Painting by Freydoon Rassouli
In Thanksgiving to the Holy Spirit of Pentecost
Descend and wrap your love all around
Your cloak of light makes pure and rejects all fears
This love lense envelops one to another in perfect harmony
Blood Flowers Postcard by Elizabeth Vanduine
Your Suffering Is Not In Vain – Poem
Precious – Dare to dream beyond illness
Your song still needs to be heard
You leave us holy tracks
Trust your heart!
Heaven will spin you out of pain
I’m offering this poem to all who are being challenged with ill health including Chris, Vera, Beverly and Nora Linda.
Kaleidoscope, be my crimson arch of prayers
be my yellow circles of hope
rejoicing warmly in the rainbow.
Scottish David Brewster invented kaleidoscopes in 1816 as instruments to polarize optics with properties of light. He named this technique from Greek words meaning ‘beautiful form watcher.’
Persian Poetry on Wine by Rumi
The Many Wines
God has given us a dark wine so potent that, drinking it, we leave the two worlds.
God has made sleep so that it erases every thought.
There are thousands of wines that can take over our minds.
Don’t think all ecstasies are the same!
Jesus was lost in his love for God. His donkey was drunk with barley.
Drink from the presence of saints, not from those other jars.
Every object, every being, is a jar full of delight.
Be a connoisseur, and taste with caution.
Any wine will get you high. Judge like a king, and choose the purest.
The ones unadulterated with fears, or some urgency about “what’s needed.”
Drink the wine that moves you as a camel moves when it’s been untied
and is just ambling about.
The Dandelion – Art by Janie Olsen
One of my favored things to do in summer is whiff freshly cut grass, but after reading this delightful poem, I will stop and gaze at the dandelions before I mow them down.
The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay
O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time.
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears.
To scorn the lawnmower that would be
Like fate’s triumphant shears,
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o’er.
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before.
Thank you, Christopher, for sharing this wonderful poem and art piece