prophetic poetry by Ron David Metcalf
© 2004-2005 all rights reserved
The solitary beating of the fervent heart
resounds like ripple circles on a glassy lake
brings news of life to distant shores
or light from Heaven's fiery stars
traverse the silent fearsome emptiness
to shine on mankind's peace and wars.
What word, O traveler, do you bring?
About what passionate hope do you now sing?
I sing of One seen long ago residing in a pleasant land
Who lifted love up from the dust and held sweet music in His hand.
He healed multitude infirmaries; He calmed the sea and walked on waves;
gave saving power to helpless souls; then died, but rose up from the grave.
How can we judge your story true?
How can we meet this One, like you?
I know it's hard for you to see how this One lives inside of me.
A childlike faith is what you need to separate the chaff from wheat.
You may not understand today; perhaps you'll sneer and walk away;
but I'll still love, and I'll still pray that I, and you, will have His way.
Ron David Metcalf © 1/11/06
From the press no man has trod
flows the precious blood of God.
Get salvation; get your healing:
free to all the humble willing.
Come and dine. Come, drink wine.
Heaven's offering banquet, mine.
Shun thieves who merchandise the feast.
God's children are His kings and priests.
Heed the Shepherd- Him alone:
Slain Lamb most worthy of God's throne.
Praise Him, peoples of the earth:
God of love and holy birth.
From the press no man has trod
flows the precious blood of God.
For tSYWN's sake I will not keep silent.
How lovely are your streets, O YRWShLYM!
Forever HYDWT will pour from the lips of YHWDH.
The YDWD of YHWH will not be abandoned; YWN will not prevail;
Your YD will hold when all assail her.
The YTR of YSRAL will YShE:
YHWH's YEtS will YtSA.
YcHD into His YcHYD: YcHL on YHWH.
[line 1: Zion's
line 2: Jerusalem
line 3: songs of praise/ Judah
line 4: beloved of God/ Greece (Javen)
line 5: hand
line 6: remnant of Israel/ be saved
line 7: God's plan (purpose)/ go forth
line 8: be united (joined)/ only begotten Son/ wait (hope) in God]
New morning mercies cleanse my mind.
Jesus, give me Your heart.
Restore my vision to behold the beauty of Your creation
unhindered by sin and death.
Let me hear the music of Your heavenly choir.
Increase my desire in compassion.
Let me live the fullness of life now and forever.
Free my feet to dance.
Give me complete Love, Joy and Peace in Your Most Holy Spirit.
Let my song ring out to You.
An agreement with Paul neither saves nor heals me.
A hireling for Peter falls far short of Your glory.
Yeshua Messiah, I most desperately need You.
Free me from this slavery, Lord.
Let Your covenant promises to those You love
as I rise early and prophesy victory in You, God my Savior.
It is time, it is time: overthrown, overthrown.
The cross-kissed curse is broken: give Your crown to the despised.
As ebb washes into flow, the last becomes first.
Resurrect us now into Your strength and power,
as the Son becomes One with the Father.
In Jesus' love and name, amen. Ron David Metcalf © 5/18/05
“For it will come to pass in that day,” says the Lord of hosts, “ that I will break his yoke from off your neck, and will burst your bonds, and strangers will no more help themselves to you: but you will serve the Lord your God, and David your King, Whom I will raise up unto you.” Jeremiah 30:8,9
On that day
Zion is redeemed:
When children of God sing
And rejoice in His Presence.
Shekinah Glory return
To the mountain of Jerusalem.
We prepare our white garments
For the soon-coming King
While wedding bells ring:
“All our all our sins
are washed are washed away!”
Dancing in the streets again.
We don’t care what you say.
We don’t sit silent in your pews anymore anyway.
We only hear His voice
Saying, “Go to the highways
And byways, and bring the lost
And lonely to My feast.”
You tried to stop us
And you failed.
Now put on your black robes
And your veils, and mourn for yourselves.
Resurrection Day is here.
The shofar sounds and draws us near.
Garden gates fling open wide.
Fountains gurgle- streaming glide
O’er the see-saw swings and slide
Onto the rising ocean tide
Where harbor vessels of the Bride.
Go to the Nations.
Love with celebration.
In Jesus’ love and name, Ron David Metcalf © 2/27/05
THE CROSS OF RUTH
is numbered law in ageless wage in awesome awl,
a solitary mirrored shawl in beating fallen-sine-struck time-
constraining planes of atmosphere.
