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Bible Angels

Bible Angels

 

If I were in a market place

Four thousand years ago

And an angel came to me,

Would I laugh as Sarah laughed?

It would be understandable

 

We try it now

In comedies

Sometimes in melodrama

But it’s a tragedy of belief to have

The recognition come too late,

And so it never does

Tell Sodom and Gomorrah

And days before the rain

That meant the ark

Must be sealed

I’m sorry, but sometimes

There’s providence in this

 

But after rain

I have an angel on my shoulder

A miracle in my pocket

And King Jesus is my all

So that when I sing it

Sing it, too

There’s a

Choral host somewhere

Joining in

 

It was an angel, ordered

Painting red the lintels

Who lived inside the clouds

And pillars of fire by night

 

They bear news

It isn’t always good

Fear not

Have faith

We are nothing but the thing with feathers

Inside there is nothing but

The will of God

 

We warred in heaven

Tempered is the remnant

Choice assignments

Sometimes we act with tears

We all know why

There are lamentations

 

We will cry the end

We’ve been there

And cry once more for joy

In what is found afterward

For our keeping

 

C L Couch

 

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul . . .

Emily Dickinson

 

 

Photo by Allan Rolim on Unsplash

Paraná, Londrina, Brasil

 

3

Rescue Me

Rescue Me

 

Once, I was in trouble

It was fixed, I don’t know how

Someone appeared

 

And kept the fall from hurting worse

Somehow in fact

Abbreviated all the crisis

 

Pulled my substance

Soul-enfleshed

Back from the next edge, so

 

That I might go home

One more time that day

And with my spirit

Lean into tomorrow

 

I don’t think the saints are gone

Or angels, either

Like the elves from Middle-Earth

 

We won’t need

White shores

While we are defended, now

 

C L Couch

 

 

Georgia National Guard from United States – Air Rescue, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70915161

 

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Lent 10

Lent 10

 

2

 

First, though,

We must have him

In the wilderness

Forty days because forty’s

Important

 

In a place for unbelievers

(for heathens dwell upon a heath)

 

Nowhere to rest well

To drink, to bathe

To have the food that comes

From green and ready plants and trees

 

He is there, and

The wild

Must consume him

Yet he is so vast inside

He has room for it and so much more

 

The space of all the world

And the needs for which it

Cries

 

He is not alone

One other must be there

An adversary

Who must tempt the man

And the child untested

In the world

 

Make bread out of rock

Throw your tired body headlong

Into nihilism

Worship me so I can give you

Empire

Of the strong, such as

Alexander took

 

We know how it ends

Jesus cites

Adjures the tempter and

His own need

The thing must depart

The entity, the plan

(wile away another)

Angels visit angels

This act is done

There is no more to say

Or learn

Time to visit other withered places

 

C L Couch

 

 

Hotchkiss, Jedediah, 1828-1899 – https://www.civilwar.org/learn/maps/sketch-battle-wilderness-position-2nd-corps-anv-thursday-may-5th, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63245863

 

0

All at Once Everywhere

All at Once Everywhere

(for Christmas day, anytime)

 

It’s a holiday everywhere

Except where it’s not

Sometimes in some places that

Is normal

Some places not so much

 

Where there is suffering

Where there is illness without comfort

Where there is nothing but alone

 

And, you know,

Christ came for these

An infant will grow up into infinity

We will treat him horribly

He will return, because he loves us

More than that

He is here

He is with us, now

And all the angels

With the saints

That’s us

 

C L Couch

 

 

suesnyder722 / 8 images

https://pixabay.com/en/frost-winter-morning-snow-season-633826/

 

2

Night in a Small Town in Western Asia

Night in a Small Town in Western Asia

(Advent, anytime)

 

We think of Jesus born at night

Though he might have happened

Any time of day

But we carry into our services

The scene of nighttime

With the shepherds

 

It’s good

It is romantic

And nearly always it is quiet

As the time of birth is recalled, near

 

We pray

We sing

We watch the candles in the room

And, if a flame is passed,

For hair that might be singed

 

In the afternoon inside the stable

Before angels appear

Declaring peace

With a call for good will,

 

The parents must be tired

Mary must recover

Their shelter is so rude,

Would they welcome visitors?

 

Maybe the shepherds could

Be all right

They are simpler, frankly most likely unrefined

More importantly, they have

Traversed in fear and

Aspect of wonder

 

I recall the gifts from shepherds

In the mystery play

Have a bob of cherries

Offers one of them

To the child who is a savior

Who says they don’t know

The true nature of majesty?

 

Then the sky is unveiled, and angels turn

Like diamonds in a jeweler’s light

 

coda

 

Isn’t there something that happens to us

Sometimes

That puts the rest into perspective

If only briefly?

