two poems about help
once cadging up
God
you got me moving
if only a little
that you’d have me take more steps
and reach within my limits
if
all right
on the inside first
too many things are plain
yet I can’t see with any sense
worldly
or
soulful clarity
too easy to feel down
and
while there
from looking up at shapes there
perilously blurred
while what is
to see
is round confusion and so
where
is the way
I cannot get for
steps
or if there were a ladder hiding from
me
existentially concealed
and who’s to say
for ears
to hear
look
there is the way
still in prayer
tired
too tired to look up
too doubt-pressed
if
something about the hills and rescue
though I think that is reaction
wishful
thinking for a rescue
that in a better
mind we know that if comes
it shall come
from
wherever
any direction
of
one source
then why to look at hills
maybe to inspire
prayers
in
nature
sign of encouragement
by the sign of rising
earth
c l couch
. . . from whence cometh my help.
2 My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
Psalm 121 1b-2
KJV
(some think question and response)
photo by Marc Babin on Unsplash
a couple of cosmic verses
two nebulae
birthplace of stars
and
were we a nebula before
if so
what shape
and
did someone name us
for a form
maybe matching a myth
from
their own lore
and will they tell us
our own story
for
a reach
we do not have
older than us
sure
and yet extant with penchants for
visits
and conversations
unaware of angels
a favorite story
the older couple who
entertained divinities without
awareness
yet greeting needful
strangers
as it seemed
gave welcome to their shoddy place
and
offered the last food and
drink they had kept for themselves
before they’d
die from their own need and
lack
and yet in that meal
the plate
and pitcher
kept refilling and would
do so
forever
by the way
and after sleeping
the two awoke to find their hovel
changed into a manor
filled with
all signs of prosperity
to own and live
while
the valley town that would not
welcome anyone
or open
anything to strangers
more so those who did not appear
as they
well
that
town with the valley
now was flooded as gods
in judgment
and in brutal mischief
may decree and
do
(it’s a story of Greek gods, cited by Saint Paul as well)
c l couch
photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash
simpler green day near
solstice calls the summer start
then shorter green days
orange autumn day
equinox incites the fire
by red longer night
winter silver blue
longer days the promise bear
by solstice we met
spring the ground awake
spring equinox pale-promised
pastel growth begins
c l couch
photo by Bozhin Karaivanov on Unsplash
2 poems about consciousness assigned
anthropons
we talk to things
don’t we
our cars
that
if we’re at it
we should praise as well
as curse
I was talking at the ceramic
chickens
some
minutes ago
making sure I would say something to
the roster for
the sake of the hen
and
then there are the Milnes
who watched
to see how Christopher would
react when given
toys
talking to ourselves
I guess
though I think there’s more
an innate
wanting to believe
to have an audience
to have them
by
some listening in the cosmos
hear us
and
respond especially in the way
we’d like
which the mis-anthropons
among us
if there are
won’t engage
or
not nearly enough
to the animals who love us
(if they do)
why did the dog
save
the soldier
how did it know
serving
as a mascot
only
how to do that
and the cats who wake us
to our faces
when
the house afire
then the humpback whale who
journeys back
to visit with the human
specialist
and rapport-provider
as the mammal can and
may
every year
while
this all might be
mammalian
furred creatures breathing oxygen
who
know
each other by degrees
leaving fish
and arthropods
to fend
while we might
get
to know each other
c l couch
photo by Zach Lezniewicz on Unsplash
like inhalation-exhalation in a day
the eternals
breathing
an accomplishment
that mostly our conscious selves
have nothing to
do with
which
is good
or we’d suffocate by distraction
God bless autonomics
though
they were God’s idea in the first place
like
species diversity that course through
the multiplicity of kinds of
media on and of
the Earth
on
or in land
above
below the water
in the sky and as a by the way to feed
our inspirations out of
flying
and then in the vaporous places between
and
who knows maybe dimensions
too
our own multiverse
an interplay of quanta differences
could be helped
by
canalwork of blackholes
(all
sizes)
all of which to say
we might barely know the wonders layered
large or
infinitesimal that sounds close to
infinity
an eternity of
