I talk you talk we'll talk



Pilotless Wheel

(x = space)



Pilotless Wheel


God is great

Traditions affirm

Many of them

Most of the living world

And the world before


God is good

A source of mercy

Even for

Those who do not know

Those who deny

Given space and time

Mercy in these


But, God, what kind of

Rotten world governed?

There is beauty

There are delightful moments

There is too much injustice

Too much lack of protection

Too much destruction

In the name

For the cause

Of politics and profit


You are in charge

We are

It is a war itself

Of wills

We think that you arranged this

We believe


In this alliance is

The cause of misery

Of evil

The stakes are high

They must be

This is real

Everything must matter



The religious call them covenants

And so they are


Sometimes the wheel is left alone

Sometimes there’s a grab for it


C L Couch



Photo by Maximilian Weisbecker on Unsplash


the blast of war

(x = space)



the blast of war



grant not my will

but yours

yours and mind when

we’re allied

but if it’s you or me

better to be you

and yours

I know

I’ll be there, too

that sometimes frustrates

when I want something

all my own

and maybe

you would not agree

all the way

better for your will be done

and mine left out

you’ll remember me

and several billion

while caretaking

all who are asleep

a world that’s cracking

you will let it crack

split into pieces

that we insist upon

who says

my will be done?

yours will keep the planet

and humanity

behold what

our will has done

and save us

by your modest will


or ferocious


the quiet desert

and the storm at sea

are yours

watch over these

and the tame or wild places

of the mind

the heart

and spirit

we should ally

keep us from all tyrannies

with a will

for freedom


c l couch



photo by jonathan bowers on unsplash



(x = space)




(minus w, minus t)


What do you want of me,


Maybe the next hour

Or tomorrow

Or the moment

That is the only thing

I know for sure

There is

And now the next one


What is your will

And should I ask?

Maybe I don’t need to

Maybe knowing is for

Greater ones

Than I

The ones for histories

Who rated visions

The certainly

Of steps to take


I muddle

And you, reading,

Muddle like me

If you’re like me

Maybe it’s easy

There is an easy need

For something

And we move

We save considerations

For contemplation


That may never happen


If a bomb

Should crash this wall

If should be in bed

Because of illness

Then all there is to think about

If thought is clear

Is to survive the time


Against sadnesses

Even the world’s evil



Should affect me thus

Or thirst for something safe

Or doubt for faith

Should that be the exchange

For everything vile

That may come upon me

Come upon us


Since, actually,

I might be moved with

Greater intensity

Should it happen to you


I shall believe

And ask

Even as confidence fades

That I shall ever know

That you shall ever tell me

What would please you

What would serve you

Not in an epic

But small verses

That could


At least delineate

A life


C L Couch

while I’m typing



Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash


Split Light

(x = space)



Split Light



What if I had gone

The way that you had chosen

The way that you had shown me

From the start?

I can’t chalk up misdirection

To youthful energy

Or ignorance at any age

Or indiscretion

As a peccadillo

I was wrong

That’s it

Except the thing is, Lord,

I was told by other people

People with agendas

Before I understood my own

I think when we were quiet

We got along just fine

And I was learning something

Of your way

But there were intrusions

With everything awry

I lost my way

With you

With everything

I didn’t know what or whom

To count on

Or to latch onto

I tried to lead myself alone

Well, you know how that goes

So I am here

All the distractions are the same

I’m not that much different, either

Sometimes I can hear you calling

Call to me, now

With pardon

Even with revelation

Speak through my broken hearing

Tell me

I will try to listen

Break through the sullenness,

The perspective problem of the child

Yet with a child’s bearing

I may hear

Then follow through

In an awkward, side-stepped way

Made out of mistrust

This time

Lamed somewhat by the world,

Which I’ll take

As my fault

For having gone in, first

With willfulness

Break will, too,

Without breaking me

Reknit into something straight

With my permission

And my consultation

Let new will prevail

With a team of mates

Upon the ship

Sailing not to glory

But to glory’s home


C L Couch



Photo by Bruno Thethe on Unsplash



(x = space)





So, Lord,

What shall we have


We shall have burnt toast,

It seems,

My fault

The coffee is all right

Except now the

Button doesn’t work

That turns if on and off,

The last

Of many things, I think,

That say it’s

Time for another

Will you lead me to another

Coffeemaker, Lord?

