#pentecost
When the Spirit's around - that's the third of the Three -
He regularly raises fresh questions for me:
You see , He's both the sought and the seeker, the truth and the teacher
the help and the helper, the gift and the giver.
He's the breath and the voice, the chooser, the choice
the anointer, the oil, the peace and turmoil.
He's the joy and the cries, always there to baptise
the bearer of fruit with fresh gifts to boot.
He's as wild as the wind, He'll breeze where He will
I've tried to contain Him, but He won't remain still.
I can't ever define Him, can't assign Him a label,
just accept He's my God and that my God is able
to be true to His Word while resisting defining
He'll still leave me questions, but that's not surprising.
He kicked off creation, gave the church her fresh start
and we're just the latest to play our small part.
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 12:08 PM UTC
The Day is the Year is the Month
Not of passage but of transit
Evening to Morning, Dark to Light
And Seven Days decreed as a Week
Unmarked, of abstraction, not perception
And Seven of Seven is the Week of Weeks
Of Time marked by the Sun
The Pentecost and Jubilee is the Day
After Seven of Seven Days and Years
But of Time marked by the Moon,
the Seventh is the First, the First, the Seventh
And Seven of Seven is 42 months or 1260 Days
Now what do the Stars do for time?
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 10:37 PM UTC
A book was given,
but the man cannot read.
Another can read,
but cannot understand.
A book of secrets,
in a plain tongue.
A strange tongue given,
secrets revealed.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
in seven of sevens,
in time, times and a half,
from the very first night,
the harvest is completed.
the fruition of the leaven of truth,
once a strange tongue,
coded in familiar languages;
unquenchably burns on altars.
a foreign bride awaits,
the reason a man leaves his family;
love shall be awakened and aroused,
for the time is right!
the light, fully revealed.
a child, a new creation:
King of kings for a thousand years,
then Armageddon!
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Last Sunday after Pentecost
A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer
The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky
Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds
Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
For Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC