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Thirty Means End of Story

(x = space)

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Thirty Means End of Story

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How will it end

We do not know

What happens next

We have great lore

And supposition

We have stories

Of returns

We should believe them

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C L Couch

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(not years—thirty is or used to be a sign in journalism)

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Photo by Rishabh Sharma on Unsplash

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The Final Countdown

The Final Countdown

 

And if we remember

Anything,

Let’s remember

God is love

Even inside the pit

Whose floor no one

Above has found

God is not only

On the floor but also

Underneath,

Propping up the Earth

Until all prisoners

Are released

Until the harrowing

Is done

Until what remains in hell

Is nothingness,

Defeat

 

The devil without a job

Receives an invitation

To go above,

Below

Wherever devils

Have met with God

Before

No victory lap

No dumping Gatorade

The winner loves the loser

There is a reckoning

And everything

Has mattered

This is no rehearsal

 

And it can mean something

If not all

For God to offer

To the devil

Forgiveness on the way

To freedom

Knowing such

Practiced usurpation

Could turn it down

Remain there, alone

Waiting for a

Final confrontation,

Reading

And misquoting Scripture

All this time

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Aida L on Unsplash

 

The End Is Near

The End Is Near

 

The Earth has four billion years already

Only one billion remains

Our star will expand one day

(well, over an eon)

And finally we will lose the light

 

Some say it’s tomorrow

Or later on today

(after tea, I hope)

Some engender crime and madness

Pray for it, vote for it in others

If we make it bad enough

The Lord will come to sort it out

After all, aren’t we right

To invoke a

God?

 

God might have other plans

We know God does

God gave us the notion in the first place

Of the notion

That a plan sometimes is good

But don’t program the

Spirit of the

Lord

The

Savior’s not for turning

Not for the to-do list of some kind

Of faithful

 

We should do well

We should do good

Is that so hard?

Evil done for good is, well,

You know

And that’s crazy thinking

More so to enact

 

Thomas Becket knew

Joan d’Arc, too

Listening for God

To follow through

Is mad enough

For virtue

The end is near for valorous

Much better

 

C L Couch

 

 

The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928

 

 

to readers, then a poem

I hope it is a holiday of blessings for you, regardless of tradition or having no tradition.  It’s a time when at least we speak to peace on Earth, which means more people think about it, if only in reaction.  And reactive thought can realized in action.

I’m still dealing with new pain, and I hardly sleep at night (from old pain and the new).  I’m sorry, this makes me less communicative than I’d so much like to be.  I’m trying some new medication.  Maybe that will provide enough amelioration.

I wish and pray for you a Merry Christmas, leading to the start of what will be a Happy New Year.

Christopher

 

Let Earth

(end of Advent, Christmas Eve or Christmas day, or, you know, anytime)

 

And where is joy?

It’s here

 

Depending on your mood

Or how you’re treated

How you treat someone else

You may not see it

The wrong ones will not pay attention

The ones who are wronged will

Because they must

It often goes this way

With wisdom to

Make a choice,

A pledge to difference

 

If you can,

In all moods choose joy

If you can’t, maybe joy will find you

If not, we’ll have to wait

Endure

‘Til there is allowance

And recourse

 

Sorry if that’s hollow

Everything cannot be fixed

In a day

A year

And not a moment

But where is joy?

It’s here

If within opacity like crystals in

The tube of a kaleidoscope

But made of a magic kind of gem that

Someday must crash through

 

Into release

A new promise of day

Without involvement of the persecutor

With unbound chances

To live openly and well

 

A day of birth

Such as this one

 

C L Couch

 

Larisa-K / 471 images

https://pixabay.com/en/winter-patterns-freezes-design-20135/

 

Red Sky at Night

Red Sky at Night

 

Retiring into the deep

Colors of the day

 

We come to the end

When light must give

Way to night

 

We sigh and with

Misty breath, exhale

 

Into the coming dark

 

No more arguments

To make against the

Day

 

Maybe a farmer’s

Understanding, for

There are evening

Laborers

 

Whose cycle will

Reverse the colors

 

Sorry, perhaps, for

Those who cannot

Read the final

Message in the dusk

Of dying day

 

Well, look to new hues

In the tellings that

Arrive, whenever

 

Daytime and

Nighttime meet, alive

haiku and prose(story)-poem

haiku and prose(story)-poem

 

There is no war here

For those who warred have fallen

Heaven realm’s justice

 

The war in heaven is long.  This is a surprise.  It is a surprise to feel that way.  How can one feel something’s long in an eternal place?  Michael looks up, feeling tired and never feeling tired.  Michael knows those fallen to either side.  Michael knows them all.  Michael has known all the host for an ageless time.  Gabriel will be the one to tell, as Gabriel before and every time tells everything to all who hear.  War outside of Eden rages, though who wins is understood.  The end of war is known.

Microcosmic Murder

Microcosmic Murder

A country in West Africa
In a city there, al-Qaeda
Attacked and killed

A UN microcosm:
Twenty-seven dead from
Eighteen nationalities, five

Times the number
Injured, thirty and more
Hostages now freed

I don’t know how much
Longer I can track (or truck)
Adding to the list

Or if, in the world’s swell
Against, I will more simply
Merge my interest with

The quiet dead and the
Outraged living, awaiting an
End of unnamed campaigns

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