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two poems about angels

two poems about angels

I’ve been writing a series of psalms; two of these turn out being about angels—description, speculation—hoping your approval

psalm 19

your angel watches
with
all the miracle of senses
while
I sleep
when that should happen
in
the turmoil
like trying to rest aboard a ship
at night
when the sea rages
and turns
in all
directions but the way
toward home

the angel keeps
by
mission
not
to render magic but
to let the world have its way
much
of the time until correction
then
and final revelation

and
thank you for such helpers
messengers
to each
announcers to all

and
shall we know you through this
kind who
by order and by wonder
care

and so magnificent
part of
the host and we might serve there
too
after apocalyptic times

but I was thanking
you
for helping while I should sleep
and your helper
with

connecting
me
to you then
as this may happen all
of us

help in all hours by
the God who by God is and has
a servant
to
us all

for our
return

psalm 20

your angels are so powerful
and
having names

we know a few

while power has no value
until assigned by you
and
by your arrangement we
decide
to keep
to use

then the beings close to you
until
we arrive
have chosen how to
serve and how
to shine
for
good or for ill
for some decide

to break away vainly
and
aggressively unsatisfied and so
take followers
to
make a separate heaven
so that there is
a war
to undermine one realm or the other

and over time and
for all we
know is raging yet
since
who can tell an age that is
celestial by
mortal

and so a mystery among
the mysteries
and
if so tied then chained
to worldly ways

so that
the war come down through us
in all temptations and
dimensions
‘til
an ending
whose moment’s also vague
regarding
when

the keening tragedy
as
such creative missives fight
with all the majesty
and
muscle that each has and
then to set
one against another and so many

some try to describe until all of us are
after
when with all the conflicts done
deciders and
survivors
here
say this is the count of heaven
and
mourn and then we must count joy

c l couch

photo by Cosmin Gurau on Unsplash

(spaces between parts go on, sigh, provided by WordPress)

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look forward in anger

look forward in anger


awkwardness and shame
and so I force
myself
to show up at things

a gathering of nearly any kind
friends
church
the
store
and I hadn’t had this thought ‘til now

years of wishing
I suppose
as I had been reinforced
to be
alone
and to an extent perceived maybe
by
the company I kept

though Jesus knew sinners
after all
and
Jesus knew me

somehow it’s a child’s feeling
too
perhaps
due to how I was treated
how
some awful thoughts took hold and so
would not let go

and maybe I’ll be free
someday
maybe the demon will be forced to leave
since
it can’t be comfortable in there with
all
the praying with the supplication

yet
there are claws as hooks and
to ask
how pleasant is a life a hell
disappointed by
one’s lord

so the demon will stay
encouraging
the awkwardness and shame
not
to mention all the anger over Prufrockian
plotting and
not hearing angels
sing


c l clcouch


 
a reference or an allusion is made to “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” a modern poem by T. S. Eliot in which the protagonist quests to find mythic meaning, that is, to find something beyond oneself (yet connected to)

there is also an opposite use of the title Look Back in Anger by John Osborne, a play from 1956 about post-war life with meaning

while the feelings plus divisions mentioned in the poem are my own


photo by Tomas Trajan on Unsplash

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2 poems about angels

2 poems about angels


angels at the apocalypse

they all be working
I imagine
though I guess there could be some
held in reserve

I don’t know if our angels will have time for us
but then
I don’t know how many there are
even
if a third fell

how do we count these
and I doubt on
the head of a pin

Jesus said
legions
but he was audience-aware

maybe we’ll have our guardians on
assignment
still
with enough to fill the final battlefield
archangels
leading
taking care of their eldritch own

and all good beings might
weep
in
conquest
and by victory


ourfield

the wings are never long enough
not wide enough
not
wild enough

you’ll note
that birds
except the hummingbird phenomenon
tend toward having
twice
with length of wings as of
their bodies and how
much
more majestic
       fearful
wings proportional unfolding from the centers
of the angels

we rarely indicate their power
or
the awe they should invoke
if
a fraction of the might of
their maker


c l couch


photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash

“Angels in the Outfield,” a story by Richard Conlin, which began a film franchise

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how are you God


how are you God

how are you
Lord
how are your angels
how is heaven
these days
ten thousand years a day
our songs could
count

transparent gold and as a metaphor
or actual
I don’t get
it
and
don’t need to

so much about eternity
honestly
it can
overwhelm of course by normal reckoning
though
you understand our senses
having you know
making these
and
eternity to ponder

thank you
Lord and I might ask
for
help with the imponderables
not
only to apprehend but
to carry
by
the muscles
outside
inside
that we have

c l couch


The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.
Revelation 21:21
(NIV)

photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash

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delight by angels


delight by angels
(on and in a wintry day in the Northeast of here)

God
and
do your angels like the snow
do they runnel along branches
covered
       are the trees
       and they

make snow-themselves
upon the ground

or
do they slide through nebulae
on a break from
helping in the birth of stars
and
then to mourn the passing
of those
dying

even if there’s balance in the energy
and mass
you know
of
star-stuff

do angels delight
and
I so deeply hope they do
for
all their service
over eons
between Earth and heaven
and the war besides
which
they endured

genderless or genderful
they know
the universe
in
which they work by assignments
and I hope
on their own to play

c l couch


photograph by Klim Musalimov at Unsplash

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an intrusion of angels


an intrusion of angels

a well-written angel in the story
and
how many stories
“Littlest”
“The Bishop’s Wife”

