Panic of 1819

(x = space)

x

x

Panic of 1819

(and probably in ancient Rome and every Friday since)

x

I don’t have it yet

It’s Friday

I don’t have it

x

In a suburban way,

I want

To have earned the weekend

x

Bad night last night

Today’s not much better

Except I’m awake

If duly

And can

More practically

Resort

To caffeine, should I wish

x

But there is

Something better

I am sure

Something to find my spirit

In the rut

If not a hole

And pull me through

x

It’s feelings

It’s truncated thoughts

And more

A weight of sin

Perhaps

Though don’t we bear that

Every day?

x

Well,

Design

And draft away

And with a shape

Construct

A frame

Add more materials

For texture

And color as that matters much

On Earth

x

And get it done

For presentation

Monday

By five

Or six

Or seven

Then find our friends

Beside what we call

Colloquially

The watering hole

That other creatures need

The literal

More direly

x

But let’s go in

And break

Exhale

Find solace

Even in this world

In trust

x

Or

You know

We could go home

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Daniel Gregoire on Unsplash

x

curated in “Friday clouds”; looking like mountains—Friday mountains?—with the moon an evening invitation

x

Dance Again

(x = space)

x

x

Dance Again

x

What shall I do today?

Well,

There are things

How is your day

So far?

I hope it’s good

You should have a good day

And another

They should string along

Like lights above the porch

Because

There’s a party

An accumulation

Friends

Good food, good things to drunk

When we’re a little tired

We’ll sit

Under the lights

Under a combing of the stars

Pushed closer

Just for us

Your day should promise

All of this

And more, of course

i don’t know exactly what

Is on your list

Or if that matters

Gifts are free

And you should have this day

Like a gift

The cost of grace

Yes, spiritually

Maybe a bit in style

Good things for free

Good day

Good day

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

[photographer’s story] Whilst I was taking this picture opposite Saint Paul’s in London, a few people stopped to ask if I was a paparazzi and if I was taking a picture of someone famous. This made me chuckle!

[maybe we could all meet there]

x

Future Perfect

(x = space)

x

x

Future Perfect

x

What is that, Father?

The child asks,

Pointing

Like accusation

x

That is a gun, the

Father says

x

Over the mantel

Perched

By law

x

But, observes the child,

It’s falling apart;

I can barely tell the shape

Of it

x

Yes,

Father replies,

And that is the way

Of all guns now,

Now that we’ve grown

To take

Care of each other

And put the guns

Aside

And, as we have,

Reminders

x

Later in the day,

Mother enters

And has news

From work:

x

The assembly made the choice

At last

To take them down,

To put up other tokens,

Totems, symbols,

What have you

What have us

Instead

x

And so

The gun is taken down,

Parts swept off the mantel

And

For a while

The peaceful emptiness there

Pervades

While the family

Talks

About what to put there next

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Patrick Metzdorf on Unsplash

x

Late Cancer

(x = space)

x

x

Late Cancer

(diagnosed, lived out)

x

My brother

Might have to be moved

Again

He is frustrated

Wants to be home

Before he wanted to be

Elsewhere

But elsewhere isn’t working out

I understand

The purpose of a medical setting

Is not to settle in

But to leave

When well

Stay is contraindicated

Home

As it cannot be managed

Still remains the prize

x

He’s in pain

Palliation only goes so far

Before the pain

Folds in again

He’s also frightened

I would be

I am in contemplation

Though these are his days

And shall the cancer

Diagnosed too late

A year ago

Take him to another home

Prepared

At last

To last

x

But there’s today’s pain

I don’t know how to wish

The pain to go away

Without invoking

The scary, heavenly alternative

But prayers aren’t magic

We aren’t dealing with a genie

Waiting to misstep

Our hopes

In misspoken entreaties

Heal my brother

Still

Is every prayer’s day

That might make nothing happen

‘Til the pain-releasing thing

Must happen

Tragically for us remaining

For him who suffers

Most of all

x

It is late December

I agree it is a magic season

How much amazing

Might be borrowed

From days

Of extra stars and circles

Green and all the other colors

Only for him

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Kalle Kortelainen on Unsplash

[photographer’s narrative]

A crisp afternoon around 3pm in Dalsjöfors, Sweden these incredible snowflakes appeared on the hood of our car. You can almost hear the crisp snow creaking under the soles of the winter boots by just looking at them. Pure natural magic.

