I talk you talk we'll talk




(x = space)





It’s a tarnish day outside

But I hope you have

A good day

You deserve it

For weathering in every way

The season

(in Australia, it goes to

the other way)

You are being careful, I am sure

With tasks and news

What needs doing

What can wait

And silence in between

When you might

Enjoy the stillness

Like untouched snow

On a hill

Before the sledding noise

Takes over,

Which like Currier and Ives

Will bear

Its own bliss


C L Couch



Photo by Tom Dick on Unsplash

(I hope the message on the sign is civil)



(x = space)





I should go to sleep


I haven’t tried all night

Enjoying peace, I think

The chance to think my thoughts




I have my coffee

And a couple of French rolls

Outside the window,

The view

Is clear

Well-defined—early morning,

Lack of humidity,

I don’t know


In this moment

And maybe only this one,

It is a gift

I have been given

The start of day

And brief clarity


A bite, it’s good

A sip

A thought

Trying to enjoy an easy feeling

Like slow jazz


I hope you have a good day

I haven’t

Said that for a while

Not that

I don’t think it

Every time I do this

You deserve it


I don’t know what

Adventures might

Be launched

Or the first steps taken



Not that it’s all romance

It’s not much romance


But I think to throw a coin,

Not knowing where

The nearest designated

Well might be

Inviting you to wish

In the fine day

I hope you have


Yes, it takes the start of day

Whenever that

Might happen, since it’s


Some clarity in

At least two kinds

Of sky

Brief lack of worry over

Food and drink

Now something good

Can begin


C L Couch




Youse is probably distinctive of my country.  It’s common in the Northeast.  If I were in Pittsburgh and the region there, I might say y’ins.  Apologies.


youngsters huddling together

Photo by S. H. Gue on Unsplash x

Deal-Making with the Lord

(x = space)



Deal-Making with the Lord

(sigh, didn’t work for Moses)



The stomach feels

So tight

I’d like relief



At the source


All my troubles

I can’t escape


Though I could

Escape a few


And is

Escape the answer?

Probably not

(worse the


I imagine there is


By the way of



But some things,

I think,

Can simply

Be made better

Call it grace or


Or one side

Of a pledge


Please, Lord,


The pain

Give me days


The consequences

I’ll work

On the rest,

I promise


C L Couch




Photo by Ella de Kross on Unsplash

New York, NY, USA


Wednesday Diagnosis

(x = space)



Wednesday Diagnosis


I’ll see the doctor today

At 2:20

A friend will drive me there

The pain is sharp

And then it’s dull

The dull kind, naturally enough,

Harder for persistence



Difficult and ongoing,

Rest made into

Dreamless chore


But one thing I have forgotten

In sharing what is going

On with me,

And that is to ask of you

How are you?

What’s happening with you?

I hope that you are well

And having a fine day


I had a student

Who entered buoyantly

Each Wednesday day,

It’s hump day! she would cry

Each time

And now I think of her

Each time


C L Couch



A ball of energy with electricity beaming all over the place.

Photo by on Unsplash


Look Out

(x = space)



Look Out


Do I write

For affirmation?

I don’t think so

That wouldn’t work out

There would never

Be enough,

Wrong category


I think I write

To say I’m here

(I think that’s


More so, is to call

Anyone out there?

And there you are


C L Couch



Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash

The Rise of Orion


Praying from Democracyland

Praying from Democracyland


Okay, God

You and me

Don’t you have

The poor end of the stick

I can rely on the other end

That’s you

I treat you as a friend

Sometimes as a phantom

Sometimes wish you down

Upon my enemies

With fire and menace

But then consider

Those for me

And cease

I have to

That is doctrine

Sigh (a real, stage, and

spiritual direction)


You are the source of power

Start of majesty,

I know

I treat you like a pal

I shouldn’t do that

But you are the source of love, more so

And I don’t know how to deal

In that,

Snubbing all formality

In wanting easy terms

For us


As a suggestion, let’s read your gospel

Much of that has clarity, I know

And honestly the fuzzy parts

Are interesting but not compelling

Either way


So I’ll rely on truth as

I can get it from

A reading and a prayer

You’ll be there,

I know

As in everything you started

The skies

The world

And me

Anyone who listens

Or does not listen

Who hears but does not hear

Sometimes like me,

Though now

This is about you


C L Couch



Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash

Portland, United States

Condensation and fresh raindrops against the window of our car during a trip to get donuts in Portland, Oregon.


