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Petitioning before the Storm

(x = space)

x

x

Petitioning before the Storm

x

Later today

Ida comes to call

With too much rain

For an area

That is soaked already

There should be floods

x

I’m sorry

I’ve been praying for myself

I’ve been praying

For you, too

x

But I need the power

The electricity

My heart needs the help

Frankly, in the summer heat

And afterward

I’ll need to get around

For bread

x

Maybe I’ll get or keep

(since nothing

will have changed)

My petition

x

But I need the prayer for me

I hope there’s understanding

x

C L Couch

x

x

Sinai

no, Italy

Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash

Alpe di Siusi, 39040 Castelrotto BZ, Kastelruth, Italy

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Doctrine by Tempest

(x = space)

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Doctrine by Tempest

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And should I turn

To the Spirit,

How shall she say

Or guide?

To love in all things,

Though that

Can be a mystery

Like faith

And should I ask for grace

Or is that bestowed

In quantities

Already

Measured out by God,

Dispensed by angels?

I don’t know,

I think grace might be wild,

Ready to fall itself

Into the crisis

Spreading all the elements

And changing time

For

Working things,

Which means perhaps

That prayer

Is unchained, too,

And to do so

Into the storm

In terror

And unformed bequest

Well, it counts

x

C L Couch

x

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Hurricane Map

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

Yemen

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haiku

(x = space)

x

x

blue day turns gray with

rain to see and hear and then

lightning and thunder

x

C L Couch

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x

Our Northeastern Storm

(x = space)

X

x

Our Northeastern Storm

(2 February 2021)

x

Somewhere this might

Land

As a Sou’wester

Here, it’s been impressive

And in too many places

Dire

x

The vaccine is frozen,

So to say

The chances to get shots

Into people  have been hindered,

Frankly stopped in the

Storm areas for now

x

Maybe there can be

A harsh and honest breath

In our disbursement process

While Democrats

Republicans

Fight for our relief

In the nation

x

The forecaster

Is citing “The Song that

Never Ends” by

Sherry Lewis that

The puppets sang

At the end of each show

Because this isn’t done

And will be

Renewed, it looks,

In two days or so

x

This snow

Plus the chill in the Capitol

x

The groundhog, by

The way, official Phil in

Punxsutawney,

Yanked out of his home

On Gobbler’s Knob,

Did not

See his shadow

Prognosticating six more

Weeks of this kind of

Winter without

An early spring

x

But my friend Debbie,

Well, she’s happy:

x

She’s been wanting

To drive around her Jeep

Through snow,

Sitting way above

The trouble down below

x

Have a great time, Debbie

We mortals lift our

Shovel heads

In obeisance

As you carom by

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C L Couch

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Photo by Dylan LaPierre on Unsplash

New York, New York, United States

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Cenobite

(x = space)

x

x

Cenobite

(last ice age or next one)

x

I need food

I need drink

That’s primal

x

Since the world has iced over,

I have nearly nothing now

She should have told the hermits

x

I haven’t seen siblings for days

x

We always pray

But without tools

And a bigger fire,

We shall dry like

Animal meat, which is

All we’ll leave behind

Surrounded by charcoaled pages

As a testament

x

What shall I leave as last words?

That it was too thick,

That I could not break through?

That the storm ruined my fire,

Even inside the cave?

x

That I still believe?

That my supplication

Is to receive my soul?

x

I do believe

Yet wish I had a follower,

Someone come from town

To bring me coals and kindling,

Water and a pike whose metal tip

Could break through ice

To running water far below

Though I haven’t heard it

Seems for an age

x

I might be addled

Or unfaithful,

But I could go for bread and

Cheese as well and wine,

Though I’ve tried to make the

Bitter ale I have last for a while

(nearly gone, now)

x

And candlelight

I miss candlelight

x

My head hurts,

My body weakens

I don’t know if I’ll die

In night or day

x

It’s hard to tell

Anymore

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Shannon McInnes on Unsplash

Northwest Territories, Canada

On an off chance we found ourselves needing to drive from Inuvik to Tuktoyuktuk, Northwest Territories, Canada, which was only accessible by ice road at the time. It took us about three hours driving on the ice to reach Tuktoyuktuk, which sits on the shore of the Arctic Ocean. This is what you see when you step out and look down. Taken during the last weeks of the ice road before it permanently closed. http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/arctic-highway-challenges-1.4398726

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There was an ice age in the Middle Ages.  The next one might be caused by global warming.

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The Unforgiven

The Unforgiven

(over three hundred now)

 

Matthew kills

Two hundred eighty

In the place that Papa

Doc abused

Where the recent

Legacy of earthquake

Leaves homes

Waiting to rise

For five years’ passing

 

On toward Florida,

This is not

The succession of an

Apostle but the

Random naming of

A storm

That, anonymous,

Would rise and fall,

Slam and flood, beat and

And take the

Breathing from too

Many enfleshed

Fragile souls

Weathering

Weathering

 

Storms, fire

Firestorms

 

That’s in California

 

Floods, tornadoes

Water-sheets

And other means

Of rain to strike

At us

 

Texas and in Florida

Where sand is

Bagged by convict

Volunteers—on

North through

Eastern USA

 

River-rise in Paris

Art treasures

Moved toward

More-protected

Ground

 

Certain seasons

Start all over (as

In again and

Everywhere)

 

In nature’s timing

And all storms’

Discretion

 

Selfishly, I am

Well above brick

Walkways and

Macadam streets

 

I have electric

In safe measure—

Mostly, though

Not always:

A tree smashed

Into the house

Not so long ago

 

A favorite book,

The Mighty Acts

Of God, a

Faithful book

 

Nature is God’s,

And the Christian

Claim is God is

Love

 

So what is the

Love here?  It

Id that God loves

Us and leaves

Us the means—even

In, and as, a fallen

World

 

Our part to start

Redress is to resolve

To do so

 

That’s it: resolve

 

(The rest follows)

 

Midst

Midst

There is no storm just now;
Yet I am between two poles
And, like the compass magnet,
Cannot find a true direction

In the middle and cut off, I
Drift alone—the sun is bright
Though I feel no thirst, no
Longer any hunger, either

I am alone—I don’t know
What happened to the crew—
No storm now and yet I feel
I am only between one

Tempest and another, that
One will come to overturn my
My unsteady craft; so how
Does the Latino saying go?

Your sea is so great, and my
Boat is so small—for the time,
And but for swelling waves,
There is no current bearing

Me away: yet I believe I am
In the midst of all, awaiting
What happens, what catches—
Compelling, never planned

Claustrophobe

Claustrophobe

Am I trapped on
the second floor?
My town for now
has the greater
accumulation,

And I realize this
is maybe too much.
I look out:

all I see are shapes
of indistinction;
I can’t even see
that well for
vapor pushing
up against my
window, making
visual barriers
in condensation.

The storm is Jonas;
that’s fine. If you
can escape the
hunt of God by

living for days in
a great fish—before
being retrieved by
hunter’s hand (let’s
say)—then I not
hunted by the
divine with the
exception to be
loved,

then I can weather
this—well, you
know–weather.

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