The Glory in the Choir
Have you ever been
In the room
To sit
Almost to rest
To hear holy music
The singers
Other instruments
Our happening
Ticketed
Or happenstance
To Be there
As
A live performance
Shall we say
Have you ever got
To listen
In the room
For I have not
I have either been
Singing with
Them
Too
Or heard it
From the TV
Radio
Or disc
Oh
Dear
What I have missed
I mean
Being inside of it
Is grand
Where there is
A mingling
Of discipline and joy
Concern
For pitch
And complementing others
Trying to watch
The director
Not for approval
But a downbeat
So there is
That limitation
If to call it
Limitation
I don’t get to be out there
Simply
Not minding my place
For where I am
And who I am
Is challenged not
To matter
There simply
Is the pulse
Of the music for
A heart
No Tin Man
Should object
For here it is
We’ll stay
Our hearts are here
Listen
The notes are vessels
Sound is circulation
What we see
Can matter
Too
Shapes in the shadows
Unselfconscious
The light is dim
Here
While the light up there
That’s where it has to be
And really
Where
The glory is
For us
We can pretend
Maybe
In dim light
Or starker shadow
What we hear
That’s for the world
Might or must
Also be
For us
C L Couch
Photo by Dieter K on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Invitationing
x
It is a gray day
Perfect for
The Spirit to come in
x
A visit by a fire
With the Fire
An easy day
Made glorious
Through interaction
With the presence
Of the Lord
x
Hosted by
The human heart
Watched over
By the human mind
x
The visit lasts forever
Or it may
It depends upon the labor
Of the Spirit
And our own
To relent
To the exchange
Timeless
Over time
x
C L Couch
x
x
x
(x = space)
x
x
fit for Eden
x
the egret spreads its wings
to the glory of God
its long neck and dagger beak
and claw will hunt
for Jesus’ sake
and in the spirit of the Lord
it will eat without thanks
all organs churning
in a Genesis of calling
and of impulse
the egret is its own sense of wonder
without apology
(either kind)
or gratitude
it because it is
because God made it so
then left it to the sky,
the water, and the land
a true denizen of Earth
the wonder and rightful holder of
first promises
x
C L Couch
x
x
A Great Egret preens its feathers at Freshwater Lake in Cairns Australia.
Photo by David Clode on Unsplash
Centenary Lakes Nature Play Space, Edge Hill, Australia
x
(x = space)
x
x
Angel Thieves
x
A metaphor
For God and God’s arrival
Is a thief in the night
A strange metaphor
But apt
(regardless of
negative connotation)
We cannot plan for the intrusion
While the thief doubles
The confusion of nighttime,
Which is to say
Without light,
It seems
x
But the thief may
Plan
And, I suppose, typically does
The mortal thief may or may not
Succeed in a theft,
Though we can surmise
That God as thief
Would do pretty well
x
But what would God have
To steal?
God made everything
And thereby own
Except one thing maybe
That is human will
x
Perhaps, then,
God comes to steal
Us
Steal us away
As a rescue
Then take us to paradise
Where no earthly
Theft or other sort of brigandry
Can harm us
x
Where we are loved
Without shame or abrogation,
Where we might forgive
A thief who steals us
This way
x
I don’t know if we’ll miss possessions
There,
Even the ones with stories
Maybe we’ll have new ones, maybe not
But as we are created in the image,
As is said,
We might have a share in everything
That lasts without corruption
Our new homes, our new bodies
Everything will last,
While life is perfectly dynamic
There
x
Angel agencies defend us
Angel agents thieve us home
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Chirag Nayak on Unsplash
x
Returning Gifts
Praise the Lord
And all that is in me praise the Lord
Or something like that
How can I praise such a thing as God
When I am such a thing as me?
To God be the glory
How can I glorify
When I am so small,
And my voice is broken?
I know the story of the smallest angel
In the movie, Fred Gwynne as
Mentor angel talks of his mother’s
Brown bread, when all
Were mortal
But in the young one
(newly angelified)
There is purity
And innocence to give
As gifts in the small box emblemize
What have I like these?
And wouldn’t I look at you
To say there is so much
Because there is—I
Guess I need to understand
That everything with life has worth
Even if itself it were a gift
I can turn it over
(so can you)
And that’s the act of service
And of love
C L Couch
Image by Marc Pascual from Pixabay
The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell (1946)
the law of glory
who made autumn glorious?
a final, phoenix flourish before winter
who gave the colors
then must take them back
it is a way
with the discipline of divinity, I guess
I was not asked
I’d make it color all year round,
which would tyrannize the summer
and relegate winter sameness
to memory’s dust-catch
good that I’m not creator, then
I’d hash the seasons
(even in the south it would not be safe)
lose the patterns
for
remaking life in temperate parts
year-round
I’d wreck the year
and then we’d need a
God to save
when rescue is enough
most every day
quiet my reckoning, then
keep the seasons in-between as they are
let peace prevail in middlin’-parts
for better reasons
c l couch
Mehr News Agency – Golestan dabbed in Autumn colors
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