I talk you talk we'll talk



And, But, Or, Nor, For, Yet, So

(x = space)



And, But, Or, Nor, For, Yet, So


What do I do

When God is gone?

A question I don’t have to ask

Because it doesn’t happen

God doesn’t go away

I do

I go away when I want

To think of someone else

Of something that I want

That I shouldn’t have

When I need

Or presume to need

Enough to bump out God

From my awareness,

Which qualifies the need

As something else


This is straightforward:

I choose to have God in my life

Closer to me, anyway

Since God is there



Weeping or laughing at

What we do

Preparing for Parousia


Cherishing each moment

The now we have

We linear beings

Meaning for us

It’s a saving moment

To a saving moment


God is close

God is inherent

In electrons

And cellular nuclei

God will become more obvious

As we wish

As we choose

As we ask it so

(the asking’s prayer)

The devil has many ways

To snare us away

It is agenda

Of the kind that pushes will

And understanding

Inside a frame that illustrate

An attitude

Against people and the


The Earth we stand or glide

Or rest upon

All of which, the devil says,

Is unimportant

When favoring


Unhuman strategies


That only matter as

Winning so that the rest

Are losers


Who is lost?

The burden’s hard

The burden’s easy

It’s paradox

Of faith

Of belief in God who’s only known

Through evidence unseen

Who wins a case through this?


Such contradictions

Such opposites

The world we love must be eschewed

If we would live, there is first

The inevitability of dying


No thank you

Or thank you

Our will to embrace

To choose

To live in love

With the good in everything

With faith

And hard belief that has gentle edges

In what we show each other

(as in manifest)

In what we sense

And how we deal

With everyone

With everything

By which and in which

A spirit accompanies

For good

For upbuilding

For faith

And, yes, for love


We live in hope

That God is there

That God is there when we return

Or when we turn around

In attitude


Sorry and a new embrace

Of faith

Gove love this Earth

And the extraordinary creatures

That you’ve made

That is each of us

Not that we are perfect

Or perfectly anything

But in everyone

And everything

The three remain close by

The three remain close by


C L Couch



By Finoskov – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,


Three, One, Three Again

(x = space)



sorry, long



Three, One, Three Again



Creator, savior, guide

Maybe I understand the trinity

Maybe not

They are lively

And immediate

They are at work all the time

And understand rest

They commend a sabbath

And the days on either side

They are all efficiency

And all love

We have access to them

And, as teachers and advisors

Not to mention


They nudge us

All the time



What kind of commanders

Legions at their call

They give us time

And patience

Before anything like

A final battle

Victory assured

I mean in this moment

We wait and wait and wait

Or, worse, deny

While they withhold rejection

Until the moment

Past the moment

Before judgment

Should decide


They give us time

Keeping everything at bay,

Which is love

All love

Splicing revelation

Tailoring salvation

For each one

Each encounter

How wondrously and thunderously


What kind of God

What parts of God

Can do this

And then do it



Hear, O Israel

And all other nations,

Catch them in the human heart

Live as one

Each one as all

Repair the ruin of the Earth

There is so much faith

And good work to do


They are mild

They are also Armageddon

What kind of love

What kind of God

Three then one

Then three again

They live in constant relationship

So should we

Within the parts

Of ourselves,

Each one

And then



More than one in one

We can have that, too:

Remember might

Remember love

Both mingled in each moment


And slow water

Everything that moves

And tries to rest

They show us the way

To give us something every day

Then just after our last day

After work

And battling

And sabbathing

To lead us home


C L Couch



Maybe it’s not my tradition, but I mean to be respectful of the Shema.


