storied redemption
speak comfort
to me
Jacob
I have none to give
the time for comfort’s learning
past
if there ever had been any
even encouragement
to grow
and I could be sorry
but your
redemption’s on the line
three ghosts
and all your ghosts
to name
or nameless live in childhood
the present
and
best guesses toward the future
have substance
psychological sharp edges
while
it’s the drama of the story to find out
and what
to do
upon discovery
and what if we’re not rich
to take the town to lunch
on
Christmas day
what if the miserly that’s opened
can only loosen a new attitude
resolution
without gold-backing
will
the family take us
and we hope
so to be
taken
giving and receiving what we may and
all around
whatever day to say
as
a Dickens Christmas day
c l couch
photo by Ashkan Forouzani on Unsplash
Like a Prophet’s Repentant Cry
(a minor minor minor prophet)
I am a sinner
Yes
And if I could cry to the hills
Not because God is there
Because God
Like Banksy and Kilroy
And as
We know
God is everywhere
But hills are curved
Easy on the eyes
And beg
Distance
For reflection
Trying to establish vision
Of the Lord
And of my out there
With God
And also in the world
At least among
The open terrain
Like hills
And I ask for repentance
As in
Maybe there’s a spring
To go to
Near the crest
Or in a dell
And I might wash my face
My head that is
The major sinning place
Nearly all
The things that go awry
Beginning there
And if
Forgiven
I may turn
Go back to town
Or
Wherever
Work or play might
Take me next
And it’s a round
Rather
A cycle
Sin and pardon
With petition
Reconciliation in between
Which for now
I guess
Has to be all right
God has seen
Has sensed it all
Truly knows the
Within
All that’s in
My head and
Heart
What is it now
The Bible law
More than that
Sacred direction
And
Tradition
Loving the Lord with all
Our minds
Our strengths
Our souls
Like the speaker in the famous poem
I have so far to go
Deep miles
Snowbound by peccadilloes
And
Peccata mundi
Through spring is at hand
Like God’s hand
And should we take that
Even climb into it
(God’s hand
after all)
Our repentance might become more like
Lachrymose
Mundi
A world of tears
A world of
Forceful tears
As in tears
Starting with tears
That rain
After sins
Vital
Creative
(unique)
And creating tears
As Jesus filled
Jerusalem
But now beginning in irony
Perhaps
Of sins
Of one’s own
Of mine
C L Couch
Photo by Simon Ray on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Papa
x
I’ve said this before
Because Hemingway once said
Once a dishonest thing is written,
Nothing honest can be written
Again
But Hemingway might have known
Nothing about repentance,
Which might explain
Why tries at reconciliation
Failed
x
He liked Spain so much
I’m sure he met some priests;
Maybe they were trout-fishing, too
Or he might have talked of God
With someone else
Who knew
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Alejandro Piñero Amerio on Unsplash
x
The Altar
If there is a conflict with
A sibling, I should not
Be here
So why aren’t the churches empty?
No more blood sacrifices,
Thankfully,
Which is not a license to keep
Everything inside the skin
Such pain to allow
Nothing through the pores
A bleeding animal would make nothing
Better, only show brutality
Blanketing repression
We’re told to go away,
Make it better,
Then come back
The church will wait
The temples with flat stones
No more Sunday-best
We’ll be each other
As a codicil to cosmos,
Should the sibling be a neighbor
(secular authorities
consult Henry V at Agincourt
and antecedents)
We are all descendants
Then how full
How empty
How full again
Should reconciliation be
C L Couch
Photo by Andreas NextVoyagePL on Unsplash
Reconciliation Easy
There is no war that’s worth it
We’ll be here
Because being here is good
Bring on your armageddon
We won’t be taking part
We have trees to plant
A desert to renew
So much to sweep
We’ll need new brooms
Attaching brushes to bazookas
Dust rags to rocket tips
You may lay your devices
Over there
We’ll need the fire for cooking
Many mouths to feed
In swift rotation
We have a world to recast
Keep your gauntlets out of this
We’re busy
We’ll get to
That part last
Though if they are used up
Expending all munitions
We’ll grow over the crater
As we should
As we must
We might have to be sad
But the heaven we can afford
That’s in our hands
Is waiting to be made
Impatient for joy
C L Couch
Photo by Jeff Ackley on Unsplash
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