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How They Carry the Good News

(x = space)

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How They Carry the Good News

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I’m not sure what I’ll

Write today,

But there will be something

Something about me

And you

God and the whole world,

Which we sing is in

God’s hands

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I suppose an earthquake

Might mean

That something is slipping through

The fingers,

A flood might mean

Too many tears

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The birds might carry news

Carried by the wind,

Another agency

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They hear the talking

In the trees

And what stones say

Between buildings

Some shining,

Some in ruins

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I guess there are words

From all over Earth

While the moon

Sings in response

And the stars

Oscillate their notes as well

For any

Who are listening

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Let those who hear,

May—not

With ears

But with supernal apparatus

That repression

Or suppression might affect

But is with us, still

Too deep, perhaps

Though there is

A law of freedom

That

I’ve heard about

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C L Couch

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“How They Carried the Good News from Ghent to Aix” is a poem by Robert Browning.

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Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash

At a gymkhana show in Warner Springs. These two make a formidable duo, galloping across the arena and then coming to a sliding stop to make a sharp turn around a pole (out of range to the left). They take my breath away.

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Sermons on Leaves

(x = space)

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Sermons on Leaves

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One bird makes a small song

Unless a condor

Or a million of its own,

Whatever kind

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I’m not thinking of Hitchcock

But of Francis

Who preached to birds

Because humans wouldn’t listen

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In response,

A little bit invested

From each one

Raises the songs of saints,

Reinvesting into land

Then

Traversing through the sky

And now orbiting

x

A song to welcome

Visitors,

Aliens or angels,

To Earth

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A hybrid song

Is and shows

The way

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C L Couch

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Photo by Paul Teysen on Unsplash

Nachtegalenhof, Antwerpen, België

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Slow Glass

Slow Glass

 

The birds are quiet today

The sky is still

Precursors to rain, perhaps

 

Earlier, I saw a squirrel outside the window

On a lower branch

The animal stopped, gray arches for

Its back and a brushy tail

Turned one way and then another

 

We, smaller beast and I, looked at each other

For a while

Already out of reach

We could afford to stare

 

Now we might serve as memories

To each other, through the glass

 

C L Couch

 

“Light of Other Days” is a science fiction short story by Irish writer Bob Shaw. It was originally published in August 1966 in Analog Science Fiction and Fact. The story uses the idea of “slow glass”: glass through which light takes years to pass. Bob Shaw used this idea again in later stories.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Light_of_Other_Days

 

 

Photo by Daniel McCullough on Unsplash

 

Eccentric Season

Eccentric Season

 

A loud single song out the window

For a second day I’m greeted this way

Whom is it calling?

I’d like to think it was me, but it must be

Another creature

Singing to to say hello, come over here

There’s a divot-space next to the air-conditioner

Might make a nice place for a nest

 

I guess this because it’s happened

More than once

That through the panel I can see bird-shadows

Moving

They come and go for a while

I should worry, and I do, that all goes well

While there is waiting for small, gray life

To emerge—

Usually, they’re gray—

To add their greetings to the day

And the days ahead

 

I think maybe I shouldn’t look through

The window, down so much at what’s going on

I can listen to some small cacophony

Instead

 

Life will emerge, and then the nest becomes

Useless, falls apart, not fit

For a sparrow

My odd season with the nesting birds is over

I’ll clear out what remains, maybe there’s

A crack of egg to see

I tried to bring the rounded twigs inside one time,

But they fell apart too easily

A sparrow wouldn’t want it

Such a fragile operation, all this is

To make more birds

Especially in a small space on the window sill

 

And my own sign in parts that at last the weather’s

Turned into a fecund opportunity

As the planted fields around the town

Will also show, certainly in

Wider, columned ways

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Chromatograph on Unsplash

Hong Kong

 

Heard Outside the Window

Heard Outside the Window

 

Town birds call each other early

For the farmer’s market

In the square

Come on!  They drop the good stuff

All morning long!

We can watch from wires high above

All the antics

We’ll have all the fun

And be filled

We wake up at dawn, and we’re ready

We serenade the humans,

And they’re soft for us

Why not, we like the singing, too

Fit for forest still

But we’ll stay here for a while

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by raza ali on Unsplash

Karachi, Pakistan

Follow your dreams!

 

No Sin Required to Have Grace Abound

No Sin Required to Have Grace Abound

(Romans 6:1 and 2, that funny, funny Paul)

 

Grace

I want to write about it

Maybe because I need it

I don’t know how the mealtime

Prayer became “grace”

Because grace is momentary?

We ask for your blessing now, because

We’ll only need it

‘Til the food is gone

 

Grace is a surprise

And, as I’ve said, like a bird

It flies, it alights, it sings

It takes off again

Grace goes where it is needed

Costs nothing, and it saves

Sometimes we do get

What we didn’t pay for

 

Grace cuts through works

Though doesn’t undervalue them

(show me faith without works)

Like Jesus, grace provides means

And a way to God

Though discipleship is not required

 

When you receive grace,

Nothing is required

But a hope (a hope) for better living

And sometime or no time

To respond to

What goes quietly below

A plea for faith

An argument to hear

 

If not, then not

Grace will help us, anyway

That is its nature

And its calling

You can hear in every bird

Even the ostrich through the sand

(I don’t think ostriches really do that

I can look that up

I did: they don’t)

 

C L Couch

 

 

Donarreiskoffer – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7869007

 

https://animals.howstuffworks.com/birds/do-ostriches-really-bury-heads-in-sand.htm

clear and helpful article about ostriches and sand

 

Congress

Congress

(visiting a beach in NC)

 

Topsail

I’m pretending that the air is

Ionized

And that it’s good for me

 

Up-and-over steps, across the dune

Down to the sand

A public access, though

There are only a few people here today

Some dogs

But all the birds

 

Are meeting

Fish and trash on the agenda

I have nothing for them so

They fly from me

Disdain

 

I pick up shells and stones

Some with rough edges

Some worn smooth through the refinement

Of the sea

 

Together we show

Large and small

Nature’s power

 

C L Couch

 

 

Topsail

(photo credit, http://www.treasurerealty.com/uploads/TopsailBeach_OceanView.jpg)

 

Saint Francis and the Animals

Saint Francis and the Animals

(4 October)

 

Eight hundred years

Ago in the

Middle part of Italy,

 

A person walked and others

Walked with him

 

But when he tried to preach

No one would hear;

So he spoke his message

Unto the birds

The raccoons (in my telling)

And all things that crept

Or flew through the air

 

He would return to people:

He visited the pope

He met with the sultan of

The Muslim warriors who

Fought in Jerusalem,

 

Because he hoped

That peace as a cause

Might overwhelm

The rest

That keeps

Getting in our way

Dawn-Calling

Dawn-Calling

 

Who calls dawn

 

One bird, two birds

I hope it’s at least two

 

No one should have

To call the new day

All alone

 

At such a time, there

Should be company

 

And, if it works out,

Friendship through

The morning

 

That’s how I’d like to

Start the day

With someone near

 

To know me now

When the day begins

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