Temple of Edfu, Egypt

Photo by Jeremy Zero on Unsplash





Blue is a magic number

I know, Schoolhouse Rock fans

It should be three

And it is

But sometimes associations need

To take a second seat

In favor of new leanings

Today is Saturday

It’s orange


C L Couch



Petr Kratochvil (Website)


three poems about light

three poems about light

by C L Couch



The Light We Make


White lights

Illuminate too much

I don’t like them

In headlights or in overhead neon,


Where is the dawn

That softly cascades on all

Things below

If it’s an emergency,

That’s one thing

But for day-to-day, why

Can’t we have gold

Freely delivered from

Heaven’s treasure

Or more homely manufacturing?


Better the dawn, I think,

For inspiration

A glimpse of visioning like


A reason at the start of day




Galadriel Comes to Rivendell

(a Middle-Earth lyric)


In a penultimate age

Galadriel comes to Rivendell

To toast with Elrond

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

Whom shell they be meeting soon

On the first shore

Of unending

Once upon a timeless time

And everlasting


Well done, the half-elf declares

I knew you were hiding by

The gate

Hidden by my host, she corrects

They would not bear

To evidence my presence

So far from the

Golden wood of home

Where, alas, Celeborn remains


But ready, comes the declaration

From the host, back to the

Final battle,

Always ready, and she smiles


All our allies had not yet


I would have gone to them


You would have commended

Or commanded all of us there,

I wonder


I would not have said a



The authority of your magic

Is the message

In elvish silence


Even better, I think?

She sipped


And so they talked, old friends

As much as majesty and crusade allow

While the night inside faded

Outside a new day already


That would no longer know them

Might they leave


Yet a hint of Hollin

Goodness might remain

Where they once passed


[all the rest is benediction and epilogue]


So their time

Our time

An age between

Rises at dawn

Under a yellow, mortal sun

No longer blessed

By characters

And presence


A benediction before

They leave

All doors open wide

To welcome gratitude

Or rudeness

Mortals’ choice


An eagle’s blessing

Then all the keepers of blue flame

And light we cannot bear

Are gone






The lights of heaven

Are too much for me

I cannot manage

Pure light that has other



I need light gobos through wisping clouds

And trees,

Dressed in motley by

All earthly forms and shadows


In the shade

Is fine for me

Though not in formless dark,



Readiness for paradise

Means new lenses, I suppose

Like focusing kaleidoscopes

Or tracing light through prisms

I will adjust

Or be adjusted

By perfect agencies



Who see all clear

For ages, now

So will you

So will I






Mid-Atlantic States’ Autumn Afternoon

Mid-Atlantic States’ Autumn Afternoon


Soon it’s three o’clock:


My favorite hour at this time

of year,


when daylight starts further

to fall, because it’s set to do so


When stark-yellow transports

will go by


smooth and grumbly under


billow-clouds with cotton faces



They say, laughing while we

run for porches that have



Enjoy this grey day


Its lack of definition presses

romance through everything



an amber sun

Burnt Cabins, Pennsylvania

Burnt Cabins,



We’ve suffered

A local tragedy

That might never

Be explained

Even if a reason’s



We have a super



First “super


Is the Pennsylvania

Turnpike, and

A retired trooper

Of the state

Police tried a

Robbery at one

Of the stations



Between small

Towns in the

Allegheny Mountains,

Two workers

Are taken, held

By his gun,

Until the truck

Arrives to gather

Monies from the

Turnpike tolls


The theft occurs

And fails, the

Captives shot

And killed; the


Suspect is killed,



Serving troopers

Prepared and

assigned, had

Arrived to restore

An aberrant,

Criminal scene

Back to ordinary


Nothing ordinary

Anymore here:

With tears, the

Deaths are told


Each word

Sounding like

The heavy note

Of a mourning



Sadness ringed

Round sadness,

As voices split

To tell


It will be a

Story of


And the sorrow

Brought to many

Kinds of

Families, and

It might pass

From focused



But here was a

Neighbor tragedy

On persons who

Will not

Appear in their

Expected places

At work or at



And others living

Who will never

Be the same


A chance for

Money maybe

Too easy a

Reason for all

That befell

Close by—I

Tend to believe


Something else

About surrendering

Life happened


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