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Diocletian Martyr

(x = space)

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Diocletian Martyr

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In my cell I see a bird

I think the bird is

The spirit of God

I don’t know for sure

Until the bird speaks,

Speaks to me

Without words

This is a real cell

A cell from which I will be taken

To die

At the hands of one

Who can command it

Though cannot command anything

About my soul

God has come to comfort me

To tell me I belong to God

And will be meeting

With God, soon

In a closer way

I could not know on Earth

The pain might be quick

It might be long

The bird does not tell me,

Imperial will having its own way

Despotic yet

Graced with freedom

As is mine*

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I could have been quiet

I needn’t have said anything

When questioned

Or at the corner

Where I told the story

Of God’s goodness,

Standing on the edge

Of all I knew

And soon would lose

I don’t know what happens next

In terms of what I gain

Maybe a mansion

Maybe nothing

I don’t permit myself an expectation

But relationship

Knowing my loved ones

Once here,

Beholding curing

Of my enemies

And me of them

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Great harmony

Before the Lord

And the Lord

Who might dance with me

While the angels sing

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C L Couch

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*(in freedom

   maybe grace

   we are all despots)

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Looking Up

Photo by Prince David on Unsplash

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6

An Appointment with God

(x = space)

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An Appointment with God

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I don’t’ have so many appointments

Lately,

For which I’m grateful

In a time of my kind of PTSD,

It’s the weight of stressors

I don’t have to bear

So much

x

To get there

To show up on time

To be here when I’m called

To have everything I

Might be needing

Relieved of this

Makes for a better day

x

I’d like to live easy

I don’t have much

But to have time

And on the flip side

Lack of bother

On the A side

Coffee and toast

And morning

And a day for you

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Someday will arrive

I keep forgetting

You will arrive

To take me to home

By then,

Maybe I shall be glad

Meanwhile, I keep my faith

With me and then I

Hope with

The Amish

Who say, one by one,

I hope so

When asked about assurance

Of salvation

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C L Couch

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I think it was the poet Julia Kasdorf, as I may have said before, who told me about the typical response when Amish are asked the salvific question.

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Waves

Photo by Bernd Dittrich on Unsplash

Frankreich

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How They Carry the Good News

(x = space)

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How They Carry the Good News

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I’m not sure what I’ll

Write today,

But there will be something

Something about me

And you

God and the whole world,

Which we sing is in

God’s hands

x

I suppose an earthquake

Might mean

That something is slipping through

The fingers,

A flood might mean

Too many tears

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The birds might carry news

Carried by the wind,

Another agency

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They hear the talking

In the trees

And what stones say

Between buildings

Some shining,

Some in ruins

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I guess there are words

From all over Earth

While the moon

Sings in response

And the stars

Oscillate their notes as well

For any

Who are listening

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Let those who hear,

May—not

With ears

But with supernal apparatus

That repression

Or suppression might affect

But is with us, still

Too deep, perhaps

Though there is

A law of freedom

That

I’ve heard about

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C L Couch

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“How They Carried the Good News from Ghent to Aix” is a poem by Robert Browning.

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Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash

At a gymkhana show in Warner Springs. These two make a formidable duo, galloping across the arena and then coming to a sliding stop to make a sharp turn around a pole (out of range to the left). They take my breath away.

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Law of Love

(x = space)

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Law of Love

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What does

God want of us?

Through the prophets,

We are told

To walk humbly

With an arch concern for

Justice,

More generally

To repent

And turn toward God,

The people

And the nation

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Through Moses

We are given

Laws from God

On Sinai,

Starting with

The ten laws that

We know,

Most of which

Tell us what not

To do

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God speaks

Through angels

And sometimes

Maybe

God speaks through us

In smaller ways,

Perhaps

One to another

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The measure,

The pendulum

That swings with ease

When set with

Accord

Should be love

That might be difficult

And hard

And sacrificial

But moves with equanimity

Respecting all

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Sometimes in silence

Bearing nonetheless

The message

Of the prophets

Of the angels

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All enact

The law of love

(James would say

the law

of freedom)

And thus

Are closing in

On what God wants

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C L Couch

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12 Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, 13 because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

James 2 (Christian New Testament, New International Version)

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The Old Bell

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

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1

“The Rape of the Lock”

(x = space)

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“The Rape of the Lock”

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Is a poem-story

About a theft of hair

(a basis for satire)

From times when

“Rape” meant abduction

(bad enough, though

if you know

The Fantastiks, then

you know)

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Even so, not a good

Word, made worse by

The way we use it

Now—given charge

And change

With reason

Words have power,

Don’t they?  Sometimes

More than action: try

Proclaiming “dictator”

Inside democracy

(listen to the only

speech in Chaplin’s

The Great Dictator)

Or cry “freedom” inside

Tyranny

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Then there’s

“Joy” in a

Cheerless place,

Challenging the time

Another way

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Have a gentle day

And mind (and mine)

Your choice of words, and

Take comfort from

The people with whom

You don’t have to

Fret so much

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C L Couch

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Photo by Kristian Strand on Unsplash

New York, United States

Type

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Pent-Up

Pent-Up

 

I hate the feeling

Nothing good will get out again

I gave up a lot

Not to live this way

And took on therapy and pills

With the condition, breaking surprise,

That tries to kill me every day

Flood my lungs, press the heart

Into submission

Of a final stillness

 

For freedom

I once visited

Because I could

And then again a panther

In a gray-steeled cage

It made the only choice

To live, to pace

In sullen majesty

 

Until finally I saw the jaguar spots

Beneath the black

I knew there was complexity

In what should be

And freely

 

I could cry now (it’s welling up

from a deep place) from ever having

Known the panther

At the zoo, which sounds

Romantic, yes

 

It was released, at last,

Into a habitat, an artificial valley

I live on machines

I guess

We each know something

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Mélody P on Unsplash

 

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A Holiday Carrel

A Holiday Carrel

 

Stacks of books

I’m moving them around

And culling some

To say I have too many is

To understate

They have meaning inside

Also understates

They have meaning on the outside, too

Color, texture, haptic sensations

Simply looking

Reminders that the world

Is bigger than the walls

That freedom is intentional

It takes a process

To be published

 

C L Couch

 

 

Bibliomania

Di tabaluga – Opera propria, GPL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5800206

Da Wikipedia, l’enciclopedia libera.

 

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