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Blessed Insurance [and a note below]

Blessed Insurance

(for anyone on Sunday morning)

 

I sing this while

My world falls apart

My older child might run away

My job is on the line

 

The car needs so much work

I haven’t seen or felt

My partner smile, really smile

In a while

 

I don’t want to know

The balances

I can’t think about what happens next

Can’t think about what else

 

The church organ might be better

Suited at a ball park

The pastor tries to sing along

I think I see the words on the page

 

There is no harm in singing, too

I guess

Who hears, who cares

I know it isn’t that bad

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by PhotoGrafix from Pixabay

 

 

note on me

I’m not in the hospital anymore.  I’ve been diagnosed with infections and am taking an antibiotic.  I still feel lousy.  Maybe less?  It’s hard to tell.  Thank you for your prayers!  They are potent.

 

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Again with the Sunday-Thinking

Again with the Sunday-Thinking

 

It’s Sunday, and

I should say something spiritual

But there’s Hamlet’s rub

(not a small town’s)

About mortality or, I should

Say, the end of it,

Which is what the Dane’s discussing

One side of the coin, as

It were, the other side

Well, spirituality

Who’d have thought?

 

So here we are

The coin I have,

The choice I have

Heads or tails

Or stand it on the edge,

Which I can do

 

Do you?

This is where we are

Where angels could dance

As slender as the pin

Though it goes around

Another way

Both things, the circle and the sphere,

Are endless

One comes back

And if a mark isn’t made

We’ll fool ourselves

In the illusion

A belief that we are always going

Somewhere

Somewhere else

 

So we need another metaphor

Metaphors as analogies

Always fail somewhere

Along the way

But we have the vine

The true vine and the faulty

And would that we graft ourselves

To the stronger,

Greener branch

And so grow

Like a magic beanstalk

Toward heaven

Though here’s where plants no longer

Serve analogy

For heaven’s not up

Where Claudius would send his prayers

Not forward, backward

Interior, exterior

Exit, arriving

I think you know

Where heaven is

Open the window of the soul

The air is good, at last

No teaching no longer necessary

Breathe the good and lasting

Air of heaven in

I wonder if in heaven

All we do is inhale

 

Better than direction

Better than metaphors

Better than Christmas morning

Or a birthday

(not analogies but real

remembrances I trust, I hope)

Heaven is an invitation

Please respond

r.s.v.p.

a.s.a.p.

I want to meet there

And maybe you

Will help me

Though there’s one who

Will bring us, both

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by Thanks. All my pics are free! from Pixabay

church war syria civil war devastation devastated

 

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Settle Down

Settle Down

 

I feel the presence

Noun without a pronoun

Deserving all descriptors

Even ones that might not

Sound so nice

Remembering that while God

Is a friend, God is

Worthy of all fear and respect

It’s Sunday, but it could be Monday

Any day

I guess maybe I slowed up a little

As Christians in the USA sometimes

Do, the day made even

Quieter by the promise of rain

Darkening the sky and

Limiting light on the street

So nature helps

With something we might find

Inconvenient,

Waiting for the rain

And then the rain

 

I’m stretching out my lower back

A little

While I think

While looking at the darkened sky

The leaves a darker color, too

Second verse, I think

No coded needed or repeat

Let’s enjoy this moment

As a present thing

And as something given

(two-parts gift)

By everything that’s come before with

Some attuning to new day

 

C L Couch

 

 

The Beethoven monument at the Donauinsel remembers Beethoven’s symphony No. 5.

Herzi Pinki – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41427679

 

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Sunday Morning after Sleeping for a Change

Sunday Morning after Sleeping for a Change

 

I’m not sure what to say today

It’s a sunny day outside

Clear and cold with an edge

Like runners on ice skates

 

The sun is winter-tilting, so

I can see enough

Not all the dust motes, thank you

But like the movie,

Everything Is Illuminated, all the same

 

I could make a point

But the day is its own

There’s meaning in the pattern of

The leaves against the window panes,

 

Enough philosophy for two

Whoever might join me

Who’s already here

No prosperity but the pleasure of one’s company

 

C L Couch

 

 

Observing the Sabbath-closing havdalah ritual in 14th-century Spain.

Unknown – Detail from a miniature in the Barcelona Haggadah, British Library Add MS 14761, fol. 26.

(Public Domain)

 

Everything Is Illuminated, a film from 2005, directed by Liev Shreiber, starring Elijah Wood

 

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Made Up

Made Up

 

It’s Sunday

Maybe I should think something

Religious

I’m two days behind the Jews

Only one day after

The Adventists

And for those who never keep a sabbath

Why miss out on

The rest

 

It’s inside-out

Or should be

Take the time to know the heart

Four chambers to walk through

A mind that is a ride

In a synapse car

 

None of this is religion

But there’s something about

Wonderfully made

That comes to mind, while

I’m on the synapse-ride

In a park with a

Neuron saucer

 

What would I configure

If I had to make up me

 

It’s been done with

Someone who has more

Art and skill than

I shall ever have

 

In fact, the one who

Made the ride to

Set me on this course

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://www.laboratoryequipment.com/news/2017/06/hacking-human-brain-lab-made-synapses-artificial-intelligence

 

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Half-Shut

Half-Shut

 

It’s Sunday, and I’m tired

Somewhere the Gospel’s being read

And someone’s teaching from it

Good words, I’d like to think

I am here and writing differently about

A story that won’t be read in church

Not to sour-grape it

I don’t mind the anonymity

My story’s sad and uninspiring, unless

One needs to hear about

A mundane struggle, mostly secular

The seeking of good news inside one’s head

Though it’s not there

Not in the neighbor’s heart, either

It’s in the book

It’s in the neighbor’s heart

It’s in my head

(My heart, too)

But I have to hear

With two sets of ears that hear

In case the first set’s not so functional

(If you didn’t know, the deaf tend

To hear better)

 

Until something is opened

Nothing is going to happen

That’s the capacity that’s missing

And the action

 

They are there

It’s simple access, really

Like most things, altruism, sympathy,

Or sacrifice,

It’s made

It happens

With a choice

And on a tired day

When Sunday best is not enough

(It rarely is)

When the soul is split between awakening

Or remain embraced within the monolith

 

Half-shut is still half-open

And sides are being called for

Final play

 

Choose this day

Choose, this day

 

C L Couch

 

 

gospel choir

image courtesy of Charlotte Zoller

https://www.mfa.org/programs/music/millennium-gospel-choir-1

 

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Autumning

Autumning

 

On a Sunday night,

we walked some streets in Cambridge.

It was fall.  The streets were wet; the

air was chilled.

We actually found a small place

that served chowder.  It was cheap,

and it was good.  And I

imagined a hundred places like it in

the town.  I think I

was right.

That was my first and so far last trip there,

though she came once to me.  But

at the time, we were set at odds against

each other; there was no way

we could get it right.

 

C L Couch

 

 

cambridge mass

Bicycles in the Rain

Mark Hornbuckle

https://www.cambridgema.gov/traffic/Permits/residentparkingpermit/residentpermitphotocontest/2015residentparkingpermitphotocontestalbum

 

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dimanche

dimanche

 

tomorrow,

lundi gras

because the season is

a day a piece

but excess sometimes lead to excess

in a binary way

 

so what if Sunday earns

in all quarterly respect

some quiet

inhalation

 

before the time

of beads

of jazz

of worldly processions

(you tell me)

exhales

 

c l couch

 

http://www.mardigras.com/news/2010/01/mardi_gras_bound_learn_about_b.html

 

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