the better reign in hell
(the devil says)
I exhale
you exhale
too
you better
unless it’s your time
in which case
breathe in peace in heaven
where there might be no breath
no need for it
or perfect air
in which to take one breath
or many breaths
forever
and water
such water
drink
wash
whatever
simply walk by
and feel the drops escaping from
the movements toward the
temple of the savior
and the monarch
one of the three
with three in one
and we might be three in one as well
each one of us
flesh
spirit
divine affiliation
life in heaven
noisy
quiet
safe except there were those hints of war
a ruin here and there
perhaps
not because the crafters couldn’t fix them
but because even in heaven
we should learn something
and there was rebellion
after all
or will be
and I don’t know who choses
maybe only angels
and
maybe we’re fodder on the Earth
the middle Earth
while in heaven we mortals-immortals now
much make our choices
too
renew our vows
toward one way or the other
cheering our side on
toward Armageddon
here
and so it seems
by prophecy
on the Earth we’ve known
and might know best
for a while
at least
new to our citizenship in heaven
closer to the leaders
Jesus with his love
Michael with his sword
the Spirit issues strategy
the rows of heaven
know
while God commands it all
and weeps
within a quiet hour in heaven
and maybe all eternity
cosmic
and ethereal
a time for tears
before the onslaught that’s been called
since Eden
or before
when the devil became serpentine
and with all fauna
was given a place there
and something honest
of its nature
but now
there is new gleaming
for the fight
that only one side wants
with one agenda for it
and on two plains
the ranks line up
for the first
and only battle
ever
to determine who shall win
heaven
with eternity
itself
and the reward
of breaking self from all
affiliation
to determine free
without direction
code
or morality to guide
no restrictions
or parameters
only
self
that shall lead to self-destruction
though the devil doesn’t care
for being lord of everything
that’s wrecked
against sub-lordship
subordinate if to only one
in heaven
the lordship
is what sells the angels on its
side
each one a monarch
to its own
and on the full-dimensional plane
that angels have inhabited
in all ages
in the ageless way
and that’s what is withheld
that everyone shall be a lord
of nothing
material
abstract
but over a lack of existence
more and more
in victory
so-called
lords of nothing in particular
having lost all matter
of all kinds
perspective the last thing
to go
perhaps
but something
and then nothing
which shall be the reign of hell
after
exhausting love
until only judgment
must remain
c l couch
photo by Sergio Capuzzimati on Unsplash
Long Exhale Now and Then
Exhale
And then a little more
Get it out
Whatever it
Might
Be
More than
A pulmonary test
Or getting the bad air out
As
In a cartoon
Getting into meditation
Only if
There is
The time
Otherwise
Breathe out
As
You would have to do
Anyway
You know to
Keep on living
But let it out
A little more
Not as an exercise
As much
As to
Let a little more
Of the bad air
Out
The promise also
Taking of
A little more
Of the good air
In
By God
In a kind of sponsorship
And also of companionship
Two promises
Not if
But as
They happen
Irascible
Indelible
Perfection in divine reality
As well as perfection
In the offing for the rest of us
Maybe
Beneath the angels
(the war in heaven notwithstanding)
For the mortal
Rest of us
C L Couch
Photo by Laura Ohlman on Unsplash
Truer than Stone Is True
(our flesh-and-spirit undertaking)
God of the moment
Of the now
That’s
Split so small
It might
Take an infinity
To
Undertake
Let alone
To explain
To each
And all
Ready
And unready
Though it seems
That
We get what we get
Passages
For understanding
A world to get
To know
With everyone outside
To help us
Good or ill
To know
And maybe we have hope
When we have hope
(even before)
Which is
That small
Thing
In the box
Left over after evils
Have escaped
Too easily
Allowed
To flash
To make themselves
Seen
And heard
Then offering a taste
Of something
That is ash
Or brimstone
When
Frankly
Revealed
While there are other stories
And our senses
For us
Of reality
Of those with strength
And faith to move
Beyond
Uncertainty
To undertake the tasks
Of earth and air
To nourish everything
With water
And more
For encouragement
For growth ourselves
In strength
Of understanding
Toward
Accountability
Even
A generation’s worth
The heroes
Of the small
Even minutiae
Who are ranked in heaven