Peace for All Time

Peace for All Time

(a three-part cycle)



Machine Language


Each moment’s a decision

To exhale,

To circulate some blood

To let the body stir for a while longer

To let the synapse burn

Brightly with mind-fire,

Transactions between what’s happening

And memory

Much of this is done for us

But there’s a partnership, I think

Between all parts

The automatic will take over for

The temporary

When immediacy of thought and movement

Are tired out

Call it sleep

Call it the second cup of tea

Taken on the porch

When for a time there’s nothing else to do

And this has been invoked

Because needed,

The ending of which we’ll debate


Peace an invention,

A transaction

Between all partners

Serving on the inside





I won’t take it back

Not yet

I need to know the outcome,

Did I get anything I wanted


If penance is a prayer,

I’ll do my part

If it’s in bad feeling,

I’m already there

And counting


A return to normalcy

And what is that

It takes me out of this

Otherwise, I want

The special moments back


But it’s the future, now




Say them with me, maybe

All the prayers,

Then let’s move on



The Answer Is in Someone Else as Well


Inner peace

That’s cool

It’s not enough

If I’m in my chrysalis

And have no sight of yours

Or time


Where is my peace

If not in you?

This is cheating an invocation,

For it’s not a talk to God

But to you

The one nearby

And not inside

We need transaction, too

And more


You need to carry me

And I a part of you

A magic story in which twins

Keep a gem lit by the light force

Of the other

And there’s responsibility


In our story,

We will partner differently

That is, for real

Not to prevaricate conditions

But to say push on

Make peace because

We know each other now

To arbitrate


And there’s no other way

To build the day

That each must have

Into a present contract

As the future


C L Couch



Photo by Jarrod Reed on Unsplash


Again with the Sunday-Thinking

Again with the Sunday-Thinking


It’s Sunday, and

I should say something spiritual

But there’s Hamlet’s rub

(not a small town’s)

About mortality or, I should

Say, the end of it,

Which is what the Dane’s discussing

One side of the coin, as

It were, the other side

Well, spirituality

Who’d have thought?


So here we are

The coin I have,

The choice I have

Heads or tails

Or stand it on the edge,

Which I can do


Do you?

This is where we are

Where angels could dance

As slender as the pin

Though it goes around

Another way

Both things, the circle and the sphere,

Are endless

One comes back

And if a mark isn’t made

We’ll fool ourselves

In the illusion

A belief that we are always going


Somewhere else


So we need another metaphor

Metaphors as analogies

Always fail somewhere

Along the way

But we have the vine

The true vine and the faulty

And would that we graft ourselves

To the stronger,

Greener branch

And so grow

Like a magic beanstalk

Toward heaven

Though here’s where plants no longer

Serve analogy

For heaven’s not up

Where Claudius would send his prayers

Not forward, backward

Interior, exterior

Exit, arriving

I think you know

Where heaven is

Open the window of the soul

The air is good, at last

No teaching no longer necessary

Breathe the good and lasting

Air of heaven in

I wonder if in heaven

All we do is inhale


Better than direction

Better than metaphors

Better than Christmas morning

Or a birthday

(not analogies but real

remembrances I trust, I hope)

Heaven is an invitation

Please respond



I want to meet there

And maybe you

Will help me

Though there’s one who

Will bring us, both


C L Couch



Image by Thanks. All my pics are free! from Pixabay

church war syria civil war devastation devastated


Returning Gifts

Returning Gifts


Praise the Lord

And all that is in me praise the Lord

Or something like that

How can I praise such a thing as God

When I am such a thing as me?

To God be the glory

How can I glorify

When I am so small,

And my voice is broken?

I know the story of the smallest angel

In the movie, Fred Gwynne as

Mentor angel talks of his mother’s

Brown bread, when all

Were mortal


But in the young one

(newly angelified)

There is purity

And innocence to give

As gifts in the small box emblemize

What have I like these?


And wouldn’t I look at you

To say there is so much

Because there is—I

Guess I need to understand

That everything with life has worth

Even if itself it were a gift

I can turn it over

(so can you)

And that’s the act of service

And of love


C L Couch



Image by Marc Pascual from Pixabay

The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell (1946)


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