those who ever said I could have
if I had been
better
meaning better
in talent
sure
there’s also the spirit
not in
if God let
me
but if God had kept this from happening
the thing
or
things that limited
worse that
might
have required me
to sin
or
to choose virtue
sometimes either’s
limiting
sin
circumstance
situation ethics
or
lack of worldly repentance
on Earth
or in ourselves
I coulda’been
but
aren’t we all
contenders
c l couch
photo by Moo 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
Kneeling
I’m sorry
I’m tired
I’m sorry I’m tired
I should have given more
In better ways
To serve the Lord
The people of the Lord
The planet of
The Lord
And shall you forgive me
I think you shall
Because you’re perfect
At such things
And I am punishing myself
And you know that
And yet you love me
With a perfect love
Not to let me off the hook
Any more
Than to let me go
There’s color in repentance
Moving from
The black and white of sin
The stories in which
Color
Wondrously appears
As if we’d never known
Such a thing
Before
There’s texture
There are layers
In the Earth
They have colors
Too
Everything is better
We can hear
The colors
From within
And taste them on the surface
Through and through
We let
Everything improve
As health
After sickness
When we never thought
To feel
At all well
Again
C L Couch
Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Everyone and Everything
x
Our God
Our God
Why do we forsake you?
x
Well,
We can’t see you
That doesn’t help
We have great stories
They’re not ours
We can imagine heaven
Get it wrong
We have you
Because we say so?
Not to invent you
But to have you
Nothing required
But a choice
No initiation
Though we have written rituals
And applied water
And
A party
(and why not)
x
Then there’s
Metanoia
The changed life
That could cost
Something of mortality
What we think we want
And really want
Again
To have for taking
Like the food
Upon the table
That is
For everyone
x
New life
That dresses like the old one
Sounds the same
Tastes different
Taste and see
The Lord is good
We do not eat the Lord
But consume
All the same
x
We may break
With ingestion
Live on our own
And what we think is food
Is good
(usually, we know)
Molecules to eat
In such a way
To threaten finite balance
In the universe
x
Yes, sometimes
We are that important
x
Back to God
Or forward
Mostly forward
Though repentance
Is kairotic
One day into another
Until the day is perfect
With
Perfect night
x
Questions are important
Doubt is part
Faith isn’t stupid
Isn’t tricky, either
Have it
Eat it
Live it
If you want
x
Then ready for the world
(as is)
With, as we say
Or someone says,
Truth and understanding
x
An amen
Without the end
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Ryunosuke Kikuno on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Gilead
x
There is a balm
In Gilead
I don’t know where that is
I don’t know if
It’s on a map
The Gilead
That heals
The sin-sick soul
x
And I don’t know
What it is
The balm of Gilead
An ointment
A colony of physicians
Waiting
A miracle in local water
Or the air
x
And is it
Sick with sin
Or sick of sin
As in
I’m tired
I want something better
I want to strain
Fewer people for it
No one hurt
Really
Because I think
I want something
I no longer want
x
And did I ask for it
Before
Maybe
Probably
But there’s also something about
Whiter than snow
Impossible
Except to take the texture out
Though it’s the texture
Of the sin
That needs removing
Money
Lines on the face
The heart
Whatever
Wherever
x
Heal me
Leave the scars
I ask with sighs
Certain things are inexorable
Like evidence
Though cleanliness
Time
Humor
Smiles for friends
And even for the world
Have wrought
A great deal
By repentance
x
C L Couch
x
x
Jeremiah 8:22
x
Photo by Christina Deravedisian on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Drastic Season
x
Soon it will be Lent
Time to think
Of Jesus
For all the times
Out scatter-gun approach
(sheesh)
Hopes to hit the mark
x
Forty days
With time off
For Sundays
For Communion
For the Catholics,
A churchly kindness
x
Otherwise,
We count
And do not count
For who says
Well, today is Lent 19
When we have it
In a book