Among
Those only statued
For a time
On the mortal
Planet
But those remembered there
Without such things
And yet
Deserving more
Shall have it
(though
simplicity
will do
fine)
Once awakened
And brought through
The gate
To something better
Than Valhalla
No more waiting
But
The hero
One by one
And all
Together
(yes
like D’Artagnan
or better
for reality
Jeanne d’Arc
or
Hildegard)
To know here
And to be known
And
Do I say
Therefore think small
And keep one’s
Spirit there
Though small
Is relative
In that
The atom’s
Small to crack
And then
Behold
More than we can manage
Safely
What’s
Small
Worthy
(more
artifact
or talisman)
Might be
Inside the house
Or in one’s head or
In
Another’s heart
And shall we love the one
And help the one
(be helped)
Then help the other
Which is also
Love
Applying wisdom
Of the ages
(so to say)
Or an insight
Fresh
Arrived
Synaptically
From the good angels
On our shoulders
(also to
say
and most likely
from
cartoons)
Jokes
Impractical
Remembering humor
Is what
Saves the world
Too
Starting with the nation
Of a few
Laugh at the devil
And do not mock each other
But
Laugh between ourselves
And in the room
Because
There might be
Needed
Even healing
Health
In that
Then remember whom
We love
And whom we serve
In
No order
Frankly
Self
The other whom we love
The stranger we don’t know
Yet may
Pray for and give to
When time and means
And faith
Call out
With
The God of all
Quite simply
With each one
Has made
Like
Clay
To shape
And has grown
Like crops
From
Seed
And bring to heaven
As on
The best journey
If so difficult
To
Undertake
Yet worthy of
The first
Step
The second
With companionship
Even unaware
But up to us
To keep the series
Going
Toward
The edge
Of what
We have ever known
And then
Quite frankly
The next
Step
Much easier
(if unknown)
Of
The journey on
C L Couch
Photo by TEAcreativelife │ Soo Chung on Unsplash
I had tea with a monk in Seoul, South Korea.
[photographer’s caption]
Jogyesa Temple, Gyeonji-dong, Seoul
Spirit Love
Have I said
Something spiritual
Today
Like remembering
“I love you”
To a mate
God makes everything
Sustains
To say the least
The bigger parts
And out of love
That everything
Might be
Saved at last
To everything
Within a land
Where all matters
Matter
And could we return the love
A little
Through a word
Some words
Even
A substitutionary action
Unto one of these
Who are like God
To do this for
And by the way
(unforgetting
in the moment)
To be saved
We are small
The stakes are high
They are
Shall we leave unhinged
The gates of reason
And of love
Or shall we leave together
All the spirit
To connect us
And to bind us
Still
With room to breathe
To view through ourselves
To another
To the world
Screwed up by us
Or Satan
Yet made for good
In fact
Made good
The process
And our process
Reflect
The making
If we will
And if we raise each other
To the task
C L Couch
Photo by Artem Sapegin on Unsplash
some poems for Easter, if you will
Easter where It’s Easy
I put things
In small baskets
Left them at
The neighbor’s doors
Came back upstairs
Let oxygen return
To my limbs
(heart disease
not being
good
for nimbleness)
There
That’s Easter done
In some months
No doubt
The Great Pumpkin
Shall return
Oh
Yeah
There’s the part
Where Christ arose
From the grave
Defeating death
Securing life
For everyone
Believing
There’s that
For Easter
Too
Beyond suburbanites
Like me
You know
I could have left things
Only for
The neighbors
Whom I like
Or those
I know at all
But then
I’m uncertain how
That might undermine
The meaning
In a holiday
And then
Christ
Well
That was for everyone
And maybe the whole Earth
And other parts
Unknown
(to us)
I think without
Favorites
Or an agnostic tally
So by comparison
And not so much
Considering
Degree
It might be that
My bits of color and
Artificial grass
Upon which is chocolate
And some crayons
Might be
For everyone
I do not know
As well
And like
The little angel
A small and silly gift
Unto
The Lord
Who lives
So we might live
This Easter
And
Always
Abashed
Evangelism
And how’s that
For perspective
But
I come around
At last
And now quiet
For blue consideration
Of the coffeemaker
And
An hour for
A strange-thinking
Fool
Day One
(for Easter)
And who shall
Shoot whom today
Where shall
A missile
Go
Who shall be dispossessed
Of home
And anything
Of safety
While working toward that
Anyway
For family
The causes should be
Bad enough
Old age
Or diseases
Even
Accidents
That happen
But the cruelty
Of human will
At play
Rendering
And rending
Oh
So much
Of us
And Earth