 

For a moment, the created universe made sense

It had been fashioned for perfection

For the joy of seasons

Provision unrelenting

Delight in foraging each day

For new phenomena to complete the senses

 

In this night,

It was returned

A promise announced in the sky

An old one, a new one

Everything at first and last as it should be

 

C L Couch

 

 

By Robert Stinnett from Boonville, MO, USA – Small town Friday night, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69141495

 

0

Philemon’s Pitcher

Philemon’s Pitcher

(Advent, anytime)

 

I pour water from the Brita

And think of Philemon’s pitcher

A wonderful story

I’m not sure about the judgey part

But the provision part

Is glorious

If you don’t know

(and if you do),

There was an old couple in

Still more ancient Greece

Living near a town that was

Beautiful in appearance, though the

People there were

Took glory too far

They were vain and unwelcoming

Of those who were not they

They lived well

Strangers were not taken in

Nor impoverished neighbors,

Such as Bacchus and Philemon

 

They lived poorly

In a hovel

They had worked hard,

But now there was nothing

And one evening they set out

The last of what they had

For they would surely starve by

The next day

A cluster of worn grapes

A pitcher filled with drops of bitter wine

They last meal together

 

Then two persons appeared in the

Doorway,

And they asked for comforts

Food and afterward a place to sleep

Wife and husband exchanged a glance

Then apologized

To strangers

We have little space

And our food is poor

But we are glad to share with you

If you will, be welcome here

With us

 

The visitors were pleased and thanked their hosts

And sat down to eat and drink

What might not even share among

The four of them

But when

 

The wine poured from the pitcher,

It was wondrous

Rich in red and filled with

Savor once tried

And when the grapes were offered,

They appeared full richly on the plate

And were sweet to taste

And satisfying

And the four at table feasted

On small miracles

 

Once sated

All lay down to rest

What coverings there were,

Bacchus and Philemon presented

To their guests

 

And in the morning

The couple woke beneath marvelous cloths

And their raiment appeared richly sewn

Their hovel was a house

Of polished marble, the furnishings all

Castle-grand

 

They walked outside into the sun

And in the valley where the town of

The conceited lay,

There was now a lake

Whose surface shown in judgment

Nothing more was seen

Then they knew

If not before

That they had been visited by gods

Who rendered service rendered

From the welcoming

Like that of kings and queens

And thought unasked for

Reward turned into recompense

 

And so we know

Something of receiving strangers

Who give no cause but need

Be inclined to welcome them

For we might be entertaining angels,

Unaware

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://grabcad.com/library/pitcher-of-wine

 

0

God’s Particles

God’s Particles

 

What if they can dance

On the head of a pin

Would you

I’d like to think I might

 

What if they are atomic, subatomic

Then they could dance with partners of

Orbiting electrons

The matter, light and dark, of the universe theirs

While the music set by God

Plays on

It’s blood circulation to us

Its own miracle

 

For them, it is the reason

They were made

Missives in themselves

Stepping to the rhythm of divine

 

Will, submitting without thought

To a plan they can announce

With or without understanding

(their will is not involved)

Until all things are known,

And love will have the reason

That

In this moment doesn’t bear

In their slightest

Instep action

 

They dance, what kind of substance

And while they dance

The universe is delight

 

C L Couch

 

 

drew Roberts

4096 Naked Ghosts Mash de Roach on the Head of a Pin

https://www.flickr.com/photos/126739923@N05/14674933788

Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0)

 

1

Victimhood

Victimhood

(a reverie, a study)

 

Evil is too easy

Is it really?

Maybe on the inside

A quick turn, then stay

In that direction

Me, first

You don’t exist

Everything is fodder

For possession

And control

The very stuff of the universe

Should be mine

 

And then it’s gone

I have nothing

There’s a lesson in legacy

The tyrant is forgotten

Except for notes that tell the truth

And finally

The evil ones are burned

Like autumn leaves in the backyard

(how it used to be)

Effigy and memory

 

And was this easy?

Yes, and lazy, too

Everything subverted to

A contract with the luck of the devil

A genie who grants wishes and

Scratch-like

Always laughs the last

Because the house of hell always wins

Once entered by

The gullible who think

That profit is a plot

Hard work is another matter for

Good people

The suckers, so I always thought

The despot

And now I am ash

Blown off the foot in the tread

Of someone righteous

Whose agencies are angels

A surrogacy of judgment

 

My victims

Lazarus

Living in a better house, the house of God forever

While I diminish

To a speck

And then am nothing

No matter left

Nothing

 

C L Couch

 

 

Christopher Michel

Ramesseum in Egypt

 

1

Philemon’s Pitcher

Philemon’s Pitcher

 

I wished for more

I prayed for miracle

A job, a home

Companions

A car to get me there and

Back again

For clothes that set and

Looked good

Well, good enough

Food that might hold me

And I might enjoy

 

And what happened

With these petitions I don’t

Know,

But I think when at I’m the gate or

Once inside

I might be told:

 

Did you not notice the extra

Potato in the bag

The extra gasoline already in the tank

The fifteen minutes more

Than should not have been available

The one who held the door and

Was never seen again?

 

The miracles of stories must be large,

I guess

Miracles as molecules

Go uncounted

Unconsidered

And those in between

Not for the book but nonetheless

The provenance of angels who

Entertained us unaware

 

C L Couch

 

 

http://www.icollector.com/ancient-greek-wine-jug-300BC-2280081_i8229518

ancient pitcher

 

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