Recite the paternoster grade of gilt-edged gown and sultry glade beneath the turbine’s fiery glowing shield protecting harvest hearth and home.
Consign the grinding caterpillar- hoist the chain!
Remove the chilblain handsome truss from salt-swathed face and roosting crane.
Suspend the medal-laden bridge in empty upright-minded space beyond the mercenary’s racing
ruined road and groaning grain.
rises from dew-soaked elder
WITHIN THE BEGINNING
ripping dawn from blood-stained morning
contractions RIPPLING QUIET
reflections in glinted surface conceptions
patiently pacing in white sterilized waiting rooms.
FATHER OF PEACE your sword
pierces deep past sacrificial confessions
toward enthroned obligations. Shall the
hovering blade strike the yielded heart
twice- Christ or Joab emerge
from the cruel water shaft? Laughing boy,
what’s inside those blank staring eyes?
Can I turn my old back and leave you to die?
My son, my son.
rick & rill tattersail longevous patter rainwashed
rails tacit thicket woodnote wicket parsec-terraced
train & trailer.
riparian whippoorwill gristmill mountain plainsong
stroller workhorse rowan preacher hymn
drunken Jim tergiversate troth & trover.
tuck & tucket transom stance tramontanic transhumance
thoughtway thrall tiara mall tilth and tiercel…
The 99 were safe inside,
the hearthstone fire was burning bright;
what kind of fool would even try
to go out on this awful night
to look for one poor, rain-drenched sheep
caught in some branch or fallen tree
who did not come when he was called
and doubtless got what he deserved-
that sheep was me.
Appointments due that could not wait
and dressed sharp in my three-piece suit-
an old car stranded on the road
and if I stopped, I would be late;
but mom and babe looked tired and worn.
I took the lug nuts from the rim
and saw a face smile from the seat-
and it was Him.
The Simple Sing the Song
Learned long ago in solemn halls
Of darkened massive space reverberating vows of
Solitary multitudes unwinding wails of mended
Rain regaled in satin sheets of restive hoods concealed in
Shadowed hallowed rood beneath the stained and slivered pane:
“Your death, our life.”
This is not right.
Beyond imposing bell and spire a massive
Pile of vapor forms of current draft and
Thundering charge removing any earthly
Doubt of tears stored up and freedom’s slain
Let loose of stricken cells of grief and rules
Of strict unyielding jade.
The simple sing the song learned long ago,
But they are wrong.
“Your death, our death.
Your life, our life!”
My Father owns the cattle on a thousand hills;
I sit in solitude by candlelight.
The Holy Spirit wanders where He wills;
each little word I struggle long to write.
But in the evening breeze a song I hear
that whispers tidings of the coming year.
Upon a barren hill a rampike stands,
a somber silhouette in gloaming grey
etched by the falling flakes of early snow
that nestles on the ground and has its way.
But in the darkened world the powder white
begins to gleam and shimmer in the night
as weary pilgrims look into the sky
to find which way go slaves and kings,
uncertain of their gifts, though bitter cold
within each cell a joyous celebration rings
anticipating harvest, hearth, and home
retelling that we’ll never be alone
for LOVE forever pure surrounds the throne.
The Gilt-Edged Leaves and Crimson
lucid sky reflected on the piedmont pool falls trickling down the murrey slake in limbate
vermeil/vermilion rivulets awakening woodnotes from the
thicket’s tardy thrush below the headland’s rutilant
rack. Matin’s laud and plainsong instrumental peace reverberate from monachal walls as hearthstone’s embers waft ascending in sangfroid supernal surety beyond the vatic mortmain rood: oriflamme of cordate ablution. Orisons of versant motets from staunch transpontine passers-by replete in hiemal’s ovine transhumance repeat epiphanies of hospice’s affluence and renascent manumitted litany; oneirically, nascently lulling shepherd’s keep nodding to wellsweep’s trochal cord squealing in transom’s innate vim & vis and tantara of recrudesced gears.
Iridescent limen girasols illumine and elutriate the turning haptic helve, scumbling the pellucid paragon in melliferous overt mansuetude, itenerating nitid rectitude, nudging salubrious violition, cleaving sacrosanct serependipity in
sentient olibanum affiance and vineal vicissitude: olivaceous guerdon, redolent unguent of the scintillating scythe and
Sonorously the silvern strand streams by ephemeral rillstone verglas, lingering on eluvium riffles recessed in algid, shade= shaled talus, reflecting early vallate beams in trenchant shimmering saltation; then skitters on to lotic reach eloigning above the moiling millrace: noetic nisus extravasating sinuous sacradotal extirpation and sacramental expropriation in churning ebullition and patulous telic tourbillion theophany’s effusive exigency and recondite extorsion, riving pomace velleity from anomalous aspersion.
