the reason for the prophets
(and the poets)
yes
and how crazed
am I
isn’t
that something
beautiful
and practical
might be done
in pottery
an
effect designed
before the
fire makes
it hot
and changes it
to beauty
practicality
as both
might be
desired
then designed
intentions
can be good
as are my wishes
wants
efforts
for you
and keep the prophets
fed
by ravens bringing bread
and in the wilderness
internal
where the song is written
then is raised
for an inauguration
to the Lord
then maybe
others
take the song
to raise
back in the city
in the forest
on the farm
over the ocean
all the oceans
between
planets
all the worlds
we are
and even those we cannot
see
or hear
or smell
or taste
or touch
or take up time
and matter
and un-matter
in the choosing
in the personhood
of God
and maybe us
when we are in tandem
by example
when the prophet shall
come back
from
the wilderness
unto
the courts
of the world
c l couch
photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash
Wilderness for Real
(before the angels or the promised land)
So what happens
In the wilderness?
We think more about its passing
Forty days in the wilderness
Forty years wandering
The desert
How were they led
Without any leading?
There was no direction but
Not to find the way
One day in a wilderness
Without means except
What might fall out of the sky
Stone into bread
Water from rocks, that is
And are we to live by miracle
For many days?
The holes inside of desert walls
Holes within holes
Drive in a couple pegs
To make a shelf
This life was considered wisdom?
There must have been
The company of food
If not of people bringing it
Water must have gotten there
Somehow,
Meaning wisdom must be patronized
Sponsors for each hermit
If not a dining hall
Is a hermitage allowed community?
Is there companionship
Inside the wilderness?
Who would be alone
To hear only the heart
Wait for nerve flashes
To shine behind the eye,
This is loneliness enough
The creator hasn’t left
Each one is not a pocket watch
Inside a deist vest
There is loneliness in wilderness
Underneath there is companionship
Something we feel
Less than God
But more than ego-censorship
Affords in crowds
Magnets are not good for us
They draw us without thinking
When we can get away
Or accept it, anyway
Because it happens
Something in us owns
The time, the chance
To say, this feels like home for now
I’ll stay here while I can
Even as a long-withheld surprise
I’ll learn
Employ some craft
Commune
It shouldn’t last forever
Then I get to return
Maybe encounter you
Before returning,
All changed
C L Couch
Photo by Arto Marttinen on Unsplash
Color Us the Painted Desert
a service
God of the wilderness
God of the wildness
Except that we’d need kitchens
And bathrooms
And storage for our things
This is not camping
Not a hotel experience, we know
Where is the wilderness
On my street?
Maybe it’s out back
Maybe it’s the outfield at the school, which
Often feels a deserted place
I have too many things
For wilderness
Even if they got me
Some of them
To this place where inside-outside
I want there to be less
And in the open
A driveway sale for
Shriving
So I might have
A Lenten lifestyle
Of my own, for keeps
No takebacks
No giving as we gave to Indians,
Which is what that phrase means
Talk about the wilderness
I don’t care anymore
I’d rather draw a picture
Wish to throw myself inside
Wait for the sky I drew to move
The grass to bend
Pebbles from the pathway
Fall onto the table with the pencils
You tell me I don’t have to go
There are many things here
That indicate
That even point the way
Yes, I could visit
Then come back
Bring a few mementos, talk about
The cairn left behind
Though people shouldn’t make those
Somewhere else, anymore
It’s a process:
Read more
Talk with these people
Listen—always good advice
But I’m tired of suburban circles
The kind that form a wheel to nowhere
Really an excuse for coffee
And conversation about anything
And I’m glad to participate
I am missing one thing
Companionship
For the journey
I’d rather you came with me
Some say such things must always
Go alone
The spirit quest, the walkabout
Though the wolf we meet is not alone
Might wonder what I’m doing there
Before returning to the family
The pack
And loyalty
Well, where am I going, anyway
And how?
I am here where doorways rarely open
To the sky
Where quiet contemplation
Is a fiction when the neighbors start to yell
And drop things, heavily
Upon my spirit
God, I can be so tired
Couldn’t you pick me up
Maybe in an old blue car
Take my friend and me
If she says yes
And with your friends we go west
Or east
Or wherever
You live and keep a house
Of wood the trees knowingly gave
And where the wind sings gladly
Where all around we understand
At last
The wilderness
after benediction
Stay or return
Or take up somewhere else
Maybe we’ll have a pack
Talking about other things
Another way to live
There will be loyalty
Because it is the source of joy
Not a grim reality
Or fighting words
Respect, freedom, something
Of our own
The love of life no more forfending
We will laugh our way
Up the valleys, over mountaintops
Truly, modestly
Celebrating all
Because we’re pack
Because we’re family
C L Couch
Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash
Colour Cluster!
Shouting Match
A man
I think it was a man
Was on the sidewalk somewhere
Outside, screaming about something
Early this morning
It might have been about the
Lord
Who will give him understanding
It’s quiet now; I saw no flashes from
Police cars
There is a religious group next door
Maybe some of that group came out to
Attend to him
Maybe not
Maybe they called on everyone’s behalf
There has been silence for a while
I could have been
In a city where
Such happenings are commonplace
But it was here in the center of
Our borough, small Mechanicsburg
Not Queens or Brooklyn
Nowhere near Manhattan
Not even Harrisburg
Across the river
I’m not feeling guilty so much
Nor do I dissemble
I am one
Who else could there be unless the
Dissolution in the building be resolved
Next door they are several
They take up the parking with
Their cars from out of state
The violence was verbal
And, yes, I know, it is an insane world
Proved by this part of it
Raving where there was no crowd
For hearing or responding
Small repentance, if there should be any
Did he think himself
The voice in the wilderness?
A prophet by the Jordan for our time?
I doubt I’ll ever know
I guess I could be
Shaken just a little
I’ll have some coffee now
Then take my pills
I wish I hadn’t used up the bread I had
For toast
Something nice for breakfast
Might be appropriate
A small salve
For a scratched place on my soul
The cause of fear from confrontation
Or maybe
A caution of indifference
An hour later
A touch jumpy, mostly sad
Fifteen minutes more
Now I’m teary
When I think about
The man in the world
All his wilderness
C L Couch
Photo by Mitchell Luo on Unsplash
Lent 10
2
First, though,
We must have him
In the wilderness
Forty days because forty’s
Important
In a place for unbelievers
(for heathens dwell upon a heath)
Nowhere to rest well
To drink, to bathe
To have the food that comes
From green and ready plants and trees
He is there, and
The wild
Must consume him
Yet he is so vast inside
He has room for it and so much more
The space of all the world
And the needs for which it
Cries
He is not alone
One other must be there
An adversary
Who must tempt the man
And the child untested
In the world
Make bread out of rock
Throw your tired body headlong
Into nihilism
Worship me so I can give you
Empire
Of the strong, such as
Alexander took
We know how it ends
Jesus cites
Adjures the tempter and
His own need
The thing must depart
The entity, the plan
(wile away another)
Angels visit angels
This act is done
There is no more to say
Or learn
Time to visit other withered places
C L Couch
Hotchkiss, Jedediah, 1828-1899 – https://www.civilwar.org/learn/maps/sketch-battle-wilderness-position-2nd-corps-anv-thursday-may-5th, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63245863
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