As if we needed reasons
For our mourning
And Christ comes down
From the cross
To weep with us
To say
Please
I have done this for you
Can you not live
Can you not like life
Enough
To act
So much more
Than bullets
Blades
And missiles
His arms out wide
Again
Over a scorched
And parching Earth
Where the graves
Know prosperity
And some
Human
Secret
Coffers
He brings them down
To embrace again
With all
The Marys there
To help
And the
Beloved
Of disciples
The art of love
Nestled now
In quiet museums
But take it outside
Please
Is his
Command
Though it sound like pleas
Spoken through blood
Toward a forsaking
God
Who never left
Who left a story
And now leaves the truth
In resurrection
For
We could all do better
We could all
Do life
And more
Would come from heaven
Toward the end
Though without guarantee
In worldly terms
(so much of Spirit
and of doctrine
frankly
invisible)
To do this
Anyway
Unwarranted
Without a warranty
Nothing like safety
Like a trophy
On a shelf
The shelf come down
Eventually
Within the ambition of
Another generation
Which means
Our reasons might
Be unseen
Too
To do them
Anyway
Do life
Do love
There
I should be at church
But I slept in
Which is itself
A kind of miracle
At least
A gift
Besides
I don’t know a church
And my hair’s too short
And I’m still
Too tired
My coffee’s warm
I need some
More
The blue light calls
As if I were
At K-Mart
There
My distractions call
And I know it’s Easter
Sunday
And that’s something
Not enough
For God
I guess
And any
Who might miss me
There
Though by my experience
There
It might seem that absence
For discretion
Rather than outright scorn
Regrets all around
Might be
Valor’s better
Way
Which is to say
That I don’t like it there
So much
They don’t like
Me
And so it’s safer here
With blue light
And more coffee
And I could
Turn on something
For a church
On Easter morn
First Family
And what happened
By that morning
When the Marys
John
Arrived
By then
There had been moments
First and only
When the Earth’s guards fell away
The stone fell
From its post
And
Inside
Well
Inside
Where we had thought
Had desert rot might happen
And instead
The area inside
Must have broke apart
For miracle
And cleanliness
(for our
suburbanite
concerns)
Was there a flash
A hidden rumble
While hell fell apart
So great
Was the escape
Were there explosions
Through the night
Of grace
And miracle
Surprise
Even
That so much should happen
Well
After three days before
When all was terrible
In loss
Of death
And cause
And hope
How did heaven and Earth
Play
In that place
That spot
Of resurrection
Of the spirit
And the body
So that the body
Left
Leaving graveclothes
Leaving everything
Of death
Behind
And gone
No death
No need for herbs
Though love had brought them there
And as it
Turns out
Witnesses
Instead
To absences
And then some words
Surprising
And portentous
To all human ears
For history
How love
Abounded
How round
And I imagine
They could play
Around the empty grave
On that first day
In the morning
When all woes
Were overtaken
By surprise
And is
Prophecy worked out
Always
A surprise
A minute
Of an hour
Of joy
And then
The world
Must know
And ready for
Rise and fall
Of faith
By evidence
Of testimony
Then appearance
More meals
Together
Then a risen Lord
For good
‘Til everything
That’s good
Returns
C L Couch
Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash
fixin’s
there is war
there is disease
there is famine
there is drought
that causes
famine
though despots
are as likely
if not more
to bring on hunger
in the folk
like you and me
there is corruption
beyond the natural
(though
we waste
enough)
there is the irony
on a blue world
of not having safe water
guaranteed
anywhere
thanks to our being here
the
poisoning residents
so war
disease
hunger
famine to hunger
lack of safe water
despots
and corruption
which is before the count
the destruction
caused by nature
that we call
our mother
time to time
raging as well
under Great Spirit
who must weep in bouts
while spelling anger
how we melt
the valleys
that his hands
pressed and made
mother nature
father spirit
(or
switch the genders
or
add to them
certainly)
leading the cosmos
and our lore
about the cosmos
and whom do we respect
what
to we respect
there’s self-respect
and what do we do
with that
other-respect
perhaps
though mostly as a type
I think
so good that we can envy
or so bad
we can relate
and so vote for
well
these are our problems
aren’t they
and listing them
might help
but as
or followed by
a plan of action
certainly