animated
animating choices if
well
fourteen billion years or so
[from the window]
yellow on the trunk
leaves dark green in shade by blue
angled panes look black
there is some green wind
behind it all that is blue
ether wanderland
something old or new
borrowed and the something blue
quasi una fantasia
thinking summer’s not
so bad
until dust and heat
blow in from the street
and I wish for cold of fall
and
could it come
by miracle
tomorrow
and better still tonight
I have some plans that hot
are melting like the water on
the witch
who
ironically has asked before how about
a little fire
well
it’s not bad in that
I am not burning
with flames
anyway
but still I’d like a similar distinction
to the comedy
if sardonic
in that
this one is not for burning
(The Lady’s Not for Burning by Christopher Fry)
things that don’t matter
melted ice cream
if you can get some
or
it’s only on the sides
with firm-enough substance
in
the middle
yelling
unless it’s about traffic
and the thing that’s big and stumbling
uncontrolled in
your way
war
except that the effects are
hyper-
real
as they are horrifying
institutions that grow beyond
their purpose
to serve and instead require if not
demand
serving of them
a wilted flower that matters
but that as detritus
may
feed the next generation
from
the Earth
things that speak to some kind
of annihilation that
be purposed
like the wilting
or
without decent aim
like
the warring
effects to the side
I’m hungry but not hungry
and I try failingly
not
to eat for boredom
but the medication gets
to me
and my digestive systems cries
unfun and
something like how dare you
quaint salvation
(Sunday or Saturday or Friday or another)
today’s for God
but
then
distractions of the devil
ah
we didn’t think so sly
to feed excess as the virtue
thus quietly destroying
or to render
quaint
virtue by its sponsor
truth
which is not
to say
the sabbath should be punishing
quite contrary
the day is for the positives
of
rest for
re-knitting of one’s own
plus
good for sharing
easy play
reflection on
the life one wants
the lives we all
want
a grip
I write in the dark
I guess
I think it’s less distracting
but
(the teacher
shudders)
I have the TV on
and must confess that’s
how I’ve done
a
lifetime of homework
though now the noise and images
are balancing
tinnitus
with insanity
too late
to get the condition
well
impairment
to hope for adaptation
so my daily invitation to go
mad
and trying to create as an alternative
though I hear
craziness might be
required
by great tradition
for
the art
some progress
how much time is left
and
how shall it go
the challenges accumulating
the ones
overcome
the others that add hellish
layers
to
the shell of
consciousness
free movement through
and
through
and when the crises go inside
as if to stay
and years go by
and
breathing’s labored in
its ways
and also all that means
so time
gets harder to go through
much
less command
while maybe years are lessons
that so much control
is either
an illusion or
best kept by someone
from
the start
wherever
and
yes
divine always
the first noel
(Christmas in July)
the angel did not say
but God
to God
and the host
let’s make things
and
by things that must be good
and so the days for
and in
the rings of creation
and all moves in orbits
of creation
the first song
imbued with sacredness
being sung
by
the sacred
source with perhaps more
supernal voices
joining
then comes the new age of noel
the second song to
sing
that after so much time
of sad and tired revolution
more like
a civil war within oneself
drawn
into partisanship
there should be hope for peace
and God
to God will buy that
for you
so we might have purchased
ransomed
dealings with the devil
freedom purchased
like our own
created
created once again
as if Eden recalled
the angel with the sword
finally
permitted to stand
down
then we
as prophesied
might rise
c l couch
photo by Geronimo Giqueaux on Unsplash
verse (and prose) poems that could be sermons for tomorrow
1
no more than we can handle
is that in Scripture
don’t be anxious
do not worry over things you don’t
worry over
anyway
such as the numbers of small
nearly
might as well be
microscopic things
sands in
by the sea
the smallest and the largest love
of God
even that we try to emulate
then for the things we can and should
do
well
do them
pray
and live life in prayer
not autonomically
only a series of reflexes and right words
but
truly
as if truth matters as an old friend
as well as a new guide
care is not
indifference
nor is it fretting to become an occupation
for
Mary and Martha both got it right
though spending time at the foot of God
should set the tone and be the reason
