Processionals

(x = space)

x

x

take away the confessional and informative emendations and there’s one poem here with endings like certain music selections

x

Processionals

x

I think

Often of David

Of a picture

I have seen

Or made up

It’s when the ark

Is brought into

Jerusalem

And it’s a triumph

A kind of victory

x

And I think of David

Young

(and was he young)

Dancing

Before the ark

Not wearing much

But he’s king

And he arranged all this

And so

The instruments

Let play

And maybe favorites

Follow suit

x

I see light colors

As if this were a desert scene

Done as a picture

With pastels

You know

I think I figure the hair

On David

From the statue by

Michelangelo

x

Processions are important

He and they

Had to have one

Because the ark

Would have a home

Forever

Well

At least for generations

(I should

look this up

it might be before

Absalom)

But what do we know

Today is forever

And the

Ark is here

x

And Jesus came

Into Jerusalem

And a procession

Was needed

And so it was

Arranged

In humility

And somehow awesome

Awful majesty

x

C L Couch

x

x

I worked on this scene before as a draft; I have in mind I didn’t finish it, and this time I did; but if the other work appeared and I forgot, then I apologize for the repetition—CLC

x

and a bit more (for free)

x

a coda

x

David was a shepherd

He was a king

He was loved by God

As either

So are you

Loved by God

For either

Any

Way

x

Photo by Alberico Bartoccini on Unsplash

x

(and here’s the lesson should you need one

coda 2

that was D. S.

this is D. C.)

x

Jesus came

Into Jerusalem

Like the ark

Meaning a triumph

Victory

For a home people

Battling

To keep a promise

x

And like the ark

Is lost

Defeat

And sacrifice

Through lack of faith

(bad kings—you may

look it up)

And so sacrilege

And a new needed

Promise

Follows

(read the prophets)

For restoration

Of the people

x

Turns out

It’s Israel

And all of us

Redeemed

Through this

Second coming

Triumph

Then sacrifice

This time as well

And

Cosmically speaking

Greater

All the world

And how far out

On the edge

x

With destruction

Turned to joy

With all our flaws intact

Until a final resurrection

That will keep

Us and the world

Intact

And better

And forever

x

Stone not only

Rolled away

But smashed

Here endeth

And look

And listen

Smell

And taste

And touch

This is the start

And we might think we do

But we don’t know

What’s next

x

Snow Overnight

(x = space)

x

x

Snow Overnight

(the forecast)

x

Snow in the dark

Except where under

Artificial lights,

Maybe like renegades

Outside the windows

Of our homes

Or business locales

x

Over the runway

Through trees

Sleeping gardens

Flying around steeples

It’s there

It might go well

To turn off the lights

Go outside

I have to recommend

In numbers

x

But let them strike our flesh

Faces,

Wrists between our gloves

And sleeves

x

Small hits, the kind that

Most of us can take

With the cold

In thirties Fahrenheit,

Knowing that heat awaits

Inside

After the dance

Or anything to learn

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Robert Katzki on Unsplash

Stützerbach, Deutschland

x

Impulses

(x = space)

x

x

Impulses

x

Exhaling’s good

x

We feel as if we’re

Letting go,

Letting things out

We no longer

Need

x

Maybe small cells

Of disease

(don’t breathe those

at anyone),

Maybe

Small particles of

Memory we

Could do without

Because they act like

Sickness,

Like an infection

x

Maybe we’ll

Straighten up a little

As we inhale,

Let the shoulders

Do their part

x

Maybe we’ll inhale

Healthy remembrance,

As life allows

For these, the

Memories that heal

x

It’s a dicey game

That is no game

Breathing, hurting,

Healing,

Breathing some more

x

We learn from

this, from these

x

It’s why we

Went to school,

To learn how

To learn

To breathe

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Erik Dungan on Unsplash

x

Reading Lists

(x = space)

x

x

Reading Lists

x

Adrienne Rich

Wrote about Aunt Jennifer’s

Rings and tigers on screens

And diving into a wreck

x

These were the poems

We interns were assigned

To read and teach,

And that was all right

x

But reading on one’s own

With no one’s rubric but

One’s own

Is so much better;

I’m sure we were supposed

To instill some kind of

Critical process regarding

Life and reading in it

x

But I’m not sure

How well that worked,

What kind of processes

We might have instilled,

What seeds grown,

What personal

Allegiances to one’s own

Mind and heart

x

So was a new generation of

New readers of poetry

Begun?  Has it flourished?

