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Holy Saturday

must be an unholy day

After the Day Before

first holy saturday

(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

Vacant

(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

Who Wins

(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

Masada

Lookout through ancient Masada building.

x

Penance

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

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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