I talk you talk we'll talk



An Angel Visits Francis

(x = space)



An Angel Visits Francis


I speak to God today

God is quiet

Not uninvolved

With nothing noisy

To contribute

Beyond the rain outside

The singing tires

The occasional movement


From a neighbor

Or from me


I wonder when an angel

Visits Francis

How it goes

No, don’t get up

Relax the hand with the ring

No doubt you lift the office

With an instinct


I’m here to rest with you

For a moment

To be still

You know the issues

And the crises in the world

One of us will tell you

When there are

Awful surprises

You are doing well

We are

I am

Sorry when you’re sick

The age and job

Do take it out of you

You could retire

Like your peer

Sometimes I think

He has the better part

But I don’t think you’ll give up

‘Til you have the sense

You’re done

Remember I am here

We are here

We fly around you

Dance with happiness

Or grief

You know we are not

The round things of the Renaissance

But are might beings

Wide in span

And awful

As in full of awe

To know us

And carry power

You know whose

And are ready

Should you wish us to defend

Evil forefend

Should you wish to rest with us around

And when you’re ready

To be escorted

Even carried



We are will

And we love you


Back to me

And God is ready for your voice

When you wish to speak

Or keep it in your mind

The better things

Are in your heart

We’re told,

Which means your spirit

The spirit of the Lord

Is with you, too,

Waking or sleeping

Like the song

Agents of God

Angels and nature

Sing around you

Sometimes difficult

Impossible, it seems,

To hear

But singing nonetheless

The music of the spheres

The song that’s in your sphere

Of hope

And love

To resonate with good things

To navigate the bad

There is help

In that

In both


C L Couch



Photo by gil on Unsplash



(x = space)





We were thrown out:

Don’t blame Eve,

I don’t;

The serpent could have

Just as easily

Caught Adam first

And both fall

After choosing to take bites


And if you believe

The woman had such power,

Go ahead—I

Wouldn’t stop you


Did they see the angel,

Looking back?

The orange or the yellow

Of a blade on fire?

Feel the heat?

Did they know for sure

They must go another way,

Not to return

For ages?


Well, they were given


They were given curses

Also callings,

They knew what they’d have to do

To live;

And so with their descendants,

So with us,

The myth goes on

For hunters and for music;

We build a tower

To do better than the curses


The tower falls;

We cannot speak to each other,



So we build in separation;

Cities rise

And as must follow


Strong people rule somehow

And we let their children rule


Was it worship

Or respect

Or indifference?

We had our farms to tend;

Soon there would be machines


We raised walls

To keep ourselves upon the plains,

Set outposts in the mountains,

Surrounded waterways,


And with food

And bright blades

Secured the promises

Of generations


Nation went to war

Against nations;

Many gods were worshipped,

Some directed


We have stone

And paper manuscripts

And ruins upon ruins

That are testimonies


And are we rising?

We hope so;

There are awful, lateral movements

And descensions—call

Them massacres,

Call slavery,

Call rule by one

With only one served,

One living well


Democracy is rising;

Call it something else;

We keep at it


How about

Soon we grow

Without anything but growth?


After-Eden flaws remain;

Maybe we’ll understand at last

Divinities approving

Of mortality,

Mortal accountancy

In meeting needs,



And renewal


Rockets go toward the moon,

Soon with people

Who will stay awhile

While we aim for Mars,

Send rockets to the rest;

We hope the Voyagers

Will find friends


We’re not perfect,

We’re not even better


If we keep our flaws,

And we own mortality

Then we’ll do all right

For legacy:

The joy in now


C L Couch



Water, Light, and Long Shutter Speeds

Photo by Ahmad Dirini on Unsplash


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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