Clarence
you know

we know

also in A Wrinkle
and in a short story by Donaldson
a while ago
I read
if
starting and ending mid-
sentence
and with the might and glory
of
that being only appearing in the moment
when most needed
then
to humble
if
homeless into the next assignment

and I belabor this
(and
these)
because it seems we like the angels
or
we fear them
or
we need them

c l couch


“Unworthy of the Angel” by Stephen R. Donaldson—I looked it up to remember

the word for a group of angels, well, there are several words—choir, host, flight, pinion, and legion—and I made up intrusion

photograph is by Dennys Hess at Unsplash

(oh, the prompt is a depiction of an angel, so I believed or decided, in a teleplay)

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player-manager


player-manager
(sequel to yesterday’s)

if demons can get in
then angels
must
their being two sets of choices
of
the same
which leaves the ministry of saints
on which to
suppose
and yet
angels in our thoughts
waiting
like service in the outfield
and
aren’t we the luckiest alive
by
baseball
some would say an angel game
requiring grace
with
lots of space
for spirit-lives to play
while
angel-thoughts might not go ‘round
the bases though there’s
strategy
at
bat and in the field
isn’t there
then
angels and demons could play
to work out the apocalypse
not
that they will
the way
in the northwest
or
southwest
depending
a border dispute was worked out
Canada with USA
by
the score after nine innings
and
as Thurber says
you could look it
up

c l couch


(sorry, angels got me thinking about baseball, maybe because of the movies

and my dad, from Olympia, told the story about the local/international border dispute that was decided by a baseball game)

photo by Ryan Arnst on Unsplash
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chapbooklet for wrapping up the week


chapbooklet for wrapping up the workaday week
(should you work this kind of week with its work days)


Guide

I’ve been on trails
And there were guides
And other sites
With guides

Though Mammoth Cave
Through the National Aquarium

I thought I’d like to be a guide
And applied
And got the job
Fort Necessity
But
Too far away
And I was unwell
And so stayed put
Sigh

We think of guides
They do their jobs and then
We put them
Aside
To lead our guideless lives
Except
By ourselves
And anyone who tells us what
To do

And we obey
Or otherwise we go along


Conductoring

I like conducting
I discovered rather late

I have good sense of rhythm
And a good
Sense of pitch

I have directed groups
But did not have the chance
Realities
Subsuming
To get the training I would need
To do it and be taken
Seriously

So I do the phantom thing
As others do
Conduct when no one’s looking

There might be music on
Or all the pieces
All the voices
All the movements
In my head


Southpaw

I am left-handed
Which
Yes
I’m told means I live
In my right mind

Statistically
(I suppose actuarially)
I
Understand
We lead shorter lives
Up to
Five years less

Which seems unfair
For all the terrific baseball-pitching
We
Provide


Guidance Counselor

I think that God guides
Though I’m not sure
Although
Before my doubt should intervene
My instincts
Worldly
Ego-driven
Take over all the choices

Sometimes I withhold
The choice
Long enough to hear
Or note the tug
Of the angel voice
Or pull
To indicate

This is what I should
Do
Where I should go

So I don’t know
It’s not
Negotiation
For we’re not in any
Way
In equal places
Equal parts

And yet
It matters how I listen
How
I respond

My decisions
(predestination notwithstanding)
Seem
To matter

Which might we say
From time to time
To listen to
Your know
The better angels
The other ones
Fallen like us
And yet for that kinship
We must look
To rise
Like the ones who fly


Roll of Thunder

First the lightning
Then the crash right after
Lightning
Close

Then the count took place
Increased
As hours passed
Flashes
Persisted

Though the numbers
Said the lightning had moved on

Inside
No lights flickered
Which
In a dismal state
Added balm to despair’s
Ennui


We Are Closed
(open to what’s next)

The hours close in
The last of the workweek
In my
Current culture

There will be a kind of ending
Paced by exhalations
As we leave
Where we have been for
Hours
Naturally enough

And on our way
(exhaling)
Toward home
Or pubs
Or whatever satisfied
Distracts
Over the connotative weekend


C L Couch


Have a splendid weekend!
(should you have the weekend)


Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash

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Promised Responding


Promised Responding

And what
Shall
Happen
When we hear
Like Horton
(only
louder)*
We are here
Meaning
The host of heaven
Small and gargantuan
Depending on
Dimension
And
Dimension’s need
Ready
When we beckon
Or soaring ready
In flight mode
Or on the ground in
Angel
Ranks
Maybe loving us
On fine days
Merely
Or to have to march
(or land)
Upon
Megiddo
To realize apocalypse
And fight for us on
Our side
Meaning the side of all
The believers
Not through possession of
The pride
Of
Victory
So much as that love
By appreciation on
That fine day

C L Couch


(Horton Hears a Who is cited)

Photo by Katarina Dodig on Unsplash 
“My favourite street corner in Dubrovnik” (photographer’s caption).

*(still, still small voice)


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