Are they among the ones who

Turn to poetry when there’s

A tragedy?

x

(read up how we

took to verse after the

Towers fell)

x

I like Rich, though that

Would not be enough

In that we were serving

A learning process

x

It was a small, state school;

I never heard from anyone

Again, though nothing and

No one is due me

x

A state away and many

Years, I wish us well

And to take up small books

Of miracles from time to time;

I do this, Mary Oliver’s

Most recently

x

C L Couch

X

x

Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash

x

A Now That Must Also Look Ahead

A Now That Must Also Look Ahead

 

It’s Tuesday

It’s a nuthin’ day

A sick day

Among sick days

The novelty’s worn off

Some learning’s needed

With the cooking

And the cleaning

The boxing

(of both kinds)

All the games that

Walls and cyber-walls allow

Thank goodness, we can

Look outside and go there

 

There’s real talking, too

In many ways

A face to face

That’s a comfort

And we learn from this

A different kind

Of schooling, maybe

There are books

Paper and pencil, too

Or let them be totems for

Pens or the electron kind,

What it all might represent

The faces

All the forms

 

We can through this, now

Until the angel passes

Our own kind of rite

The Jewish own so well

 

Singing for pass-over

Blood upon the lintel

Chair for the prophet, should

The prophet come to call

Food, some of it with bitter herbs

But everything we need

For the journey

Into such desert and

At last

A homeland

 

The Passover is family

Each tradition has its form

And if we have none,

What better time than pandemic’s

For making something new?

For the world needs cleaning

Not a purging

But a dusting off

Soap and water

Disinfectant for the worst

While we wait

Research

And wait

With everything that passes over

 

Having something of the new

Inside,

Maybe inexorably, ineffably

Once shared,

New ritual

Based on care for what we’ve learned

Of who we’ve been

And who we are

Again and for the first time

 

As for death and mourning,

Each tradition knows that well

And those without

However we might feel

I don’t know how to count

While others do

Remember, in the future,

It was this kind of plague

I might not be here

Or another witness

Closer and more qualified

You’ll have to have a story

Back to learning, again

Sad lessons

And tragic

And a void

We learn this other kind of life

Lived through emptiness

It is time for a wake, the Irish say

(who also know bread

and bitter herbs for sin and hope,

Irish Jews more so)

Though this party if too big

Too many coffins to line up

Along the bar

What the dead drink

Will do nothing for a tab

Only take coins in readiness for

Ferry pilots

Announced by banshees

 

These groups I know a little of

You have your own

And stories

Set them down and tell them

Try not to worry about variants

They happen

There is a narrative here

Part of the story of the Earth

If we tell it well,

The Earth might weep

For us

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by David T on Unsplash

Serifos, Greece

 

Holey Week 3

 

Pedagogy

Pedagogy

(learning for children)

 

My sister has an allergy

She didn’t have when we were growing up

I have one, too

An allergy

I did not have before

If we return to anything like childhood

I’d rather it were in another way

But nowadays

Now that we’re older, anyway

And just because

She will have to eschew strawberries

As I have to avoid bell peppers

 

Then invent it on our own

An aspect of joy and unquantified

Curiosity

That without even a nod

Such as children have

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by Merio from Pixabay

 

Good Morning, Teacher

Good Morning, Teacher

 

A wizard without a monarch

Spells to cast for no one

Lessons offered in an empty room

So Merlin retires

 

A teacher in an empty classroom

Someone standing on the shore alone

Where is Miranda

For Prospero to teach about

The wider world?

 

We need learners

We need to serve the cause

In animated bone and blood and flesh

Mentors require mentees

Can you imagine Mister Chips

Without someone to say good-bye?

 

I can’t

I don’t want to

It’s not a crave for audience

The universe is crowded

It’s someone who comes into the room

Asks a question

Just right for a leading answer

An educator’s reply, meant for

Engagement

Let’s begin

 

C L Couch

 

 

Helen Mirren as Prospero in The Tempest

https://theiapolis.com/movie-2SSZ/the-tempest/gallery/helen-mirren-as-prospera-in-the-tempest-2010-1043899.html

Source: The Official Trailer

 

Learning

Learning

 

I wish I could capture nature

Which isn’t right, I want to cooperate

To live in harmony,

Which modern poets say we cannot do

I want to find the metaphor

That catches all I see

And it must come through nature’s voice

And ear and eye

 

Not mine

For the mentor is out there

To tutor me inside

 

The sky, the leaf, the chlorophyll

The classroom of a cell

Time is the tuition

Finding what is ultimately real

The assignment

 

I know what is in the room is real, though

The cells are stable, and so

Much never moves

I can learn here, too

Through darkness on pale leaves

And don’t think that I’m ungrateful

To have life and the moments

 

But, yes, the better teacher’s out there

So the transcendentalists thought, and they

Were right

I should be outside

Playing

Walking if not running

Or sitting still to let the air present a better lecture

Than I’ll ever hear inside

 

I’m learning

I’m in love

The world and I will never be the same

Catch me

I’m on a current, and

The wind will make it hard for me to return

 

 

C L Couch

 

 

(image–“404” when I tried to track for attribution)

 

 

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