why
everything else gets done
as for worry
well
some of it’s escapable
and we are human
there is the fear of the unknown
and what
to do when we feel we must do something
yet
if we could slip some worry as a piece
of paper
or a candy
into the pocket of whatever God is wearing
then
even the worry
needed
not needed
should go better
what is the old song
we tend to sing in a tired way
take it
to the Lord in prayer
and then
as in other antheming
so
march on
even
ride on
in majesty
but it’s
so much homelier than this
go to God
expect and answer
and
some timing
then do everything there is to do
that’s
ours to do
even a little more
like the persecuted follower
and never
think we have to move
without help
because for all the isolation we might feel
or
how tired
emptied out we might become
there is presence
and assistance
as of
the grace and majesty of angels
while
sometimes
seeming more than angels
it’s us
with the help of agencies
and God
2
so the Bible might not say we are given more than we can handle, since sacrifice in service might lead to giving up one’s life (harsh, I know) but that God is with us in our struggles, always inspiring, sometimes more directly helping as with miracles and always with grace (the free offer of God’s love and salvation through the death and resurrection of Jesus)
so we worry, though we don’t have to or, in franker reality, don’t have to so much; not that loving mindlessly—any more than doing in that way—is called for; it’s our hearts and minds that should be turned toward God and in the love of God (those two commandments) to each other
my eyes hurt and my nose hurts
I feel isolated
put upon
by the world’s lies
and sometimes by my own
it’s not enough
simply to say
we got it wrong because we’re human
then learn
nothing then go on
we should not excuse ourselves
so easily
though we should look toward
reliving others of supernal responsibility
even worked out as
the small things of the day
we have to love each other
otherwise
it’s enmity
indifference
or shoddy showing of regard
because
we’re supposed to
though we want
to get out of service
as quickly as possible
not that
leaving for a while
to wander the hills
or the Hundred Acre Wood
is not
desirable
since such wandering’s preferred
and might be called for
to walk about
and also be alone
then
to be with each other
it’s like the mother who said
to Christopher
her boy
don’t walk with me
but be here
when I return
and greet me as if I had been gone
a long
long while
so love
when necessary
learn to live without even
what we’re sure we must have
to do it
like the stump at the end of the story
the tree is useful
honestly
I feel so alone as I write
maybe you’ll come to see me
we’ll see each other
better
than with eyes
with awareness of each other’s terms
practically
and sentimentally
of each other’s love
with the guidance of the source
who speaks to us like mountains
or like
sparrows
knowing God loves you
then
and so do I
c l couch
some sources cited
1 Corinthians 10:13
Matthew 10:29-31
Psalm 16:11
Exodus 33:14
a few old hymns
The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
photo by P A on Unsplash
ours
it’s my world
though the wars are far away
I could complain about war-chemicals
in the atmosphere
and more exigently about
war’s cost of life
the sad and tragic loss of life
by artificial means
those who had been alive
the moment before
and who am I but an Israeli
I am from Ukraine also
and of the Palestinians
Lebanese and Egyptians
Iraq
and Iran
and Russia
knowing some fine people there
I am of all despot states
especially the ones who say they’re not
I am of Earth
and so are you
and so means of destruction
hit at the statues of our lives and states
destroys us
piece by piece
one oppressive act by the next
whatever takes out freedom
will
and life
hours
exchange
one deadly volley
then another back or
somewhere else
maybe
toward allied
then the arcs overlap
and collapse
order
of things
and then we say it’s over
‘cause we say
and then ceasefire’s broken
and
who is left
respecting whom
worse than chaos is
the void
we shouldn’t move toward such
things
such lack of shape and substance
and the life itself
one life by one
c l couch
photo by mauro mora on Unsplash
gray day haiku
I don’t know if when
days don’t come so featureless
I touch relief of sun
gray day without arcs
no cloud-lines with interest
could wake to bright day
our moods by weather
we can do better by this
don’t be ruled by sky
there are sky-signals
sometimes land and water cast
warning signs to us
c l couch
photo by Tolga Ahmetler on Unsplash
Recent Comments