Or have an angel do that,


So small

And there are many things

So much larger

(the ocean is so large,

and my boat is so small)

But things push

The economy, I suppose,

And angels

Are your agents


There are clouds

There might be rain,

Perhaps a storm

This is your day

Because you made it

This is my day

Because my choices

Matter in it

Because of will

And degrees of determination,

This day belongs

To all of us

I wonder how we’ll own it

I wonder what we’ll do


C L Couch



Stormy Stornoway

Photo by Lachlan Gowen on Unsplash

Stornoway, United Kingdom


Fixing Morning

Fixing Morning



I don’t know what

To say or do

Thank goodness for the

Autonomic processes

I sit here, tempting frozenness

Fruit of depression

And anxiety, I know

Though like gout,

It could be an exigent bout

With indecision


But decision-making requires


And I have none

Feeling beaten around by

The world, because I have been

What is left?


Then I look outside:

It is a pale scene

Morning light-blue, yellow light

Upon some branches

Other branches in the shade

Though the leaves are waving green

As if to signal spring, perhaps

Officially some weeks away


While, I’m sorry for ingratitude,

I tend to savor

Seasons as they come, anymore

(dreading the extremes—

why did you make these?)

So a sign of spring is fine

Even a comfort (thank you) but

Not a pressing need

I tend to love even when they’re difficult

All times I have


So if this pastiche outside

That only I behold has been

(and maybe not)

Arranged at all for me,

It might be an invitation

You know (I know you know),

To sit up,

Eat the toast,

Finish the coffee,

And move on


It looks to be a lovely day outside

And if I leave the noise inside

I’m sure I will hear birdsong

So much better


C L Couch



Photo by Austrian National Library on Unsplash





If there is a God

And sorry if there’s not

(there is—

there, you have the ending

of the story)

Then I wish God to do

A better job of it

For all the dreadful things

That happen

Not to me

(though, yes, there’s that)

But to all the people

Who are burned in fire

Felled into the earth

Killed because smooth steel

And lead pellets seemed

Good inventions at the time

And since

(we can beat them all down

anytime, pleading a case for


God, can you not stop

All the measures that hide empire

Except where vanity


Must break through

The offices and the meeting rooms

Sending, allowing

Hurt into the battlefields?

Naturally and practically, you can

Though there is that stone so

Heavy that you cannot lift

You made it out of will

And set it spinning

42, the Earth

It is a kind of comedy

The classic kind, pray please

In which through funny means

(grim humor in grim times)

The community is healed

Better than restored,


And we have a forest for a world

Near the city of perfection

Feasts, cominglings, promises

Of weddings

‘Round fires tamed by angels

The marriage of harrowed hell

And heaven

New heaven partners with

New world, finally the right kind:


And which

To mitigate with love


C L Couch



Photo by Richard Cordones on Unsplash

Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

Looking Forward




(keep trying)


I’m sorry for the fire

Sorrier for all the hungry people

Were the lady to advise us

Though worship is important

Starving is not conducive


There is no medieval lumber

Tall enough to do the job

Of the first beams

That is fine, we can go with something

Like aluminum

That will not rust or

Easily catch fire (again)

But organic need cries out

Toward another kind

Of construction

Empty people

Feed us


What shall we say,

There are too many now

And now there will be many more?

Maybe we need to reach up

Further than vaulting

Ingenious plans

Already on the table

We have the means for everything

Tall churches, too

Because we won’t have Paris

Not all of us


What shall we have?

I think you know by now

Ages of temperament

And we are less impaired

Have garnered so much more

The answer in the


When we ask


You know it starts with will

You know everything worthwhile

Begins and ends with shall

Then will


C L Couch



Photo by TAN Erica on Unsplash





Love and fear

Two sides

Some would have it

Of the same

And if the toss should land it on

The edge,

Maybe it’s indecision

Or we get to choose the motivation

For our actions


What is the substance

Of the coin? I think it might be


Something not for tossing

But for extracting from a pocket

When it’s time

Not for throwing

But for touching texture

Choosing what to live

Each time

Until instinct

Make imagination

And will



C L Couch



Image by Markus Lindner from Pixabay


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