I talk you talk we'll talk


August 2019

Sick Days

Sick days (not the good kind)–be back soon.

A Gift to be Free

A Gift to be Free


It’s a Saturday for God-thinking in

The easiest way possible

No one expects anything at least

In my culture

(weekend in the USA)

There’s mass on Saturday

A smart invention of the Catholic church

But even then it will go easier

Litany from a hammock

Prayers while kneeling

In the garden


What does God want of Saturday?

Sixth day of creation

I think we were made

Though a day to God

Might as well be an eternity

To our thinking

We are the human gift

Invention for our industry


Now limit the hours

Keep it to five days

(four days in Europe)

Send all the children home

From factories forever

(the world waits for this)


It can be a day for thinking and rethinking

For new ways to slide in

Supplanting what needs to be overthrown


Confirming what is wise and



Let’s enjoy the first half of the weekend

Tomorrow should be even better


And if your sabbath’s done

Then divine gifting

Is already yours

And if your sabbath’s an invention

Enjoy humanism-giving

In rest or play


In other words, the day is yours

The day is ours


C L Couch



Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash



Friday’s Children

Friday’s Children


It’s Friday

I should say something

About cats

And to be fair


And if you have a rabbit

Pet your rabbit

Be careful ‘round the ears

Otherwise, I think they like it


Friday’s child is loving and giving

Cats, it’s true

Are a source of affection

And encouragement

Through seeming indifference

Dogs are obvious about it,

Aren’t they?

Sometimes that’s just what we need

Obvious affection

I’ve spent most of my life

Around both

Not both kinds of cats (though

that’s true)

But contrary cats

And thorough dogs


C L Couch



Image by Peter Morth from Pixabay


Process of Prayer

Process of Prayer



I love you

I don’t know if you know that

But you are perfect

So you must

And know this better than I

What is real

What is faked

What is performance

From a holy script

Or my own from the ground

The dirt, the dust of my own use

Of words

I hope that if I reach out with my mind

You are receiving

So many of my prayers are silent

They wouldn’t have to be, I guess

I count on you for reading thoughts

Is that all right?

Thought is reality

Is has to be

I hope it may also be



Air into which

I might air grievances

Also dreams

And gratitude

If not for dreams, then for life


I guess I trust you hear me

That silences still count

So as my words go out

They must go in as well


C L Couch



A nonconformist chapel in Pwllheli, Wales. Unlike historic chapels, this is not attached to a larger place of worship.

Alan Fryer, CC BY-SA 2.0,




(through the unlooking glass)


For now, we see through a glass darkly

So we’re told

I imagine it is made of amethyst

Like looking through dark purple

Maybe there is a shape

Maybe movement

On the other side

Nothing we can know for sure,

Which makes faith the only alternative

Not for looking but for living

In a place where definition

Has no clarity

But must be visited

(we are here)

And traversed from

A pole of birth toward the pole of

Death and what comes after,


Half a world at least

Though maybe at its zenith

(or the nadir)

There is a launchpoint


Maybe the dark glass is an asset here

Forestalling disoriented feeling—until

Right side up again

We are in something like

The sea of stars,


A passageway toward

Our arrival

For having everything we needed

Without regret

And with clarity of looking, by the way


C L Couch



Photo by Anh Vy on Unsplash

Chinatown through the looking glass, kidding, just a freaking hole from the iron gate.


The Other Side of Prayer

The Other Side of Prayer


I hear you, rascal

Talking with me as if I were

A pal with loaded pockets,

Which is all right

You know I love you, anyway

I could solve and resolve

Everything for you, it’s true

And I won’t say

But then you wouldn’t learn anything

(because I did)

As for turning back and forward time

Take that up with Einstein

And with Rosen

About a bridge

But here’s what I will do

I will love you, anyway

I will always be here

Even when you don’t want me to

Because you do

When you remind yourself


I’ll wait

I’m not as jealous as some others say

(I don’t think that’s

understood, a problem in translation)

Not do I easily take offense

Though I am demanding


Maybe if you serve

I will prove a fit leader

And your troubles helped

At the same time

Maybe not

I know you love me, anyway


C L Couch



Photo by Jonas Jacobsson on Unsplash

Gothenburg, Sweden

Walked in on this great seating situation with very forgiving light. Shot on the X100F.


One-Sided Catechism

One-Sided Catechism



I wonder Tevye-like,


When will I be rich

And healthy enough

To take it and relish the

Easy pleasures of the



When will I be young again

(and in so many ways

the first time)

To have a spirit free

Of mortal weights

Or maybe a few

To start

Of the more pernicious


To be rid of

So I might leap the

Barricades of illness

And of penury?


When, O Lord,

Will you love me less and

More than enough

That I might walk the world

In ignorance with

Something in my pocket

For a change

(more than change)?


I know you love me, Lord:

Would you make that at least

A little less challenging?



(exasperated sighs),

I’m waiting, Lord



C L Couch



kamshots – Fiddler in Darband, CC BY 2.0,


Secular Gospel

Secular Gospel


We cannot save ourselves

Though there is something for us

In soteriology


There is a cracked notion

(I tried it once in college

as an exercise)

That a ruinous approach to everything

Will hasten Armageddon

As designed by God


To think that we can hasten divinities

Is vanity

That aliens would not presume

In visitation,

Our unbelieving version

Passing for so much heaven


We must do what we can

We should

In tandem

Propelling our machines

That forward health

(that kind of prosperity)

Dismantling others


Swords into ploughshares, maybe

Cooling off the world

For fuel and forward-thinking

The gospel that’s enough

For now

Securing then beginning

The next chapter


C L Couch



Arts of Peace in Washington, D.C. Sculpted by James Earle Fraser.

Dan Vera – Photograph of public monument, Public Domain,





Not the thing

That proves to bloodless machines

We are, indeed, human

But a character in

A novel so sad

With beauty,

The sting, the agony of tragedy


He is not the hero

Not a villain

For a foil

He exists, and his motivation

Is self-interest,

Which is to say, he’s like us

A common man

Is he common woman?


Early on, he is a servant,

And he steals enough to keep his job

While his hiding places are secure

The protagonist forgets

About him in the midst of terror

And sadness for the state

And for one’s own


A common man

Is he a common woman?

One day, when few surprises remain,

Kaptah is found, fat and wealthy

Lording it over his own

All is otherwise destruction

And reimagined chaos

For certain things go on

Only on the next generation’s form


He doesn’t care

He has his own


Glamour, glitz, tastelessness of

Rococo (not rococo itself)

He is fashionably grotesque

(relation to the living is not



There is a promise that comes across

While reading as

Demon-mischief, say,

To those who want to co-create a better world

That Kaptah will endure

Enjoy the excesses of each day

To die in bed one day

Surrounded, if not


By many wealthy status-things

He might know the illusion

And the lesson

Again, he will not care


For he is the common man

Is he the common woman,

I don’t know


C L Couch


The Egyptian by Mika Waltari



The Common Man by R K Laxman at Symbiosis Institute, Pune.

Hari Prasad Nadig –, CC BY-SA 2.0,


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