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prophecy

The People Walked

The People Walked

x

God announces

God’s own birth

An absurdity of prophecy

Things bang together

Light good

Dark bad

(for now

for often dark is good)

People in darkness

Who understands?

God is coming

But God is here

God has been here

From the start

Before the start

God was

And is

And shall be

And now, what,

A child?

A virgin birth,

Come on

x

A working together

Of generations,

Places

So that everything

Comes together

Complements

Too much

It is too much

You try the words too much

The documents are old

And sacrosanct

We keep them in a temple

Leave them be

What we believe

Is in the temple

Leave it be

We sacrifice flora and fauna

We dedicate

Our children

We don’t need another child

Or of such scandal

Leave us be

x

We are specific

We are everyone

(analogous)

We have freedom

In measure

We hate the other measure

But taxes

And armies

Are the world

It could be worse

It has been worse

We plot

Inside the darkness

In our own planning time

As we say,

Leave us be

x

So God is coming

And it’s taken centuries

Ages, if we count

From the beginning

And before

The God who answered nothing

With creation

And now a child

Without instruction

For our training

As a Caesar

(any Caesar)

This is too much

We have our own children

And for Caesar

Charges and complaints

From Spain and France

Morocco, Egypt

To Iraq and Israel

Rumors in Russia, India, and

China

All the world

x

Everywhere

And everywhere we know

Is burden

Don’t weigh us down with more

Words and promises

And obligations

Expectations

You expect us to believe?

Unlikely

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C L Couch

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I don’t know how I got to thinking about Christmas while summer is hot on.  Maybe it’s wishful thinking, though I like the seasons as they happen.  Maybe I need a charge of faith, like a CO2 cartridge making soda pop in the soda fountain.  Maybe I need some soda pop.  Maybe I’m preparing what might seem way ahead for liturgies in Advent (the good news and the difficult).  Or maybe a little future holiday (of any number of holidays) is okay for the present, that is, right now.

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Photo by Alistair MacRobert on Unsplash

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Speak for a Nation

(x = space)

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x

Speak for a Nation

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Receiving a message from the Lord

was rare in those days; revelatory

visions were infrequent.

(1 Samuel 3:1b)

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Prophets have jobs

Usually doing something else

Until the words are called for,

Until the wind

Blows through

Every atom

We think of them as crazy,

But they’re not

There is relentless urgency

Is all

Repent, while you’re alive

Don’t wait for judgment

And the fire

Leaders, most of all

You are double-cursed

If you do it wrong

Return to the temple

Pray in litany

And all humility

For a change and

For a change,

Recovering the modesty

In service that dressed you

Before fame

x

We think they’re crazy, sometimes

Maybe they are

From time to time

But there is authenticity

And love of service,

Such as those in stadiums

At podiums

Behind the microphones

Must have

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pavel Brodsky on Unsplash

A slow shutter-speed rendition of a BBQ fire.

Meron Mountain

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(New English Translation

verse indentations by me)

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Compass

(x = space)

x

x

Compass

x

1

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I hope it’s a good day for you

x

You deserve it

And many more good days

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It’s a harsh world

In many places

Though there is goodness, too

x

I know this;

I hope you know it, too

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You know, there is this notion

Called democracy, which affirms

The majority

And respects the minority

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It’s a good idea,

An experiment in many places

In the world

x

Now we know the trouble as

A virtue comes

When the numbers are too equal

And the country is divided

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I don’t think this happens very often

x

But there is hype

And misuse of media

And people ready

To say this is what you think

And act on that behalf

That is not yours

x

2

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I’ve let the demons in

Too often

x

I think they have a corner

There with maybe a side door

Or at least a tunnel

x

There are angels, too

Ready to speak to me

x

When I have been good,

I have listened

x

Then there are the times

When the demons did not

Have to say anything, for

I was ready for their

Entrance

To take over

All my good intentions

And let ego run instead

Throughout the house

x

And mischief,

Not the good kind,

Call it sin

Shall have its way

x

3

x

God is good

And blesses our food

Though that rhyme is hard

x

It’s important that we ask, for

It is not ours to bless

x

The request might be enough,

God not one, usually, to

Draw up

A piece of paper

For a deal

x

Though there have been precedents:

Moses, for one

And certain prophets’ calls

Toward redemption

x

But we are not they;

We ask for affirmation of small things

In which there is salvation

For a lifestyle,

x

Not because of word and rock

That are delivered from a mountain

Or ravens

Delivering our meals

x

We are who we are, and

We are loved

Even when we’re sure we’re not—

In fact, more so in such times

x

It’s not satisfactory, I know;

And who asked for free will,

Anyway?

But while we have it

And we’ll always have it,

Remember that the soul and heart

And mind

Is where it happens, first

x

Remember, too, to advocate;

Our model is the

Spirit

Who gathers nothing,

Sometimes only promising a wilderness

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But cares

And loves

As we should care and love

x

D. C. al Coda

x

Coda

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I hope it is a good day for you;

I’ll pray for this

And, yes, I’ll pray for me as well

x

More so, I’ll talk throughout

The day with God

And into night,

Though I have no skill

Or canny insight

Worked uncannily

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I am simply me,

You are you,

And God is God

x

Always present,

Not a trick,

Too often beyond—

Specifically for mortals—

Understanding

x

Have a care for mischief,

Though sometimes

Things are funny;

And the only thing to call up

Is some laughter

x

Laugh with God

Who invented humor

And in a healthy way

With each other

x

C L Couch

x

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Photo by Sunil Ray on Unsplash

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The Best Years of Our Lives

The Best Years of Our Lives

 

My best for years

Wasn’t nearly enough

I’m slouching toward Jerusalem

The holy city where the ages crash

Enough of sailing to Byzantium

That fell so long ago

 

With what is left

The modern age done years back

What does one call the next age

But the next age, as we have done?

