PerGoSeeMo Psalm 11

Psalm 11. Psalms 33:1-3, 150:6

            Let all creation bring you glory –

Let all creation give you praise –

Let all creation sing their hallelujah in their own ways:

            Let the minstrels take their lutes,

Their lyres, mandolins, and flutes,

And turn the music of their Lord

Into aural melodies and chords.

            Let the seamster take his clothes,

Fabrics and thread with which he sews,

And every stitch his needle makes

Be for your steadfast love and grace.

            Let the royals aim to rule

With righteousness revealed in you –

Their justice, like yours, ever be

Equal to their clemency.

            Let all creation bring you glory –

Let all creation give you praise –

Let all creation sing their hallelujah in their own ways:

            Let the fox inside the woodland’s

Life somehow reflect your goodness –

Nature showing nature of

Its maker in the world above.

            Let moon and his daytime brother

Shine for you and for no other;

Let strong winds and gentle breezes

Move or still as their master pleases.

            Let the darkest beings contrast

With light we’ve known from ages past.

Let every part, though great or small,

Point back to God behind it all.

            Let all creation bring you glory!

Let all creation give you praise!

Let all creation sing their hallelujah in their own ways!

PerGoSeeMo Psalms 2 and 3

Psalm 2. Hebrews 12:18-19; 1 Kings 19:11-12

            What might have been a song spins off into two and three

Conversation becomes chatter, turns to clamor, then to chaos

An aural blur of voices rises, higher, louder, unrelenting

Inside of me, my own scream builds to join them:

QUIET!

Volume’s hailed as power’s equal;

Victory to the trumpet blast

That cows the others into silence,

Short-lived though it will be.

            Strings of words, snatches of music

A streaming montage made of memory

Formed of plans and dreams and worries

Pounding like a restless tide.

Quiet!

I cannot think for thinking

On my thought’s runaway train

Every sound good as subliminal –

There and gone before I’ve time to know I’ve heard.

            My inner ears are clogged with noise.

I could not hear a whisper if your lips moved right beside me.

I do not ask for shouting or a whirlwind from the mountain;

Only burst the soundproof bubble muffling what you’d have me hear.

            Hush demoralizing din.

Still my spirit’s fuss and frenzy.

Lead me to a glade of calm.

We’ll picnic on the fruit of peace

And sit and share and simply be,

As friends can, with or without speaking.

            Respite beyond the bedlam…

            Stillness amidst commotion…

            Quiet.

            Bless you.

* * *

Psalm 3. Psalms 19:1-4

            The heavens tell of the glory of God

The skies are a gallery, exhibit of your artistry

A masterpiece of silent song, shining for the world to see;

Blessed be the Lord of the sky.

            The sun burns warm, and the moon glows cold

The stars twinkle merrily, a gift from far-off galaxies

The sculpted clouds ride on the winds that breathe their airy melody;

Blessed be Creator of it all.

            Every shade of blue, every tint of the dawn

Every bold hue of evening as sun and horizon meet

No sketch or painting ever was, could place itself in rivalry;

Blessed be the Artist nonpareil.