must be an unholy day
the Romans hate us
which is easy
in so easy a hard
and harsh land
but our own
too
our people loathe us
hate us
people scorned within a people scorned
the larger group
too easy to be crying crucify
again
without even a Barabbas
to be freed in
irony of law
no trick for us of
politics
we shall simply be found
and ended
with the teaching
with
the message
and
somehow
maybe because we know the devil
is involved
we know the hatred isn’t Roman
is not
Judean
but something both
deeper and on the surface
temptation within
hatred expressed
in fear
in rage
a human thing
more than any group
even of
promises
or who seem to be the rulers
of the Earth
we many say
in darkness
now
the all of us killed the one
whom
came to save through reconciliation
all of us killed
one
who now is gone
and we wait
without waiting
for
who expects more after the finality
of death
not Roman
not Judean
all of us on either side
and from all sides
from
the wreckage of Eden
where
the devil also won before
finally a curse
and aren’t we all cursed
and now
enough philosophy
or
hoping something out of meditation
rather
now
we turn
we hide away
we wait for
not a thing
worth
the waiting
c l couch
for Holy (also ironic) Saturday
photo by Aleksei Agafonov on Unsplash
After the Day Before
(Holy Saturday 2024)
It must have been terrible
For those in sadness
And in terror
Who forgot
Or forsook
The prophecies were shared with them
The new ways to live
That scandalized
Now turned into fodder
For new charges
And arrests
It must have seemed
That everything was over
One and done
And extraordinary
Story
Abruptly ended
Like a battle
In blood and
Death
And loss or victory
While hades had the victory
And underneath
The devil had to laugh
While all they could
Do
Was peel in hiding heat
Freeze the blood from moving
Every hope
Removed
Left on that trash heap
For a hill
Three deaths
The day before
And now
Did anyone count
Toward
After
Or maybe there was only dust
Thrown on the synapse
Of the mind
Heavy stones upon
Like confession
The heart
C L Couch
Photo by Ian Keefe on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
first holy saturday
x
1
x
it seems there’s nothing
but a void
after which is fear
there could be doubt
but what is left
to believe in
first
x
the body’s cared for
there’s the irony of a guard
to keep things safe
while making sure
we don’t get in
to take him
x
so what is left
but us
and an enormous world
ready to quash us
and to take our air
our allotment of
anything
allowed
x
we have gone too far
they’ll say
but we have killed the head
and now the serpent
body dies
and we shall have it
or leave it
shriveling in the shadows
or bring it to the light
to finish
dessication
and metaphors aside
we mean you
and to have you
x
your paltry movement
and there are many crosses
provided by the Romans
and the Greeks
and Egyptians
before
x
you are done
we shall have you
you are annihilated
not even space on Earth
shall have you
x
we can delight
considering
a line of graves
underneath the field
that we buy
with the silver
Judas has returned
x
well
not well
and so we hide
small care for each other
we dare to send for food
and prepare it
without fire
to share it in the dark
x
these are holy hours
we try
to pay attention
x
some count the hours
most of us
cannot do
something so constructive
x
it is finished
last words
we heard them
so did they
we wait for
we don’t know what
we have forgotten all the miracles
and all of what was said
to go with them
x
we hide
and that’s the hell of it
as it seems
that hell has won
x
2
x
there is the edge
of a hole
through which we see
what we have been taken from
and shall we try
to return
a circle
an eye
we hurt
wait, an eye
who sees
we see
does God look at us
or Rome
or the Sanhedrin
x
how can God look
God died yesterday
we saw
we heard
and it is terrible
but there’s nothing more
even from the cross
were the words
that it is finished
x
we can’t even wait
we can count the hours
but there’s nothing there
there is grief
the rightness of it
rituals
for a while
x
but then there’s nothing left
we are ridiculed
then captured
captured and then ridiculed
when it’s safe
when we are bound
bound perhaps
to crosses of our own
x
why do we even have
this day
it is a holy day
so to say
holy hours
holy minutes
x
if yesterday
had been the day
if the cross beam was
a blooded lintel
then the deadly angel
missed
or misread
and took
the righteous
anyway
against the plan
x
but it’s not fair
to miscast angels
who are commanded
by a God
who let
if not arranged for
all of this
and now has disappeared
gone to Sheol
though how can God
wait for God
x
there are no answers
only rumors
that we cannot hear
the world has closed us off
in here
and we will not snipe
or bear false hope
or cheat
material truth
x
while we are waiting
worse than that
having nothing
to wait for
x
we mourn
we cannot look
or look
taste and see
we miss our God
we were friends of God
for a little while
x
we are lost
after our paroxysms
maybe we
catch our breath a little
and shall we go where
we proclaimed it long ago
that without God
there is nowhere
the nowhere of the Sadducees
maybe
x
but on to night
and after night
not daylight
but a void
judgment perhaps
but what could we have done
when we were told
what we were told
x
friendship for hours only
new love
and now
it’s as if creation
matter
molecules
might as well
have never happened
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Filip Kominik on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Vacant
(Holy Saturday)
x
A day for scurrying
Like mice in light
Look for food,
Hide, rest
Listening for the next
Sounds that are not yours
That might be coming for you
Or might give you away
Now add on human sadness
The living of a tragedy
Like Oedipus,
Antigone
No happy ending possible
The hero is gone
The extraordinary years are gone
There is nothing now
But flight from arrest,
Weeping as at Babylon
x
Practicing tradition
In the dark
Since the source was killed
In horror
Sleeps without sleeping
Leaving everyone
To scurry to avoid arrest
To somehow persist
With broken hearts
Hope so far off
To be recalled
Stories torn
Healing forgotten
x
We count this day
An in-between
They knew it only
As an empty,
Weeping nothing
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Who Wins
x
An empty room
Where there might have been a meal
Smell the hope and then the fear
And here’s a garden
Pretty
There was violence here
Now the plot is done,
Everything realized
x
Another foe
Who sought to shift the blame
From Rome to us
Our need to have an enemy
To stoke our places
In tradition
x
The others should be caught
The followers
No hurry
The serpent is now headless
Only nerves remain
x
The world has won
And we are glad
Our own strategy to overthrow
Goes back into a box
In which there is less silver
To count
x
An easy price
To pay
For indolence
Now back to lethargy
We have time
And everything is scheduled quiet
Scheduled noise
Again
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Daniel Katz on Unsplash
Lookout through ancient Masada building.
x
Penance
(Holy Saturday)
The emptiness of God
There can be such a thing
When God has left
Because we cast God out
What it means to have God slain
All miracles and lessons ended
The company
The miracle of trust
To have the
Lord in body
Hungry, thirst with us
The source of faith in the room
And yet we struggled with
Him in the flesh
Now
Now there’s less than nothing
Fear of arrest, forgotten words
There’s hiding, lack of life
No prophecy unremembered
Is worth all this
C L Couch
Photo by Vincent Erhart on Unsplash
I took that image in a former Romanian salt mine. It was one of the darkest, most surrealistic and impressing place I have ever been. . . . The photo shows the 120 meter high vertical main tunnel.
The Day After
(Holy Saturday 2018)
The Saturday before
And nothing’s going on
Is there a signal yet
A code for believers
Not the fish, even though
Remembrance of the feast
Upon the hillside
Could be recalled
But the last letters of acrostic
Faithlessly, have not been found
In disillusion
Fear of capture
Greater fear of nothingness
All that’s left is, what,
Eat something, find a place to
Stop
As darkness of the human heart
Enfolds
And doubt in anything that’s good
Or lasts
Washes like acid
Over once-fast believing
C L Couch
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