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I talk you talk we'll talk

Month

November 2021

An Appointment with God

(x = space)

x

x

An Appointment with God

x

I don’t’ have so many appointments

Lately,

For which I’m grateful

In a time of my kind of PTSD,

It’s the weight of stressors

I don’t have to bear

So much

x

To get there

To show up on time

To be here when I’m called

To have everything I

Might be needing

Relieved of this

Makes for a better day

x

I’d like to live easy

I don’t have much

But to have time

And on the flip side

Lack of bother

On the A side

Coffee and toast

And morning

And a day for you

x

Someday will arrive

I keep forgetting

You will arrive

To take me to home

By then,

Maybe I shall be glad

Meanwhile, I keep my faith

With me and then I

Hope with

The Amish

Who say, one by one,

I hope so

When asked about assurance

Of salvation

x

C L Couch

x

x

I think it was the poet Julia Kasdorf, as I may have said before, who told me about the typical response when Amish are asked the salvific question.

x

Waves

Photo by Bernd Dittrich on Unsplash

Frankreich

x

Empathic

(x = space)

x

x

Empathic

x

How pleasant

To talk like Gollum

Without the throat-call

But to say eggses

And even Baggins,

We hates it

Forever

x

It don’t know,

It is a menace

And a villain

But all the buzzing

All the hissing

Like bees and snakes

x

They fuss

They sting

There is a threat

To suffocate and kill

They are all villains

Without sympathy

And yet they call for sympathy

The sounds

The creature

Of their origin

And all origins

Of s sounds

Of sympathy

And of pain

x

C L Couch

x

x

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien wrote in a room in their house.  At his feet, there was an electric heater, the kind with a plastic face that looks like flames.  He loved languages (I hope) and with his words created the epic Lord of the Rings.

x

I [threw a] rock into [the] lake with [the] intent of photographing the ripple effect and with the thought of how when we are kind to others [it] grows out in ripples to others who in turn spread kindness to others.

Photo by John Peters on Unsplash

Whistle Lake, United States

x

Dreamscape

(x = space)

x

x

Dreamscape

x

I had a dream in which

I had

An argument

With someone close

x

I hate those dreams

Even though I get

To yell

At people; and

Somehow that might be healthy,

Therapeutic

x

But the power balance

Is all wrong

Since agendas are guesswork

At best,

Especially of others

x

Not to mention everything’s

A construct;

I can’t even say

Reality is

Between the extremes

x

And when I wake,

I feel tired

As if I had been arguing

With someone

x

C L Couch

x

x

Criollita

Photo by Soledad Lorieto on Unsplash

x

Petition for Another Monday

(x = space)

x

x

Petition for Another Monday

x

God,

To be prosaic

We need help

Our stories need more chapters

To fill in for burned-up pages

We moved too fast

Precipitous

And greedy

With a friction

That burned up

Our other efforts

x

Slow us down

Give us time

To think

Push us into

The clearings of the forests

Of the world

And by the oceans

In the desert

Surrounded by the mountains

And volcanos

Titans called back in service

Prometheus released

To decide again

About the gift of fire

x

I’m sure the circle

Of the Earth

Is a lesson

We take, we use,

We throw it out

To find and fund

The use of the world

Again

We use

And we renew

Breathe out poison

That the plants take,

Gift us with oxygen again

x

The circle is unbroken

For all the rich who try

And those with

Bent understanding

Of the power

That never was for our us

Without repairing

Turning back

What Earth can use again

And thus to our sustaining

And creating

Over ages

x

C L Couch

x

x

Quiet Voodoo Eye

Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

Wyoming, United States

x

This Autumn Morning

(x = space)

x

x

This Autumn Morning

x

Gray with

A patch

Of red

Inside black

Branches

Red leaves

Attached

Maybe until

A winter wind

Comes to

Take them

Through the

Air until the

Breath’s expired

Then gravity

Must have

Its way and

Like the roots

We can see

And-or touch

Must lie upon the

Earth

And inside

For a while

x

C L Couch

x

x

Joshua Tree National Park

Photo by Matt Artz on Unsplash

x

Signpost

(x = space)

x

x

Signpost

x

Let’s see

Let’s hear

Let’s smell

Let’s taste

Let’s touch

Let’s move in time

And between dimensions

Of the multiverse

How many senses do we know

How many are to come

Into our knowing

x

The episodes are so ordinary

As to be in black and white

A visit

To a small town

An employee

Inside a bank

Peddlers

Sometimes alcoholics

Sometimes astronauts

Who are not ordinary

But take our attitudes

With them

x

Something usual

Then everything must

Turn

Because under the sun

Or moon

Is not enough

Sometimes we must enter

The zone of twilight

x

Mister Serling says so

And he writes so

He is right

To send us there

 Because what we know

Is not enough

x

I just put down a piece of toast

And it stood on end

I might be going

Somewhere next

Be with you

There

x

C L Couch

x

x

The Twilight Zone, 1959 – 1964

156 episodes

x

The Cocoon Nebula along with its trail of dark nebulosity. 11 hours of LRGB combined with 10 hours of hydrogen-alpha exposure.

