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





When I say I

Do I mean you?

I think so

Better, I mean we,

Which is why to write this down

Oh, there’s an aiming for

Catharsis, I suppose

Even the wonderment in sharing

Engagement, interaction

Argument of the classical kind

We are dealing in close matters,

After all


But this can’t be exercise for me

No, not nearly enough

I’d keep it and never let it out

There is or should be a need to catch it

An interest in lifting the glove

I will do what I can

And hope you’ll join me in the yard

Where we can wad this up

Listen to it krinkle

Who knows, there might be have some weight

To throw it like a ball


It shouldn’t stove our fingers

Not for that reason


We can play catch until

It’s time to go inside

Where I’ll write something new

You can, too

I won’t persuade you

We’ll have more to talk about

And more with which to play


C L Couch



BTS Pop Store, Paris, France

Photo by Rots Marie-Hélène on Unsplash





Who has no voice

Has had it taken away


We cry when born

We speak into the world


Who might grab that

With metal hands

And plastic intention


Our first talent


Who has nothing

Will take yours, take



Save for the parable

And prophecy of Nathan

In which one who has

Too much

Takes more


Takes yours, takes mine


C L Couch

C is for Chorus

C is for Chorus


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us


Human players are tragic:

Even in our comedies, vicious


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us


What we see can blind, but

Unlike Oedipus can’t self-maim


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us


Our role is comment for you

Who attend our seeing-place


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us


Like Antigone, we’re horrified

In forsaking our heroic dead


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us


Cynics abandon Parnassus;

We will stay, the human voice


We bend our knee to no one;

No one surrenders to us

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