Multi-Universing

(x = space)

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Multi-Universing

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You know,

With one mistyping

It becomes the thirty-ninth of August

While maybe

On another world that

Tilts only a little differently,

It is that day

For real

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And our two worlds will need

Adjusting, once

Interstellar communion

Has begun

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For now, inside out heads,

Where we travel and negotiate

Our future

Planet-faring selves,

We might make welcome places

For all we may discover

That will change us

In good ways if we’re ready and

Thankfully

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coda

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We can go

If we send our best

And a moral code

I don’t mean a crazy code

I don’t mean a conservative code

I don’t mean a liberal code

I mean a human code

Inspired by what we understand

As loving and wise divinity

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You think practicality

Will take us, and it won’t

For we all know that machines

Of all kinds

Work fine

Until they don’t

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C L Couch

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Photo by Frank Eiffert on Unsplash

Schloß Dyck, Jüchen, Deutschland

Castle Dyck, Germany, October 2013

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Laid Up

(x = space)

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Laid Up

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There are stories

There are stories

I’d like to hear one story more

It need not be fantastic

Save for telling of the human will

In wisdom or in folly

In virtue or in vanity

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What I’m saying is

Make it a human story

Though we might truck with gods,

It seems most days it’s only us

Our gods so far away

Perhaps not to hear,

Maybe not to care

Certainly not

Mortal evidence discloses

To attend our

Perilous half-moments

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It isn’t this way

God doesn’t have an unmoving face

But tell it to the storm

That seems to bear God’s enmity

In visage

And the promise of

A curse upon our gentler feelings

God is there,

But in the curse of human will

Must relegate our drama

Mostly to ourselves,

According to the action and the lore

The machinery of God

Last act upon the stage

Notwithstanding

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But I’m sorry,

You weren’t asking for

A negative apology

And I was asking for a story

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C L Couch

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Photo by Olesia Misty on Unsplash

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Dedication

(x = space, when not indicating treasure)

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Dedication

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There are clues

That God is there

Look to wonder

But it’s not a trick

It’s not allowed to be

If there are patterns

Or intelligence

Or anything that says

There is an origin

To the question

For skepticism

Even for lack of faith

And these are good pursuits

Because there is

An answer, maybe like

A hidden treasure

Through more like

A clarity for what has been

There all the time

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C L Couch

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Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

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The Word for Forest

(x = space)

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The Word for Forest

(for Ursula K. Le Guin)

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We need something that is lasting

Like air

That hasn’t been ruined,

Where a tally of the molecules is useless

Because our calculators break

In the process

A world that is a forest

As in a story I read a while ago

Where the inhabitants cannot perceive

The sense

In wrecking air

And everything life-giving

Breaking a circle they took part in

For ages,

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For what is profit if not that

A world that has trust in them

The smart ones on the planet

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C L Couch

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Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash

Bad Pyrmont, Deutschland

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Yawnism

I lost some electronics last week; the Verizon person replaced big parts.  The new WordPress editor is unwieldy.  I’ve had extra headaches and added issues in the building.  Sleeping has been harder.  I’ve fallen behind and feel sorry for that.

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Yawnism

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When we’re tired

When we need an extra breath

Impulsive

Expresses boredom,

I suppose

If we could do it on cue

Mainly,

I think it says

It’s time for something new

Getting up or sitting down

Moving

Or less movement

The diaphragm needs to

Push on the lungs

And now;

Waiting would not be prudent

As trying to suppress it shows

Like most activities,

It is a process

Animals, we may believe,

Do it not for show

But smoothly

And in purity,

For real

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Ingenuous about offense

(or is it ingenious?),

We could follow them

Meaning to signal

Nothing more

(to take away)

Than

Everyone wears out

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C L Couch

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Photo by Girl with red hat on Unsplash

Mexico City, CDMX, México

Cat yawning on blue bed.

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Friends in Foxholes

(x = space)

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Friends in Foxholes

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And when it’s tense

There’s prayer;

When it’s calm

There is thanksgiving

It’s discipline

But of a really easy kind

No one to tell us

That we got it wrong

Not for some centuries, now

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Pray with liberality

Remember whom

We’re speaking to

It isn’t Casper

It isn’t Torquemada,

Either

We are free to speak

To someone who has heard

All of it

Maybe we don’t need to talk

And yet I think we do

It’s not a trick or catching

Of a regulation

It signals our participation

If mostly to ourselves

A genie in the story

Might not

Pull away the layers

Assuming, rather

That all humans

Are the same

And so we are

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The one or ones

We pray to knows or know it all

Yet will wait beside

To know our knowing

What we want most of all

To say

Gauging will against

Articulation

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This isn’t a trick, either;

If self-correction fails

Well, God can

Work it out

Though it goes better

With our knowing

Or really simply

Something of

A loving interest

Even badly done

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And doesn’t that sound

British in a Masterpiece sort

Of way?

