I talk you talk we'll talk



An Angel Drops the Mic

(x = space)



An Angel Drops the Mic


Show’s over

Time for applause

Be impressed with me

The talent

And the portent

The agency

I am

And represent


This was fun

Next time you see and hear me

The show will be the last

And best

And afterward

Maybe a revue in

Our new place


C L Couch



Photo by BRUNO EMMANUELLE on Unsplash



(x = space)






I often talk to you

In thought

Do you hear me?

I hope so,

Because I rarely

Think about it



Do you need

The uttered word?

I’d think

You wouldn’t,

Though maybe

My part

Is to speak


I think I let you in

A while ago,

You see

And while you’re


You might as well

Have the run

Of the place

Including the talking parts

That happen

On the inside


Life in the Spirit,

I believe,

With an angel’s assist

I hope it works

This way

I’ll pray out loud

As well


C L Couch



Photo by Emil Widlund on Unsplash



(x = space)





We say things

As we do

I’m not sure why

Maybe there is

Something to that

Small angel character

With the devil on

The other side,

Which we’ve seen and heard

In cartoons

Maybe the devil and the angel

Each tell us

What to say

We must decide

Then brush the other off

Both will come back in

The next episode

When we must

Choose again

And act accordingly

The devil, you say

We say

We don’t say

The angel, you say

Maybe in shame,

The kind

That got us

Kicked out of Eden


C L Couch



Photo by serena saponaro on Unsplash

Ferrara, FE, Italia


Whose Calling

Whose Calling


I haven’t spoken to my soul today

Or maybe that’s all I do

Some would say the dialogue is prayer

Maybe so

Maybe the angel is

Listening in,

Which is fine with me

How else will it advise itself

Or send for orders?

Then sometimes I’m only speaking with

My duller, outside self

Closer to the surface, anyway

And this is how time passes, while

I’m trying to keep up

With other things

While part of me in silence, too,

Is waiting for the angel to return

With suggestions


Being suggestions I imagine that

Angels cannot understand, since will

By them has been

Perfectly surrendered,

Somehow a war in heaven



C L Couch



Photo by Jason marquis on Unsplash

Belleville, Illinois, USA


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)


Night in a Small Town in Western Asia

Night in a Small Town in Western Asia

(Advent, anytime)


We think of Jesus born at night

Though he might have happened

Any time of day

But we carry into our services

The scene of nighttime

With the shepherds


It’s good

It is romantic

And nearly always it is quiet

As the time of birth is recalled, near


We pray

We sing

We watch the candles in the room

And, if a flame is passed,

For hair that might be singed


In the afternoon inside the stable

Before angels appear

Declaring peace

With a call for good will,


The parents must be tired

Mary must recover

Their shelter is so rude,

Would they welcome visitors?


Maybe the shepherds could

Be all right

They are simpler, frankly most likely unrefined

More importantly, they have

Traversed in fear and

Aspect of wonder


I recall the gifts from shepherds

In the mystery play

Have a bob of cherries

Offers one of them

To the child who is a savior

Who says they don’t know

The true nature of majesty?


Then the sky is unveiled, and angels turn

Like diamonds in a jeweler’s light




Isn’t there something that happens to us


That puts the rest into perspective

If only briefly?


For a moment, the created universe made sense

It had been fashioned for perfection

For the joy of seasons

Provision unrelenting

Delight in foraging each day

For new phenomena to complete the senses


In this night,

It was returned

A promise announced in the sky

An old one, a new one

Everything at first and last as it should be


C L Couch



By Robert Stinnett from Boonville, MO, USA – Small town Friday night, CC BY 2.0,


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