Appalachian Highway
Moving life and death back
And forth: death dominated
On an earlier day
With eight persons shot in
Pike County homes, south
Of Columbus
Where the mountains rise
And God looks deep into
Vales
First Day
The first thing I do
Is scope the day
Maybe I suss out
How I’m feeling
Unconsciously, I think
Of God
S: How can you do
With any awareness
An unconscious thing?
How can I not
Look out the window
See the wide dark
Bend of branches
Reaching up toward
Undefined scenery
Behind
And not think about
Even in my fuzzied
State of waking up
Who made it all, the
Unclear parts, too
S: Well
Well, nothing—I
Think of God
And when the light
Gets bigger with
Some yellow, I’ll
Think better
A Memory of Church
The family of God
That is the church
I have a memory:
A small church building
On the edge of town
Maybe on the way
To the next place
Or into the countryside
Or simply on the
Outskirts; and in this
Church, there was
A very pleasant man
The pastor with whom
I had enjoyed an
Ecumenical Bible
Study in the town
I liked that man, and
I liked that church
He and it were simple
(In the best way we
Use that word), set
Apart—the way I
Think the universal
Church should be;
And isn’t—we want
To be in the center of
Town, where everything
Fashionably important
Takes place
We want to be in
And will accommodate
Much about ourselves
So we can be there
Psalm 28
a song when I feel haunted
I need, Lord, your love
Who doesn’t need the love of
God?
And yet I fear
I fear the ghosts that haunt me
From the past into the present
How do you proceed in this
How do you love?
How might I know peace this
Day from all the days wrought
In iron pain, now fully steel-
Dimensional?
You are here, I know
You can bear sinuous demon’s
Presence away, even into
Annihilation
Yet I feel possessed, perhaps in
Lack of faith:
Past wrongs, mine and theirs, that
Aberrate the life that you first
Shaped
Maybe this is why, in life, the (first)
Psalmists say, Make straight your
Way
For the line of majesty arriving as
The lord of care
Travels truly—with economy and
All divine electricity—on the line
Made edged and replete when we
Ally in your design
Ruah
I have a Hebrew
Book; it is
Beautiful
I don’t know Hebrew
(I, feeling like a fool,
Confess)
A few words translated,
Transliterated
Such as ruah
The wind,
The breath
Out of which
Our God
Creates
As I say,
Beautiful
(from a photo-prompt of cows; photo by Annie Spratt)
Meanings
(nebby is evidently a Pittsburgh expression,
a compressing of neighborly and nosey)
definition of a cow: trying to be a horse
of a dog: doesn’t understand the diplomacy of cats
of a cat: one who perceives dogs as pointless
definition of a child: not a miniature adult
of a parent: nervous the length of child-life
a soldier: serving with all there is
definition of democracy: each one matters
of an earth: that without which we do not live
of God: maker; providentially nebby
31 January 2016
(in the global north)
I still wake up with jittery feelings. The sun is bright. The snow is melting down. Maybe I need it gone. But is that the boundary of my fear? I sit and look outside to see the beauty. I am inspired to come back and write a verse of two. Still, fear jumps inside me. At least it doesn’t leap. I’ll feel better, once I write a bit. Drink a hot drink, maybe take a pill or two pills. I know that on a good day my heart still operates in an iffy way. I know that what happened here was momentous. It’s momentous, still, outside. As in ancient Arabian architecture, I cherish space and righter light. Not simply looking out into amorphous glare. Rather the view of a virtuously bright and blue-skied world above with earth of desert browns beneath. Through arches made of genius and of grace, numbering the stars within each stone’s embrace.
I dream this is all easier, if not delightful, in a desert paradisal scene. Where arid becomes beautiful and free air moves through all, spirits borne and carried along. Maybe heaven’s healing wind will pause and wave upon me there, and I will feel and know something of the serene aspect of God.
Too much romance and earthly-bound, I know. But I need this. My fear frankly needs it, as does my hope and peace.
Claustrophobe
Am I trapped on
the second floor?
My town for now
has the greater
accumulation,
And I realize this
is maybe too much.
I look out:
all I see are shapes
of indistinction;
I can’t even see
that well for
vapor pushing
up against my
window, making
visual barriers
in condensation.
The storm is Jonas;
that’s fine. If you
can escape the
hunt of God by
living for days in
a great fish—before
being retrieved by
hunter’s hand (let’s
say)—then I not
hunted by the
divine with the
exception to be
loved,
then I can weather
this—well, you
know–weather.
clcouch123 
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