No more girls in water

Sparking epiphanies (ironically through

water)

No more women beating men

To vote to have

The rudiments of politics

And understanding

I think they should rule—the

Women, not the politics

 

New happens with each day

There’s always change

Those who say there’s not

Who want all angles to be retrograde

Know nothing of the physics,

The inevitability of slopes that go

The other way

And energy with them

 

Africa is where the church is growing

And south of South America

Parts of India and Asia, even though

(please, not because)

It’s beaten down

Atheism rises, and why not?

Though I think agnosticism steers

The ship of state

Searching for a port

It knows is there

 

I think formlessness might be

The way,

Since doctrine has been brutal

In its application

And a ruthless form of righteousness

Where is love,

The orphan asked

He sung

And she responded

It is all around you,

Though mortality can end it all

It appears, my dear

 

Therefore go for what is real

Hold on, though not so tightly

The goodness cannot breathe

 

C L Couch

 

 

(title from the movie directed by William Wyler

Yeats is also relied on at the beginning

a musical toward the ending)

 

Photo by Fazel on Unsplash

Mazandaran Province, Unnamed Road, Iran

 

You and Me, Sister

You and Me, Sister

 

There are all around us

Words, voices, noises all

That tell us how to live

What to buy

How to vote

How to understand the righteous way

To have our way

And somehow please the gods, made

Masks of self-will

And agenda

The presupposed mighty

Who believe this

 

Heavy understanding

As in labored, rasping breathing

Weighted with the chains of Ebenezer

Leaden steps to its own ruin of

The truth, the peace, the joy

Held captive in

The castle of the rich

Where it gets out as planned,

God is chained or

Does not exist

Whichever muttering in shadows works

For the next parched day

 

But there are shadows within shadows

Truth in chains

There are prophecies about antitheses

There are always prophecies

The magi before Herod

Nathan before David

Elijah and the attitude of Jezebel

Defeat of those who take and hold

For now

The gold crust of Earth

Annihilation of the profits (this kind,

please note)

In a pit and everything

That has propelled the wrong kind of

Dragon, not the jeweled interest bred in stories

But the beast, the pet, the ruler of rust

And melted riches

 

There are always prophecies

We need them

They stock our campaign

Give us words for songs

And dimensional conversation

To march us on the plain

Toward pointed everything

The real change that prophecy intrigues

The reason why the thing slouching

Toward Megiddo

Can be mocked, if not ignored

The devil’s own soft points

Paranoia, riled into defeat

 

We win

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by Manuela Milani from Pixabay

 

Life in the Hermitage

Life in the Hermitage

 

I know I teach too much

Old habit

Sometimes it’s prophecy, but

The voice is mine

I don’t speak with any authority

Come down, or come up,

From God

 

Sometimes I think certain things belong

Together

That’s poetry

 

I washed a few dishes in my small sink

I looked into the new year’s sky

It’s gray

That seems right

A January pallet

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash

 

Ashen

Ashen

 

In a corner of

Winter-quiet

I have borrowed,

Since everything

Is lent from God

Even the words

 

Note what we take with us

Nothing but some spirit

And flesh, which will need renewing

 

I wonder here

In the great gray sky

Or underneath the ashen earth

Or in refugee molecules of

Water, trying to escape

Once the desert rain is done

 

About what quickens everything

Who decides

How and why

 

In what is my hope today

My reason

Validation for my purpose

For anyone’s

Anyone who seeks the truth in light

 

For the darker reasons

Tread another path

They disappear

I do want to go with them

 

My hope must be in

God who has arrived

Bringing a longer day

And promise of green seasons

 

coda

 

I am impatient and unknowing

Unknowing and still impatient

Insight comes in parts

In fits

In gold-hot coals

That want to touch the tongue

 

There is a price for growth

Sometimes only for

Having another day

 

Sad assessing,

There it is

It does not count for grace

And considers nothing of

Another’s mercy

 

We have the day

We have the moment

What shall we do

 

Why not live

Uncertain of the defining

But having it

A spark if not a prophecy

 

Is having life reason enough,

You know, it is

 

C L Couch

 

 

Wikimedia Commons (image)

 

Dry Prophecy

Dry Prophecy

 

There’s something dry in prophecy

Desert-cool

East of me

Asian

It’s alluring like a deep-blue night

Above the clean edge of dunes

Though I guess you can’t have a desert

Without scorpions

 

Fair enough

Prophecy stings, too

Ask Jezebel

Ask Ahab

 

The writing on the wall

(that’s Babylon

that’s Assyria)

In the hostage-taker’s home

Was done in perfect shape

Perfect color

Was a right warning

Though it needed interpretation

 

So desert prophecies go

Many are clear

Read the mothers

Many are understood in a hermit’s cell

A coracle against the world’s tide

And is only useful there

 

The rest might speak to us,

Eventually

Breaking from a timeless place

Into an houred day

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://lifeondoverbeach.wordpress.com/2013/06/04/amma-theodora-this-present-age-is-a-storm/

 

 

 

The Banshee Cries

The Banshee Cries

 

I split the night, I know

I want to

Further chaos into silent

Human sleep

 

I have neither quiet

Nor rest

Why should you?

 

And when my piercing

Work is done

And I’ve coursed through

Your family

 

I’ll come for you

You won’t see though

You will hear

And maybe at last

Listen

 

Too late to fix your

Prophecy

 

That’s done:

 

And you will come with me

To a place

Where hellish noise is

All you know

 

You,

Betraying man

Who spoke

Curses in love

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