Cheer-o, God will

Soldier us on

Well, maybe not

Honesty’s in many

Brogues

And attitudes, I’m sure,

Overall

And we are taken as we are

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Slight readiness is all

That’s needed for

The feast,

Though if we’ve forgotten

God will take us, anyway

For what is slight

Might be crucial,

An ill-willed sibling

War

Waiting by the altar

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But sometimes

There is surprise in grace

And anyone is

Welcome in whatever

State come to pray

To ask

Knowing without knowing

(if it comes to that)

That something wonderful

Will happen

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C L Couch

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by National Museum of the U.S. Navy – 80-G-304819, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70725677

80-G-304819: Battle for Iwo Jima, February-March 1945. Crouching in a foxhole they share in Iwo Jima are Marine Corporal Virgil S. Burgess and his courier dog, Prince. Burgess is giving instructions to the dog which will shortly jump out of the foxhole and carry a message to another point on the battle field, February 28, 1945. U.S. Navy Photograph now in the collections of the National Archives. (2016/01/19).

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Life in Concordia (three poems)

(x = space)

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Life in Concordia

(three poems)

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This Day Looks Like Yesterday

(for youth)

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It takes time

To construct a day

All our rituals,

Commingling

Sometimes combatting

Expectations

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We want to get to

The interesting part

Do we know where that is?

Something better than

The dreaming was,

Than waking up

All warm, relaxed

From a night mood that

Finally worked out

Enough to give us rest

Or, as they say,

A facsimile thereof

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Now we’re awake

Maybe it’s breakfast

Maybe it’s what we will wear

Maybe it’s when we

Throw water

On our faces,

All the other parts

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To face the fact that waking up

Is here to stay

There should be something good

Maybe in a book—yes,

The touchpad kind

Maybe in what we say

To other people

For real, mostly

In the hallway

At the table

Finally, on line

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Have you been to

A farmer’s market?

You can smell the fresh

Maybe that’s what

The day deserves

Some fresh

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Joe the Fire

(for grumps)

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Here’s the problem with

Mister Coffee

I’m sure Ms Tea has it right

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The clock never worked

Forget the programming for

Coffee when I want

There is a tone

To signal that the coffee’s done

It only works at the wrong

Time

A beep that tells me

It’s alive

I can respect that signal

From a machine

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It sputters as I understand

Old cars used to do,

Which is all right

Sometimes I am an old car

You know, I couldn’t read the numbers

Anyway

They’re all in gray

The numbers on the cups

Are hard to read

There’s an angle when I hold the pot

That likes to spill

And I haven’t had my protractor at the time

To suss that number out

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Then the coffee holder likes to spit

Hot water on the plate,

Which makes me think I’m blamed

For doing something wrong

Sigh

I’m on my third machine, I think

I’ll be ordering another

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Maybe it’s masochism

I think it’s that I know my devil

And at last I have some coffee

Nearly every morning

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Now,

Here’s the thing about the toaster

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[title inspired by the song “Maria” from Paint Your Wagon]

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Thinking Like Dawn

(for everyone)

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There is a reason

For the rising

I’m not sure I know

What it is each morning

Or whenever anyone

Might rise

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For me, autumn is enough

Though that leaves

Three quarters of a year

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When I have the TV on,

Sometimes I think

White teeth must be enough

While I wash mine

With sour grapes

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I think for many more

It is faith in something

Morning itself

The sun that graces sky

Another time

Or the moon coursing at night

With stars for its veil

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Yes, certainly it might be God

However God is known

As long as we keep

Pulling at the mask

The devil bears in disguise,

            Which is not hard

            Don’t let a gnostic

            Sell you in a book

            A program

            An ego

            In a meal

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God is a circle

That, as is sung,

Will not be broken

We miss a note

We miss a step

And that’s all right

An error is an error

Things can be fixed

There is repentance

And then reconciliation

To bring us back

Or, better, move us on

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I don’t think there’s harm

In believing in each other

In finding reason

So appealing

Or impulse or instinct

As a guide

There are ways to follow

And, when called,

Ways to lead

Remembering that virtue

Might be old

But isn’t dead

While the community has need

Then, like Cincinnatus,

Returning

To the farm

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Join

Reunite

Or for the first time, gather in

The Earth is reason

And a system

Showing us that organic and inorganic

Have a way

Veins in leaves and

Human capillaries

Wind and rain

And synapse firing

We belong together

Chastising greed where we must

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Celebrating into night

And day

Resting when we might

To rise

To have it all again

New days, always new

Like a hobbit’s birthday

Receive

And give the gift

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C L Couch

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photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

small painting (part of a larger project)

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We’re Sorry, Monday Morning

(x = space)

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We’re Sorry, Monday Morning

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I have some toast

I’ll have some coffee soon

And there’s nothing like cold water

To begin it all

Libation and consumption

Lead to liberation

(with les jeu de mots)

We need water

Mine goes through filters

Because we cannot drink what

We have ruined, only

Stave against pollution

Does anyone on Earth

Or above the Earth

(the ETs who are watching)

Think we are lunatics,

Invested of the moon

In an invented way?

And what can we do?

Fix all the water

Apologize to Earth

Tell Gaia that

We won’t do it again

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C L Couch

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Itto Ogami, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53127564

Piazza del Campo!

(Fonte Gaia, Siena)

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Keeping Hours

(x = space)

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Keeping Hours

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Devotion is a yearly task

Admiring the seasons

The reason that it works, I think,

Is that there’s love inside

And another thing

Is that it’s shared

You might not be in the room

With me, but I know that

Somehow you are there

With the presence

That arcs over us

The time, the candle flame

Adapted for occasion

The page that holds

Eternal words and worlds

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C L Couch

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Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

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