Dalsjöfors, Sweden

x

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

Spacetime

Spacetime

(as a single word, a thing)

 

I’ve been learning

About this

I’m amateurish

But it seems that it’s a gift

Of fluidity

Against intractability of

What we take for

Metronomic living

 

I could take a trip

Come back still alive

Barely older

When the cure has been invented

And those on Earth might

Wonder how we

Lived so long without it

Then recall

By my spaceship evidence

We didn’t

 

Light bends

Takes its time around galactic clusters

Because it’s needed elsewhere

Later than the normal pace

Allows

Or maybe it’s a cosmic celebration

Of forlorn parts

That, folded,

May come back

 

You see, it’s faster and it’s slower

More wonders to be added

More paper in the capsule

More pencils by the cosmonauts

Who already learned

To write upside-down

 

Fear not

Schools will expand

Along with all the options

Requiring machines

To be stretched into curves

Reshaped into marvels

Potters know the way

 

Each moment will be new

A little chaos is good for everyone

And twisted into tapestry

So that everything

The cosmos and our lives

Is also home

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Genessa Panainte on Unsplash

Calgary, Canada

Fairy Dust

I believe

 

Homey Epiphany

Homey Epiphany

 

I never really had anything

I mean, who does

But really, one must have something

To offer someone else

A life that can go day by day

An investment building toward

What have you

A life together, home

I’ve heard it said

Maybe some earthly satisfaction

A way to say, some happened here

And it is good

Not an altar, not a sign of worship

Simply devotion to the daily

To the chores, to the grind

Toward conversation and the smallest

Of accomplishments

A life together, home

Amid the wilds of the planet’s

Depredations and

The word inside the mind that

All too easily says no

Here is a yes

A vote for community

Mortal sanctity

Moral sanctity

But mostly love

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by monicore from Pixabay

 

Lent 38

Lent 38

 

Today must be the day

After a season of surrender

Otherwise, loss becomes a vacuum

Other things that we don’t need

Will come to live

Because nature will otherwise abhor

We cleared out distractions

Others are in line

 

But what do we want inside?

A virtue of busyness awaits

Preoccupations that are less than healthy

Frankly old sins, patterns of

Destruction that laugh like imps

Want to be reinvested there

 

We turned out the fat and sugar

Turn out some devils, too

Let them abscond with what they have

Escape into the darkness

Where exorcism

Or psychology might reach them

 

Some battles are beyond us

Some are right at home

The war at home

 

C L Couch

 

 

the chariot driven by Norse deity Freyja for whom Friday is named (in consideration with Frigg—yes, the chariot is drawn by cats)

(Detail) from the Fresco Cycle “Aus dem Sagenkreis der Edda” in the Neues Museum, Berlin. The fresco was damaged in WWII and abandoned until the unification of Germany.

(fresco by) Robert Müller, 1850

http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/FREYJACATCARART.html

 

All We Like Sheep

All We Like Sheep

(Isaiah 53)

 

Somewhere in a mountainside

Or on more flattering pastureland

(depending on the kind,

and there are many kinds)

There are some sheep

 

And someone to care for them

It’s not a glamorous matter

There’s bad weather and a constant

Concern for good grazing and

Good water

A predator from outside crashing through

It doesn’t matter what size the flock

The worries are the same

 

I want them to live

I want them to grow

I want them to procreate another generation

There is a purpose for them

Some purposes are docile

Some will be drastic

That is the prophecy for sheep

And tending them

 

They are often wayward

They might need something like a stick, not

For punishment but guidance,

Especially to reach and

To enter through

At the end of day

The gate to home

 

C L Couch

 

 

“boys”

Sasin Tipchai

Amphoe Phochai/Thailand

https://pixabay.com/en/users/sasint-3639875/