work

And play

For freedom

Numinous

And real

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C L Couch

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Spirituality

Photo by Thiago Barletta on Unsplash

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3 poems about room

(x = space)

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3 poems about room

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Waiting Room

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Lately, I’ve been angry in my dreams

I’m not sure what that means

I’ve argued with my mother

I’ve argued with former coworkers

Then I’ve left each encounter

To find a peaceful place, all my own

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Wanting Room

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I’ve not argued with God

In my dreams

I’ve not argued with God

When awake

I don’t argue with God

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Though I imagine

There was a time

When I must have argued,

When

Hurts were all

Too awful in the bearing

Of them,

And I didn’t want

To bear them

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Wanting relief, instead

Or at least a reason—

No, a reason

Wouldn’t be enough

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I wanted relief

From God

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Room

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I want room from the landlord*

Who makes me live

With paper-peeling walls

And ceiling and says he can do

Nothing

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I want room from doctors who

Don’t respond

To their own tests,

To tell me how to deal with

Possibly a broken bone

And certainly with broken flesh

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I want room

From people who don’t recognize

Me anyway

Because they don’t recognize

Anyone, anyway

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Each is in a world of one

While the rest of us are landscape

Statues in performance,

Performing when invoked

With snapping fingers or something

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I’ll take room

From that

From those,

Thank you

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C L Couch

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Photo by Holy Maria Lala on Unsplash

Palmerston North, New Zealand

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*(room, landlord = pun, sorry)

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Prognostic Thursday

(x = space)

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Prognostic Thursday

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Sprained or splintered,

I wait to hear

What the x-rays tell

Some kind of brace

To wear for a while

Nothing stronger

Than Tylenol

For the pain (sigh)

It’s not the worst pain

Bearable except for walking

Of standing

Or sitting down

All right, well,

It’s frustrating

There’s not much else

To do for a while

But to stay still

Very contemplative, I’m sure

Except for finding

The quiet, ecstatic joy

The mystics found

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C L Couch

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Photo by Vismay Krishna on Unsplash

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Wednesday Diagnosis

(x = space)

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Wednesday Diagnosis

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I’ll see the doctor today

At 2:20

A friend will drive me there

The pain is sharp

And then it’s dull

The dull kind, naturally enough,

Harder for persistence

Making

Night

Difficult and ongoing,

Rest made into

Dreamless chore

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But one thing I have forgotten

In sharing what is going

On with me,

And that is to ask of you

How are you?

What’s happening with you?

I hope that you are well

And having a fine day

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I had a student

Who entered buoyantly

Each Wednesday day,

It’s hump day! she would cry

Each time

And now I think of her

Each time

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C L Couch

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A ball of energy with electricity beaming all over the place.

Photo by HalGatewood.com on Unsplash

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For Real

(x = space)

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For Real

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Ouch

It hurts

Somehow my foot

Was traumatized

In a sort of

Accident last week

I like to think

It’s getting better,

But that might be

Wishful thinking

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I’ve been hobbling

While I’ve been,

Well, hobbled

Maybe there’s a lesson

In this

That I don’t know at present

All I’m thinking about

Now

Is ouch

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C L Couch

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Photo by Max Bender on Unsplash

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Finally, an Affirmation

(x = space)

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Finally, an Affirmation

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Sometimes to dream

Is stupid,

Because

I think that

Of myself

Who am I to dream?

How can I make the waked-

Up version happen?

Who smiles on

Me to make it happen?

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Dreams spark on the

Inside

(where there is heat);

They are

A matter of

The inner life, the life

We have when we

Are at our best

Or at our rest—sometimes

I’m not sure

Which is which

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I share this with you

Because

Our dreams have value,

And we should have them

(some we’re

going to have, anyway)

And the truer ones

The ones that form,

Form again,

Take hold

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The dreams that we

Should have

That the ideal revelation of

The universe

Approves

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C L Couch

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Gloomy Forest in the Fog

Photo by Jay Mantri on Unsplash

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haiku

(x = space)

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blue day turns gray with

rain to see and hear and then

lightning and thunder

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C L Couch

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