I talk you talk we'll talk




(x = space)





Good morning, Monday

And to all of you

I hope the weekend brought some pleasure

Some enjoyment

That lives inside

Your living, now

I hope that Tuesday’s grand as well

But today is today

I’d like the present moment

The next present moment

To be good for you

As if there were a promise kept

By forces unseen

Or heard

But sometimes felt like

Two-way touches in the wind,

Smelled and tasted, too

Like Sabbath-keeping

Or peace in

An hour of prayer

A walk inside a forest

Or the palace of the mind


C L Couch



Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

302002, Jaipur, India

While visiting the Gaitor site in India’s pink city (known for its pink mud walls), we came to a temple with beautiful, carved figures. Noticing the birds, I took my camera and all of sudden a whole group of them leapt into the sky.


A Human Gift

(x = space)



A Human Gift


God smiles on a Saturday

The human invention

Of a weekend

An extra day for homework

Sleeping in, perhaps


Or play


It’s a gift we gave ourselves

Along with ending child labor

In “Satanic Mills”

And the imposition on the profit-makers

Of an eight-hour day

For manufacturing iron and steel into

Gold and empire,

All of which happened

With agrarian losses

And also serfs and lords

In the old system

Classes turned into attitudes


It’s more complex, of course

But doesn’t bear a quiz

This is the day we have

(not everywhere)

An extra day for homework

Sleeping in, perhaps


Or play


C L Couch



“Jerusalem,” a hymn, words by William Blake


Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Let’s play fetch!


Step Sessions

Step Sessions


We have a journey to go on

Called today

I don’t know how many steps we’ll take

Maybe we’ll travel like Thoreau

Considering the cosmos in a walk to town


Maybe one place will be literal

The other living

Where stars are born

The nebula inside

Cradles of thought

To set us on our way


Until the dark of night brings out the offspring

Literal nebulae

A star for each thought born out there

A universe of mind, as it may

Marking a journey

Like our own,

Roaming energy

Through two sets of cells


Two trips going inexorably

No competition needed, no going to war

We can have quiet or make noise

Any media for growth

Though I will say

Maybe going gently’s not so bad

In a night of stars

As thoughts and ours


How many steps a journey?

Some might want

To know,

Which is okay

Let the universe and us



C L Couch



“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas


Photo by Aldebaran S on Unsplash

Newton, MA, USA

Heart Nebula


Shouting Match

Shouting Match


A man

I think it was a man

Was on the sidewalk somewhere

Outside, screaming about something

Early this morning

It might have been about the


Who will give him understanding

It’s quiet now; I saw no flashes from

Police cars

There is a religious group next door

Maybe some of that group came out to

Attend to him

Maybe not

Maybe they called on everyone’s behalf

There has been silence for a while

I could have been

In a city where

Such happenings are commonplace

But it was here in the center of

Our borough, small Mechanicsburg

Not Queens or Brooklyn

Nowhere near Manhattan

Not even Harrisburg

Across the river

I’m not feeling guilty so much

Nor do I dissemble

I am one

Who else could there be unless the

Dissolution in the building be resolved

Next door they are several

They take up the parking with

Their cars from out of state

The violence was verbal

And, yes, I know, it is an insane world

Proved by this part of it

Raving where there was no crowd

For hearing or responding

Small repentance, if there should be any

Did he think himself

The voice in the wilderness?

A prophet by the Jordan for our time?

I doubt I’ll ever know

I guess I could be

Shaken just a little

I’ll have some coffee now

Then take my pills

I wish I hadn’t used up the bread I had

For toast

Something nice for breakfast

Might be appropriate

A small salve

For a scratched place on my soul

The cause of fear from confrontation

Or maybe

A caution of indifference


An hour later

A touch jumpy, mostly sad

Fifteen minutes more

Now I’m teary

When I think about

The man in the world

All his wilderness


C L Couch



Photo by Mitchell Luo on Unsplash

Melbourne VIC, Australia


The Noise

The Noise


I think I hear street-sweeping

Wrong day

No, it’s a plane

The noise is now stentorian

Now it’s Doppler-fading

A truck going through town?

No follow-up

Wet tires, maybe

On other cars

Scattered showers were predicted


C L Couch



Photo by Daniel von Appen on Unsplash


Process of Prayer

Process of Prayer



I love you

I don’t know if you know that

But you are perfect

So you must

And know this better than I

What is real

What is faked

What is performance

From a holy script

Or my own from the ground

The dirt, the dust of my own use

Of words

I hope that if I reach out with my mind

You are receiving

So many of my prayers are silent

They wouldn’t have to be, I guess

I count on you for reading thoughts

Is that all right?

Thought is reality

Is has to be

I hope it may also be



Air into which

I might air grievances

Also dreams

And gratitude

If not for dreams, then for life


I guess I trust you hear me

That silences still count

So as my words go out

They must go in as well


C L Couch



A nonconformist chapel in Pwllheli, Wales. Unlike historic chapels, this is not attached to a larger place of worship.

Alan Fryer, CC BY-SA 2.0,


Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