Photo by Aldebaran S on Unsplash

Spain

x

A Comedy Tonight

(x = space)

x

x

A Comedy Tonight

(the raven tells)

x

x

Demons

x

I imagine they are

Real,

Waiting for an open

Door:

x

We can dismiss

The fictive accounts

As speculation

But there are

Real reasons

To avoid them through

Prayer and

Spiritual companionship

And there are other rites

x

I guess it can be gross

And feel dark,

Trucking with demons

Always

On assignment

Looking through the fissures

To take over,

Listening

x

Yes, I think they’re real

Not in a

Gothic sense

They are not luxuriant

In empty, mansioned halls

They have us

When we let them

In

I don’t think by accident

x

Maybe by believing

They are means

For desire

Or revenge of

Something like

A genie’s wish

But in the lighted, wakened,

Wounded world

x

x

Hel

x

Is there a place

Of hell?

Most likely

x

Is it flames

And unquenched heat,

Blasts of judgment

Against dissolving

Souls?

I do not know

x

Maybe it’s all

Purgatory,

A final chance

For rescue

x

Separation from God

Is a popular

Definition, and

Why not?

That would be final

Final fate

Worst of all,

To discover something after

That is good

And lasting

And not to be a part of it

x

Maybe Jesus

Walks across the fissure

To harrow, hollow hell—to

Remove all residents

Should they wish

To go

x

Since a gentle God

Even then

Must leave eternity

A choice

x

x

Paradiso

x

Nothing like

Angels on clouds

Holding harps

x

Nothing static

The most action

We have ever known

With energy

And work

x

Only with good bodies

For it all

No weakness

Though the gentle

Supervise

x

Passion

Drama

Interest

Investment of

Our muscles

And organs, say,

Our hearts and brains

Restored

To Eden’s intention

And agenda

x

We’ll have things to do

In action

And in freedom

Nothing less

Only more

x

Impulse

And instinct

Perfected

Everything we want

Is heaven

x

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash

x

Killing a Bee

(x = space)

x

x

Killing a Bee

(that’s all)

x

Last night something happened

That hasn’t happened in a while

I was stung by a bee

It hurt

I blobbed on some ointment

On the spot,

Loosely wrapped it all,

Waited to find out what happened

Next

The last time I was stung didn’t go so well

The site swelled, and soon there was

A shot

(another

kind of sting)

I know, it is November

We weren’t outside

The finding of a bee (alive

the bee alive

I was alive)

Was a surprise

I discovered it while touching it

Picking it up, in fact,

Not knowing what it was

At first

(it was dark)

I doubt it was happy

And let me know

x

This morning, I found the bee

Where I had dropped it

When I touched it, well, it moved

And I killed it

Was it dying, anyway?

Did it let out a bee kind of scream?

Have I angered all its cousins, now?

Will they find me?

It’s an old place

There could be a colony, somewhere

I’d rather not have killed the bee

x

Now I think about

Going to church

Because it’s Sunday,

Church meeting day

As I type, the stinger still

Bites back,

A bit of pain from poison

And the barb

That I can’t see

Even though

It’s in my index finger

x

C L Couch

x

x

Was you ever bit by a dead bee?

I haven’t been

(all the bees so far

have been live)

I could be

Dead bees can hurt you

x

To Have and Have Not

(and my response)

x

x

Photo by Monica Valls on Unsplash

x

Revival

(x = space)

x

x

Revival

x

Litany

Reading and response

Perhaps an antiphon

Might it happen in the forest

Where leaves are hymnals

And the altar

Is a clearing?

The supplicants

Are independent creations

Of all kinds

Petitioning for food, water,

Or the succor of the soil

x

The forest as cathedral

Is nothing new

As metaphor

I wonder if each clearing

Is a parish

While alongside (in

earthly terms)

The desert

Is a church so vast

That all the Notre-Dames

Might fit within

With room for more

As if to invite

A wider awe

By people

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Thomas Ho on Unsplash

x

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