You led us to slaughter without a defense.
Passible, exiguous effluence extenuates and extricates past the scandent, sagittate outrance: salient spire of poplar’s ken and Shrovetide’s aeolian sennet.
Before that righteous tree
Love’s carried on the wind-swept key.
Learn what the righteous know,
Why love’s surrounded by the lost and low.
virescent rareripe efflorescence
greensward haulm-harrowed heron engendering hummock hyaline irenic
joy’s journey justified agrarian juncture glorious resplendent kerygma kiddush lambent lentic lustrous meadow gowan melody
mercy’s merry missive munificent
neb noumenon numinous oleaginous
pastoral pedologic pomonogy radicate radiant glowing resplendent refulgent risible sciuroid sorrel sunglow susurrous swath sweetbay opulence auburn blazing veridal habdalah incalescence indwelling unction rivulose exuberant exultation tufa verdure verbena veracious virga virid vitreous Whitsuntide whooping crane windrow tilth wisteria crepe myrtle undulating shimmering gleaming glittering adjuration aeonian rife Paraclete
paralimnion sedulous seiche
optative operose tryst
Along the sabulous scarp, past slacktide’s shoal swash
where limicolines scurry and kingfishers swirl to outfall’s
terrigenous billows, littoral aestival visitors sit by terraces
watching piscatory scaphoid shadows sway, pitch and bob
in the neretic rote. A speck in the pelagic offing under the pluvial horizon imparts a masthead’s shivering sailcloth weltering in the surging send, seeking vesper’s landfall,
sanctum sanctorum, in the spindrift and roiling swell.
Thalassic’s great year ascribes and subsides. Nunc Dimittis
Where the righteous stand before that sparkling shore
And LOVE shines brilliantly, forevermore.
Camping out at the foot of the cross,
ministering to an audience of One;
my body curled up in a heap;
I was praying for my son
when drops of blood fell on my head
and He said, “It is done.”
Standing beside old Jordan’s shore,
wondering how the waters will part;
like finding the key to freedom’s door
becomes a deepest matter of the heart;
as Spirit’s fire and ocean’s roar
are hidden in the nuclear core.
Light Reveals Truth
in deep empty darkness
tiny specks traverse vacuous space
like quantum ships riding sine waves through
to dawn bathing a solitary tree on a hill
singing holy music on the wind-swept plain:
whispering peaceful footsteps of Love
and a Voice like many waters.
The Forsaken (Matt. 27:46)
“How can pure Love allow evil to torture His children?” law asks God, not understanding how death waits silently, past anger
and giving up and all questions
for the answer.
Insurrection fuels the fires of hatred;
Resurrection fuels the fire of love
Burning Spirit within me,
overcome this world
and lead me to the throne of heaven
in Jesus’ name, amen.
Song of Songs Seven
The rent veil’s chamber pulses love’s
hushed heartbeat and sounds of breathing:
“Y- (inhale) H- (exhale) W- (inhale) H- (exhale)”
amidst the threshold’s soft glow and whispered
rustling wings, the day’s spent tally
and sundry unencumbered things
shed like cloaks upon the wooden floor.
Maturely she smiles and speaks of fields,
village inns and vineyards where children laugh
and dance in celebration of the feast
where grapes’ and pomegranates’ sweet
blossoms’ wafting fragrances mingle with
incense and mandrakes’ musk, and, like dawn’s
early light is promised and repeated
in the dusk, the psalms of praise
are hidden in the prophets’ prose.
THE LORD SAYS:
“YOU ARE DOING THINGS BACKWARDS!
WHEN WILL YOU TURN IT AROUND?
YOU ARE MAKING MY PEOPLE ENTER THE GATES WITH
WEEPING AND SUPPLICATION, INSTEAD OF SINGING AND REJOICING.
[Psalm 100] YOU HAVE MADE THEM THE SACRIFICE, WHEN YOU
SHOULD BE THE SACRIFICE. THE INNER COURT
IS FOR THE PRIESTS TO CRY OUT TO ME FOR SOULS. [Joel 2:12-32]
YOU ARE PRIVATELY REJOICING IN THEIR SPOIL, INSTEAD
OF POURING YOURSELVES OUT AS AN OFFERING TO THEM.
