Search

clcouch123

I talk you talk we'll talk

Tag

colors

Mortal Timing

(x = space)

x

x

Mortal Timing

x

It’s cool today

Thank goodness

I am thankful

I guess I can’t haiku this

No artful three-line

Praise

Or only observation

Out of nature

Yet nature should be thanked

We are lucky in this hemisphere

Just now

North enough

And south enough

(ecumenically)

Praise fall’s invocation

Of bright colors

Praise the God

Who shows us grace

With autumn

x

Someday

The seasons mesh

Their virtues celebrating

All together

How trees will bear fall colors

While serving new life below

As spring

And summer

Under winter’s cover

We don’t know

(maybe there will be quarters of

seasons’ perfection)

But it is heaven

And new Earth

And these miracles will work

Like clear gold

In the streets of

New Jerusalem

x

C L Couch

x

x

The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each made of a single pearl.  The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.

Revelation 21:21

x

Photo by Steven Cordes on Unsplash

x

Look Now

(x = space)

x

x

Look Now

x

I pulled on the window shade

The old-fashioned kind

I got stuck with

Gray all around

I suspect another strange fall day

Too hot in the eastern USA

This year

x

It takes a couple tugs

But without the absurd length

That it can get to,

The shade goes up

And it might be too hot

But the leaves that look at me

Inches from the glass

Are autumn first

Colors mixed with summer green

Red and orange, yellow

All say hi

(green sighs)

We are here

x

It is the season, anyway

And I am thankful

Whose formality comes

Later on

With cornucopia

Thick tablecloths

And such

x

And while there is no peace

There is small, sustaining

Joy

In nature’s

Hello in the season

Outside

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash

x

present lack of tense

(x = space)

x

x

present lack of tense

x

pre-dawn charcoal sky

blue here and there

aside from color,

nothing else is moving

x

c l couch

x

x

simple celebration of inclusivity

photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

x

Istanbul

(x = space)

x

x

Istanbul

(Yankee perspective)

x

How colorful the lamps

For sale in the bazaar

I’m not sure how their talents

Transliterate back home

Where so much

Is right-angled

And pastel

x

One lamp of these lamps

Could shine over

Our obligatory book of a thousand tales

If not a treatise on the origin

Of mathematics

Or astronomy,

Right knowledge

That made protraction possible

Right angles

As well as acute, obtuse

x

A world worked out

Until the rough-edged stories

Like the roc that swallows interlopers

In the lore

Come to roost

x

C L Couch

(Yankee)

x

x

On a Colorless Land

(x = space)

x

x

On a Colorless Land

x

That’s the problem with winter,

Isn’t it?

Everything is pale, unless

It’s dark with age

Or even death,

Blasted trees and such

x

Snow is romantic

While it’s falling,

But if the temperatures stay low

Then the ground is white snow or,

Well, ground

For a long while

x

There is no solution;

Painting earth won’t help

And what of the limpid winter sky?

Besides, there’s learning here

Via looking out,

Remembering that colors all are

Grand and

We should cherish them and use them

x

I know, pretty straightforward

For a poem;

But I was thinking about

Recessive traits:

I have freckles on pale skin,

Blue eyes,

Left-handedness,

All sorts of other things, I’m sure

x

For these, I don’t think

I’m worthless

Or you for your recessives

Or you for your dominants

x

We can (all) have bold things,

Brings the colors in—

Keep them inside in other ways

Along with textures and

Unearthly sounds

And bell-like laughter

x

The senses are bright

And always so

As we might manage them

x

Taste and see,

Hear and touch,

Smell—and time be released

For these

(from time to time)

x

I don’t know about a wonderful life,

But it can be

And more so

A sensate life

In any season

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Mixed media painting inspired by Stonehenge.

x

Look

Look

(listen)

 

Creation’s green

And blue and yellow

And by extension

Brown the tree

And gray in shadow

Black the city street

Red the bricks across

Silver steel

On buildings, too

I’m not sure what to say

About the color glass

No colors

Or all

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Jessica Ruscello on Unsplash

Treasure Island Flea Market, San Francisco, United States

 

Look Outside

Look Outside

 

Sunlight is white

Emanating from

A ball behind a veil that

Covers everything

Might take dissolution

Some going away

Before real colors return

 

C L Couch

 

 

By Nick Nijhuis – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47363213

 

The Ashburn Old School

The Ashburn Old School “on the edge”

of Washington, D.C., Vandalized Last

Night

 

Might I apologize for an entire color?

I can’t—I didn’t make it, nor do I feel

intense affiliation.  But whites (I figure

whites) have defaced an old school on

the cusp of finished restoration.  An

old school that had been inhabited by

black students and, I guess, an all-black

staff.  The problem in apologizing for

criminals is that I don’t know them.  I

don’t know that kind of ugliness in hate.

I don’t get the relish manifest through

stupid, destructive action.  I am sorry

though in a general, human way.  I

apologize for all of us who are blind

when we can only see one color.  I can

praise and thank you who are of color,

as all are, and who make strides by reaching

in and lifting up learning and the story,

however dismal certain chapters must

become.  Learning is triumphant and,

we know, shall overcome.

 

 

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/oct/03/racist-graffiti-historic-black-school-virginia?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+USA+-+morning+briefing+2016&utm_term=193179&subid=16706344&CMP=ema_a-morning-briefing_b-morning-briefing_c-US_d-1

Red Sky at Night

Red Sky at Night

 

Retiring into the deep

Colors of the day

 

We come to the end

When light must give

Way to night

 

We sigh and with

Misty breath, exhale

 

Into the coming dark

 

No more arguments

To make against the

Day

 

Maybe a farmer’s

Understanding, for

There are evening

Laborers

 

Whose cycle will

Reverse the colors

 

Sorry, perhaps, for

Those who cannot

Read the final

Message in the dusk

Of dying day

 

Well, look to new hues

In the tellings that

Arrive, whenever

 

Daytime and

Nighttime meet, alive

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