Wednesday, May 27, 2009


It’s not so
much what I say
but what you hear –

I can pick through
my words like fruit,
choosing what’s
ripe and ready –

I can order them
meticulously, like
mosaic tiles turning
tiny chips of meaning
into a shining image –

I can pack them
like pipe bombs, full
of all I know the world
needs to explode
what is wrong and leave
peace in the ruins –

I, too, can listen
and lay open my heart
to the brushfire
that burns, baptizes,
and leaves me looking
for you and a way to say,
“I love you” in your language.

Isn’t that the message
of Pentecost?



nAncY said...

yes, you can.

Marcus Goodyear said...

Whoa, Milton. This is powerful stuff.

I especially like the second stanza about picking through words like fruit.

A Simple Country Girl said...

What a gift.

Joy said...

You are a wonderful poet, Milton. Somehow, this one is especially brilliant! Thank you!

Barry said...

Milton, just browsed my way to your blog, looking at Pentecost stuff, and it's awesome. I just sent your poem to a bunch of friends and fellow clergy, hoping it might find it's way into a few sermons or liturgies tomorrow :-) Need to try a few of those recipes too!

sojourner said...

very nice Milton! I stopped by as I'm browsing the RAP offerings that were posted in Marcus' article over at HighCalling Blogs

Anne L.B. said...

I left a comment on HighCallingBlogs when I first read this. I did a post today which includes your magnificent insight on Pentecost. Thank you again for your wonderful words.