THEY ARE LIKE LOST SHEEP WHOM YOU ARE SLAUGHTERING.
REPENT AND BE RESTORED, OR BE CAST FROM MY SIGHT.
LET THE PEOPLE REJOICE AND LET THE EARTH BE GLAD!
LET THE JOY OF THE WATERS OF SALVATION BE OPENED!
LET THE WATER BE TURNED INTO WINE!
LET THOSE WHO WOULD PREPARE THEMSELVES TO ENTER
THE HOLY OF HOLIES BECOME MY DISCIPLES AND NO OTHERS’.
AS YOU BECOME HOLY, I WILL LET MY HOLY SPIRIT FLOW
THROUGH YOU TO TEACH THE NATIONS.
LET THE GOOD NEWS OF THE GOSPEL AGAIN BE HEARD.
LET MY PEOPLE REJOICE!”
An intercessory cry for help
LORD God, YHWH ADWNY, we cry out to You for help. We are in the depths, we have no strength left to endure, the waves have overwhelmed us. All of our efforts together cannot defeat the forces of darkness which have come against us. We look to You alone for our salvation and deliverance. Look upon us, hear and come to our aid, as You made the sun stand still for Joshua, and turned it back for Hezekiah. We have no hope except in You. Send Your angels, Your heavenly host, to stand with us and launch a counterattack against the enemy. We love You, and praise You, and give You all the glory, for Your Holy Spirit working in us and through us to overcome the world. In Jesus’ name, Yeshua Messiah, Amen.
“THE CROSS…” -from which all men run away
“ IS GLORIOUS,” says the LORD.
The huge, gleaming white cross
above the autumn-bannered mountains
is etched upon my soul;
yet, I feel its pain and burden
every moment, every day.
How can I understand this, my God, or explain it to others?
How is this the good gospel news
that transcends the world?
I need supernatural revelation.
I must have Your refined gold, white garments, and anointed
eye salve. I must see. I must have wisdom.
You must teach me how to LOVE.
Your suffering is my suffering, Jesus; Your joy and peace, mine also.
How can the world know?
What can I do or say
to bring them to You?
How can I, from poverty and illness, show them Your magnificent
You have consumed me. There is nothing of myself left to give.
All my fountains are in You; all Your waves and billows
have washed over me.
How can I, from this death, proclaim Your eternal LIFE?
The grain is good.
The wine is sweet.
The oil glistens in the light.
But we bow to the Man
Who wears the crown of thorns.
By His blood
We cross the threshold
And enter the temple
Where the table is already set.
The candlesticks flicker softly.
The perfumed incense fills the room.
From the open inner door His face appears.
Surf and Spindrift; Gold and Glass
My God, I want to understand Your ways.
The enemy is viciously attacking, leaving Your people destitute.
Give me wisdom concerning our cross, and the resurrection glory
of Your kingdom.
The undertow, felt but unseen, draws us out, submissive in the churning sand,
to meet and mix with the insistent wave, cresting, towering in strength,
crashing on the glistening white shoreline.
The process is repeated, o’er and o’er, as our heartbeat:
a going out, a coming together.
How do we overcome in our humiliation?
We craft our answers, periwinkles and sandcastles.
We cry “Hosanna!” from the depths of our being.
Anointed oil to see.
I acknowledge the wave,
But I don’t know what to do.
How many times must I be broken and remade?
When I speak of unity, the sword divides;
when I gently try to correct, the swell comes against me.
Jesus, I want to agree with You
in the Holy Spirit.
I thank You for Your favor.
I unconditionally love You.
I most desperately need Your authority and power.
I try. I die. I rise up, and try again.
Love. Joy. Peace.
Grant me these in Your holy name,
and that I prosper and prevail as I join in
the infinite music of Your Word.
LIGHTNING BOLTS OF LIQUID LOVE
shoot through the darkened, coal-damp shaft
and dance on solemn, heavy grate
where solitary prisoners look above
at glints of hope from sullen pit
and wait for crumbs and drops of blood.
Molten magma, steam and ash
can barely surface and escape
in shouts of angry orange crates
and quaking, sweating buckboard plats
above the rooted, soil-gripped fear
where eyes are dim and dreams are near
in creaks and whispers of the night.
What Form is this Who enters now?
