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Autumnal Triduum
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Tomorrow is All Saints
The day after All Souls
One day celebrates
Those of us alive
The other celebrates
Those who have died
On the latter day,
There will be picnics
By bright gravesides
Special foods
Candies in the shapes of skulls
We’ll visit with our
Relatives gone on
Come back ironically
And joyfully
To check on mortals,
How we’re getting on
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C L Couch
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Photo by Pieter van de Sande on Unsplash
Steamboat Springs, Colorado, Verenigde Staten
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Mischief Day
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So far, it’s been
A disorienting day
When I just miss the counter’s edge
Or don’t
When I spill something
Then spill it again
When I can’t keep a lock
Out of my eye
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I imagine I’ll be stubbing toes
Missing the finale
Locating many things
But what I need
Tomorrow will be Hallowe’en
Maybe the veils are thinning out already
And someone let
The imps through first
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C L Couch
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When we grew up, there was Devil’s Night, the night before Hallowe’en. I understand it’s Mischief Night as well.
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A Book of Second or Third Genesis
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What if Adam had
Eaten first?
On the outside, maybe
Pretty much the same
And on the inside
A righteous change
To history
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Though, of course,
We wouldn’t know it
What we’d know
Is maybe men
Forfending, maybe
Or a readier
Different sort
Of heart from women
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Forgiveness all around
You see,
It’s possible
And it’s possible
Men would have understood
Something more
Of consequence
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Hmm, is it possible
The hurt of childbirth
Might have been
Visited the other way?
And to get us through
Each day,
Might men have learned
To ask direction from
The partner species?
Not because of childbirth
But because,
You know,
Each day
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A second book of Genesis
Isn’t around the
Corner up ahead
Unless there is
A fanciful commission
But a forthcoming way to think
That doesn’t hurt
Except in ego’s pocket
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Might help
A world
(a human world)
That is at present torn up
Over truth
A service, by the way,
Of creativity
To fill
A needful break in solid life
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C L Couch
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Photo by atared althaqeb on Unsplash
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Bird-Talk
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It sounded like
The birds at first
The screeching of a
Saw outside
Maybe a leaf-blower
Blower, most likely
It being fall
But either way,
At first the narrow, high-pitched
Range bird-sounds might own
As if to say
Not only that I’m here
But also come here
Like the
First message on
The telephone
Watson, I want you
Or some such
Another day, another range
Of sounds to own:
These are mine
These are mine
(the utterances)
Where are you?
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One bird
Lonely bird
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C L Couch
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Antiphon
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I hope it’s
A good day
You might be at dawn or
Well into tomorrow,
However the sun
And moon
Are moving
One place or another
On the world
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Our count of day
Is relative,
While the actual
Ebb and flow
Of tides and
Of day and night
Move in
Real relationship
Without
Our measure—that’s
The way it is
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And it is good
As I’m hoping for
Your day
To be
Or, in the uncounting
Time of Genesis,
Become
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C L Couch
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Groume – Le Cadran de Dalí, uploaded by Paris 17, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23114485
Cadran solaire de Salvador Dalí sur la façade d’un immeuble de la rue Saint-Jacques, réalisé pour des amis qui y habitaient.
(sundial by Dali)
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In a Week or So
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They’re old and white
And waiting for
Each other to die
Republicans and Democrats
Meanwhile, they hold
Power as if they own it,
Forgetting that everything
Is lent,
Stewards of the vine
To whom accounting will be due
Once the owner returns
Maybe in the times
We did not know them
They did some good
Something inclusive
Something that
Cost them for a difference
Where are they now,
Where are their souls?
I do not know
Or have to know
Thank goodness, it’s not up to me
To judge them
Or to you
We have the privilege
To vote them in or out
They have the greater privilege
To serve beyond themselves
To represent our counting
The measure of our mood
And of our will
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C L Couch
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Photo by Jana Shnipelson on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Later
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I’m not sure what to say
It’s been a day
I slept in bouts and woke up
Very tired
I got some coffee for the
Caffeine and the ritual
I started writing, trying to find
A way through the events that matter
Seasons and ideas
What might move us
One by one and as a people
Of the planet, who for now have
Such a nascent idea of
Who of Earth we are
Thousands of years in groups,
The rise and fall
Sometimes extinction
Through disaster,
Sometimes disaster through conquest
Then the conquered fall
Harry Lime says
The Borgias had war
And sponsored the Renaissance
While the Swiss had peace
And only produced the cuckoo clock
Great striving
Requiring great tyranny
Do you believe that?
I don’t,
And Harry was taken in a sewer
Underneath Vienna, by the way
Peace is a practical
Possibility—of course, it is
Think how much does not
Have to be destroyed
Except for fear
In tyranny
In peace, there is plenty
There is art as well
I think Harry also forgot about how
Art is patronized and how
Patronage does not need
A dictator’s purse
Coffered by the people, anyway
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Can we imagine having
Everything we need?
Do we think it would be over,
The human drive?
I think we would explore
What is beyond crushing need
In a universe,
A universe,
With which we haven’t started
Beyond machines
Impartial theories
Take away the bullies
And concomitant destruction,
There is finally a chance
For everything
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C L Couch
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The Third Man, a film directed by Carol Reed, written by Graham Greene
Greene wrote the novella of the same name as preparation for the screenplay. Anton Karas wrote and performed the score, which featured only the zither. The title music “The Third Man Theme” topped the international music charts in 1950, bringing the previously unknown performer international fame. The Third Man is considered one of the greatest films of all time, celebrated for its acting, musical score and atmospheric cinematography.
Halliwell, Leslie and John Walker, ed. (1994). Halliwell’s Film Guide. New York: Harper Perennial. ISBN 0-06-273241-2. p 1192 [cited at Wikipedia]
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By PunkToad from oakland, us – Cardinal Cuckoo ClockUploaded by clusternote, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27515171
Cardinal Cuckoo Clock, 126 1st Ave. Minneapolis MN
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Bump
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In a week is Hallowe’en
Let’s reach up
Take down the ghosts
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Dust the sheets
Sew a few stitches
Here and there
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This is the time
When ghosts of the past
Year-round
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We know the kind
Deserve some sublimation
For the humanly
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Storied things
Chased with chocolate
Chasers
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While fun
Is fright
All pathologies aside
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Mars is not invading
If you think so,
Happy Hallowe’en
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C L Couch
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Photo by Patrick Perkins on Unsplash
San Francisco 2020, after the Labor Day fires.
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The Reveal
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A device
All those suspected gathered
In one place
Where and when
The sleuth surprises us
With details
No one else could own
Much less articulate
Except perhaps the killer
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Take her away
Read him his rights
It’s always extra-dangerous
When there are no police
No plank of an inspector
Standing by
Revolver in a pocket
Odd assurance in a gun
Though he or she is trained
And it’s unlikely there
Will be a shot
For in this scene
The truth
Has enough weight
To push the world
A little more
Toward light
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C L Couch
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Photo by Agence Olloweb on Unsplash
Il s’agit d’une photographie réalisée pour illustrer les offres de création de photographie d’entreprise.
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