and not let sado-masochism
make our only world
for habitation
no
we can do better
I am sure
and you are sure
and when we’re sure
we’ll reach out
in spirit
and in flesh
to make it better
make the wounds better
like parents
with Band-Aids
small doses of antiseptic
under
small kisses above
then really get
to work
to make the world
cleaner
through and above
well
everything
not a purge
(never a purge)
but
to fix
and rebuild
then to design above
something to say
and fairly
journey
on to other worlds
c l couch
photo by Nicolas Gras on Unsplash
Every Time I
(you, we)
Every time I
Feel the
Spirit
Moving in my heart
I will pray
But I like it
When it moves outside
The heart
Also
Not as proof or evidence
But as
Communion
That spirits are merging
Venning at least
For faith
And sometimes simply for
Delight
Then spirits
Move
We sing and dance
Among the trees
And you wonder from
Where those
Strange lights
Come
In the woods or
Over water
Or horizoning desert
Ridges
Where there might be
Air
Or other medium
For breath
Bursts that
Might be daunting
Maybe
Also invitation
Dance with us to
Say
We move as lights
Be moved
C L Couch
Photo by Nick de Partee on Unsplash
in her father’s and her mother’s house
(for Saint Patrick’s Day)
Brigid
told her father
about faith
and made a cross of straw
to make her point
that Christ
and faith in Christ
is made of
ordinary things
even life in the spirit
even faith
because the spirit
has been with us
since creation
and was
the cause
of creation
and he believed
and made a kingdom
of it
which might
not seem fair
since
everyone should make up
their own minds
so as
to understand the stakes
and that
the stakes are high
in choosing
one way
or another
which is why
conversion by
a literal sword
let alone doctrinal
isn’t the
best strategy
and
in fact
far from it
believe or not
one by one
and two
and then whatever
however
a family is defined
as in
as for me
and my house
because the house
believes
and then
a group
a temple community
or in said houses
where the faithful
used to meet
at first
you know
where people lived
wherever
sometimes while
persecuted generally
and so to meet
in a hiding
of some sort
with symbols on the outside
exchanged
in a kind
of code
and so Brigid
took her chances
even
with her father
since rule was absolute
back then
and it all could have gone
another way
but she was
and is
connected to the ages
and the land
and maybe she knew
how everything should
fit
and how a cross
of straw
might seem
to teach it all
like bread
and wine
and other things
(straw
a shamrock)
might have an added
use
for spiritual matters
worship
or evangelism
so Christ be with you
in every way
the breastplate indicates
and the faith
as Brigid knew
the cause of Christ
but only
one by one
and then two
and then the group
of however many
is defined
first as family
then a wider
(not political)
community
c l couch
photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash
fish Friday
it’s a gray day
should it get darker
it will look more
than
a fish Friday
in Lent
we’ll hear the silence
the press
of what
will feel more
the smell of storm
for now
the taste
of dry moments
is it a desert
underneath the gray
a world
we will not recognize
has only
death to offer
after all rewards
of Earth
and us
a plane
that has no feature
(worse than deserts)
no signals
no direction
anything
to show a way
to make sense of
any steps
we might try to take
while on this
measureless
level
that might not be level
for
we could be upside-down
or inside-out
then wake up
to Friday
and it’s Lent
the season still
a still
season
have the fish
go to church
whatever
make it count
whatever
listen
watch
and learn
our faith
and our existence
might rely
on these
here
there are
symbols and signs
arrows
stones in a line
weights
to appreciate
and even try to carry
in a season
one walked this way
and every step
a burden
smoothed
wickedly
by sweat
and blood
we’re on our knees
we also
try to walk
that way
the steps now dried
through ages
wearing
ritual
the chance for meaning
or indifference
our choice
like the choice
for faith
Friday
Lent
and the other days
without fat or sugar
or without
tradition
make tradition
with the faith that is forever
that unchanges for
our ages
mutable
and
so very
needful
c l couch
photo by James Coleman on Unsplash
[photographer’s caption follows]
I took this on the 22nd of April 2019, on the day I heard of the bombing of 3 churches on Easter Day in Sri Lanka. Jesus weeps with you.
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