If we must know
x
No, the season moves
Slowly
(it’s even in the name)
And we wish
For Easter treats
Especially because
We might give up something
For these days
x
It is tradition
And some choose
Something that it’s
Helpful
(healthy)
To avoid for a time
If not forever
x
Something small
Like caffeine
Something bigger
Like adultery
Or other
Eldritch bond
The priest might say
If saying
That is mortal
Meaning uneternal
For our lives
x
My, that would be a season
Of such change
To right a wrong
And who decides
Not priest
Or even angel on the shoulder
But the motivation
Of one’s own
In time
x
And such a season
Angels would approve
Though the loss
Of what sin brings
Forever
Shall seem to hurt that way
For the while
While things change
For forty days
(now a dreadful count)
And fifty
And beyond
x
As the healthy sun
Lights from far
The mortal planet
That in renewal
Might have something better
In its molecules
And the un-atomed spirits
After judgment
Knowing joy
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by James Coleman on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Everything Is Listening
x
It is a fallen world:
Fallen people,
Fallen nature,
Maybe primal good
As in
Genesis
Until the fruit is eaten
Then everything is
Changed
x
What kind of universe
Allows such a fall
From the marrow
To the skin
And in the air
The slough above the skin?
x
A universe that’s made
With allowance
From its maker
x
Everything made
Real
With real alternatives,
Real consequences
x
Real joy
x
Real loss
x
The chance for one thing
Or the other;
Chance matters
Choice matters more
x
What we choose
Moves the Earth,
Maybe heaven
A little
x
Heaven malleable enough
For a third
To fall away,
The Earth more so
Affected by our choices
Mortal
Inside mortality
x
Save the Earth,
Save each other:
This can be done
With faith
And better choices
After faith
x
We believe—help
Our unbelief
x
What shall we say?
What shall we do?
How shall we live?
x
We are fallen;
Our choices mingle
With the dust
Of ages;
We have an age,
This age
x
We have flaws
x
We have hope
x
We know a better way
x
The prophets and the angels
Tell us
Of repentance
And good news
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Mohsen Samimi on Unsplash
x
(x = space)
x
x
Lathes and Crucibles
x
What shall we say to God
Between sabbath times
Or other times of prayer
Or times when none of us
Are praying?
x
Shall we say
We’re rather tired, rather
Busy, rather occupied with
Real things—money and
Mortgages and relationships
(and these are real)?
x
When God asks us, in
Turn, what have you for me?
Knowing he does not mean
Money or mortgages
Or relationships (not their
numbers, certainly),
What shall we say?
x
But we were busy
But we meant to,
Well, you know
You know, you know the
World—so why bother us?
x
Can we not put a peg
In salvation? Can we not
Reserve a space for the
Apocalypse? A room when
We hear you have
So many rooms?
x
This might tear grace apart
Hope might cry
Salvation might be small,
Smaller in number
Than was planned
The mansion empty
With all our watches
At the door,
Just outside
x
Why do we believe in God?
I asked my mother
Because people are afraid
Of going to hell,
She said
And there’s wisdom there,
Pragmatic
Though she had better faith,
I know
x
Faith is not for empty wings
But for a heart and mind
And soul
To fly
The rituals won’t answer
When the angels (solid beings
rife with wings)
As on behalf of God
To bar the way with
Flaming swords
And molten tears, weeping
For God’s way
x
The narrow way
That wasn’t meant to be
But for our refusal
Widened the other
Set fenceposts of denial,
Left out arrows
Of deception,
Tour guides with toothy
Grins
x
Metanoia
Turning as in
Repentance
Paint the other way
(a pun in English)
We have time
For the sake of miracles
And grace,
There might be seconds
For the future
What you are going to do,
Do it now
x
C L Couch
x
x
(goodness, this is grim—but so is the news today)
x
By H005 – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8384955
x
(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
clcouch123 
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