and it is
And can it be that I should gain
An int'rest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?
Charles Wesley
set
to a tune that courses
too
encouraging the soul
even through chastisement
of the Cross
ignoble death
that we
might live
beyond
and into a life renewed
even with heaven
and
with Earth
like what the waiting’s for
by heroes in
great lore
by
each as we might sleep and wait
as well
who knows what purgatory sharing
or in the rescue
the harrow should provide
amazing love
how can it be
but is
for each
and every
and
yes
every
c l couch
photo by Megan O'Hanlon on Unsplash
the mouse visiting
hello on field-gray haunches
my cat watched then dozed
c l couch
photo by Sam Maylyn on Unsplash
(clearly, the image is not of a field mouse, though what’s decpicted is kind of nostalgic for me; you’ll have to imagine a field mouse, while I remember the one that came to call as well as the mouse whose house I visited once a week)
first day after ashes
count forty without counting
cross ice and green times
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photo by Oleg Lang on Unsplash
cats are black watch out
we do get superstitious
Friday by number
it’s a pastel day
brushed colors as if painted
by the art-maker
it’s not that haiku are easier except physically to type; while sometimes impulsive, the content often takes as long if not longer than to set down more; I have a friend who says that of Mark, the gospel thought written first because it’s short; my friend (with a related PhD) realizes, as I understand from teaching composition, that writing down is harder than writing out
not that I command haiku (goodness, no); I simply try and learn and try
I’m still struggling for breath—yes, the process for inspiration, I suppose—but I mean literally; someday I’ll be living somewhere else with clearer air to get back some health, while the ongoing issues are the main ones that have to be ongoing (heart disease and such)
I hope each of you is well
thanks for your concerns expressed—and thanks to all of you always
c l couch
photo by Anton Ponomarenko on Unsplash
cat in London home
please help God can help
great the need in one the risk
and by extension
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photo by Redd Francisco on Unsplash
always all the ways
God reaches
down or
up
to say I love you
which
as the maker saying first
God then
awaiting
all entryways or corners as
safe traps
any place or
way by
which
through which
we’re heard
should we return at all
and
on our own
say
love
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1 John 4:19
photo by James Fesh on Unsplash
goodniks
have we thought
of anything today that’s good
not
masked
rationalized
gold-plated but
good
the way we say of God via Aslan
not safe but
good
something good that might have to take a chance
even to risk rank in
the world
if not fragile
then
though who knows whom we care for
and
what might be the issues there
the person
the relationship
and
do we wish goodness in the world
and might we commit ourselves to the smallest
things
to do
to promulgate
in spite of rudeness
greed
whatever someone else might want
and should not want and someday
when the world is sound
with
provision to keep all alive and
on the way
could not want
anyway
someday it will be that way
while the good we do
ain’t there
and so takes chances
against
the bloating thing that wants it all
while the rest of us are
grist
or paper targets
so
how about that goodness
might we
speak polite
might we give way to someone else
through
the door or to the chair
by what
is
strong and what is
weak
how might we begin
or for some of us to carry on
the giving that is
small
then large
then changes everything
but
good
today enough
for
you and me
today
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“Who is Aslan?” asked Susan.
“Aslan?” said Mr. Beaver, “Why don’t you know? He’s the King. . . . It is he, not you, that will save Mr. Tumnus. . . .”
“Is—is he a man?” asked Lucy.
“Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.”
“Ooh!” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ’Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
“I’m longing to see him,” said Peter, “even if I do feel frightened when it comes to the point.”
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis
photo by Rob Potter on Unsplash
how are you God
how are you
Lord
how are your angels
how is heaven
these days
ten thousand years a day
our songs could
count
transparent gold and as a metaphor
or actual
I don’t get
it
and
don’t need to
so much about eternity
honestly
it can
overwhelm of course by normal reckoning
though
you understand our senses
having you know
making these
and
eternity to ponder
thank you
Lord and I might ask
for
help with the imponderables
not
only to apprehend but
to carry
by
the muscles
outside
inside
that we have
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The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.
Revelation 21:21
(NIV)
photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash
the poet-friend
I heard it from a poet
once
that there was no following
because
grace was dispensed
by
those who claimed authority
to give it
and
by their terms
I’m imagining a water-cooler with
a foreign hand on
the tap
a line that goes away
from
there of those to drink
who
are bestowed with an upside-down
triangle of a cup
inside
of which are stips of official
pardon and
toward
the price of another metaphor
a ticket
to
the show
while grace if free
and
has no agency but God
if I may say
three parts to
one
with grace soaring everywhere
and everywhere it’s
needed
to cover and to heal as
that song-balm
the sin-
sick soul
and why not fly by music
of
the spheres
an angel chorus to announce
and
to remind us
freely given is the love and salvation
of the Lord
and
is the vision made
the poetry
perverse
and I don’t know but that it’s better than
the tyranny of will that despots
try
and yet prohibited by better will
and inside each
of us
a part
as if to fuse with our own
elements
our spirits to
save
grace
angels
our own will
and we are saved
if
against the world
and
those disillusioned and me
angered in
their
favor for who dispenses
grace
and blessing but
the Lord
and not the red
and black
the gold of breaking majesty
while
what we have
on our own
even alone if need be
faith
and love
forever
freely
grace like justice flowing
even better
c l couch
photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
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