What awesome, royal Majesty
invades the ragged dynasty
of bleak and barren industry
to pull the bony, blackened slave
up from the miry, endless maze
and show him glorious azure skies
and give him keys to unlock doors
while trumpets blare and oceans roar?
DOOR OF HOPE
The joyful sound
when God’s people
line up with God’s Word.
The key of giving
leads to the threshold of commandments
of Jesus the Door.
The cross is the penalty
of the Law:
not to worship,
nor to measure up,
nor to stand beneath,
but to go through boldly.
The Door is open, not shut.
The pole is the plumb line:
there is our peace.
The beam is the measuring rod:
there is our joy.
The intersecting Heart of Love is
His cup of suffering
(from hallowed halls of reverent silence
and corridors of speechless grief );
His healing blood;
sowing, reaping, sowing, reaping:
The double portion
is forgiveness and repentance.
Forgiveness conquers anger.
Repentance conquers fear,
bringing us to Perfect Love.
He is our peace: breaking every wall.
He is our joy: our jubilee celebration.
“Pass through, pass through the gate!
Raise up, raise up the highway!”
Our Standard goes before us.
We will dance with total abandon at the marriage supper of the Lamb.
River of Joy
flood over me!
Fire of Peace
consume my being!
embrace me forever!
Before the beginning God Is past all ending.
Matthew 5:17-20; Micah 6:8; Isaiah 28:16,17;
Deuteronomy 14:22-29; 26:12-15
Rainy December Morn
In the darkness
Love is poured forth
like kisses on eyelids
and the sweet aroma
of Your breath
forming rivulets on the thirsty ground
uniting formal covenants
with latent revelation
of rivers of everlasting pleasure
flowing from Your throne.
I am Your own.
You embrace me tightly
as if You will never let me go
fulfilling most holy vows
of infinite worth
beyond the hot sunny days
to mature fires
of our hearts beating together
past all institutional learning
to the sanctuary of Shalom.
I Am your own.
SWORD OF LIGHT
divide the dead void
of ignorant men
from the warmth
of Your compassion.
Let them view the flames with fear
from outer emptiness
as they sneer and jeer in hate
at the loveliness of Your conception.
Let their cold bitter hearts
be removed from the laughter
of the joy of Your strength
and the peacefulness of Your celebration.
Let them howl with envy
at the sign of Your favor
unto Your faithful ones
until they repent
and rejoice in Your circumnavigation.
The Spirit came to the Father and said, “It is time for Me to take a bride, as You married four thousand years ago, and Jesus married two thousand years ago.”
The Father said, “Yes, it is time. What kind of bride would You like?”
The Spirit said, “First I must tell You what kind of bride I don’t want. Your wife was very young and rebellious, and it took You a long time to teach her proper etiquette, and how to be a good hostess. She would try to please You for awhile, but would quickly fall back into her old patterns, neglecting her duties. Finally, You divorced her, and it really shook her up, until You took her back. After that, she began really trying to follow Your rules, but focused so much on them that You are no longer really intimate. So, I would say that she learned to honor and obey You, but never really learned to love You.”
Jesus said, “Well, then, You want a wife like Mine.”
The Spirit answered, “Well, not exactly. You see, Your wife was really impressed with Your willingness to do things for her, even die for her, but used Your love as a license to do as she pleases. She is selfish and uncaring of others, and sometimes very haughty and mean. She likes to dress to the hilt and parade around Your pews as Your chosen one; she hogs all the attention for herself, and never lets anyone else join in the conversation. So, I would say that she learned to love You, but never to honor or obey You.”
Jesus said, “You want a bride that will truly love, honor, and obey You. What other qualities should we look for as we help You look?”
The Spirit said, “I want someone who is truly devoted to Me, who loves Me with all her heart, and will never even think of leaving Me no matter how tough things get. I want her to be happy and joyful morning and evening, singing and dancing around the house
with psalms of praise and gladness. I want her to be peaceful and submissive, willing to follow Me wherever I go, without complaining or debate. I especially want her to be
genuine, not playing games with Me or putting on some performance.”
The Spirit continued, “I want her to be thankful of the presents I give her, asking for more in My zeal, but not demanding more for herself alone. I want her to laugh with joy,
rejoicing in giving, constantly setting aside a portion for the poor, as You, Father, commanded Your wife to do in a storehouse long ago. I want my wife to understand that sacrifice and blessing work hand in hand, and that all our children receive equal love and attention, sharing with each other, and not competing against each other, trying to hoard all the gifts for themselves.”
The Father and Jesus agreed, and said, “We will help you look for this bride, wherever she may be found. You have Our full support, for this is the bride We also wanted.”
Speaking Truth In Love
Doubting Thomas had to know for himself: to see, hear,
and touch our resurrected Lord. How can we judge
what we so desperately need ourselves?
Beautiful words may flow from my lips
without coming from my heart- flattery, deceit, lies. We frame
our pictures of where we are not, standing statues on pedestals,
wrapped up on stage in shiny boxes.
I may pledge allegiance to symbols of power without
knowing love- without knowing Love. What do I gain?
Perhaps all the money, beauty, and fame the world can offer?
Is that enough? Will my soul be satisfied?
Empty words fall to the ground in sorrow and solitude.
Why couldn’t you do what you said?
Where is that covenant we made together?
I stand aloof, arms crossed, judging your actions, my heart
hurting from the deception. Yet, haven’t I also done that to you?
How many unkept promises have I made?
How long have I made you wait?
I’m so very sorry- for you and for me.
Will you forgive me? Can the healing truly begin?
I want to make amends with You, my Lord, for questioning
Your ways and counting Your days. So many times
I get tangled in the numbers, without seeing Your blessings or
praising Your Name. Forgive me, my God.
Please restore our fellowship, restore my family, restore my faith
in what You have promised. I ask for wisdom, for I do not understand
Your plans and purposes for my life. I only know
That I cannot live without You. I love You.
grows slowly and silently
for it is a tree
and not a weed.
Pharisees Choose Leaders; God Chooses Losers
Losing yourself to find others is the answer, though the world will never see;
Rejoicing in helping your sisters and brothers, and finding my Jesus in me.
David was a lonely shepherd boy
Way out in the fields, way out in the fields;
Forgotten even by his closest kin
When the prophet came to anoint a king.
His brothers mocked him when he came to town
To bring provision from their father
But when old Goliath fell to the ground
They found a friend of Israel like no other.
Jesus was a lowly Galilee boy
Born in a barn, born in a barn;
Rejected by the religious crowd
Who were looking for someone a lot more proud.
The people came from far and wide
To see his miracles of bread and health
But turned the other way the day He died
And once again went after the god of wealth.
Shepherd king, your prodigy,
Nailed to a tree, is the hope of all mankind:
King of kings, Lord of lords, the most high and exalted God,
Came from heaven, not to get even, but to humble the exalted,
Exalt the humble, and offer salvation to the wicked earth.
Let us extol His resurrection, dance in mercy and redemption,
And shout in triumph in our second birth.
HOSANNA PALMS ARE LAID
at His feet and lifted
in triumphal worship
is He Who comes in the name
Spirit Wind stir Jerusalem again
until multitudes ask
“Who is this Jesus of Nazareth, Galilee?”
He enters the Temple of our hearts
to cast out greedy moneychangers
selling false doves of peace,
of ransom silver,
driving out thieves in dark dens
and lairs of deception
declaring, “It is written:
MY HOUSE IS A HOUSE OF PRAYER!”
The lame come to Him to be healed
making religious leaders indignant
because the praise of children is heard
above their rejected sermons.
Hungry, He curses
the green fig tree
with a crown of thorns
as Jotham said at Gerizim:
“If you act in truth and integrity
come take refuge in My shadow and
rejoice in the Father of the King
and He will rejoice in you
but if not
let fire come from the bramble
and burn up the cedars of Lebanon!”
Jacob, your stolen blessings
have become your curse-
like lawyer’s loopholes become the noose
of the proud and vain
thinking they are above the law
-like astonished disciples gaping at the withered fig tree.
“IF YOU HAVE FAITH SAY TO THIS MOUNTAIN
BE CAST INTO THE SEA!
ASK IN PRAYER, BELIEVING, AND YOU WILL RECEIVE!”
Hallelujah Psalms are laid
at His feet and lifted
in triumphal worship
saying: “Blessed is He
Who comes in the name
Of YHWH Most High!”
As the fanfare begins, and everyone stands
to gaze upon her beauty, she does not look
to the right nor left, nor toward the
attendants lined up on either side, but stares
intently into His eyes, this Chief among ten thousand:
her Perfect One, her Lover, her Bridegroom. 2/21/04
Spring is here
Gentle new year.
The Spirit starts
To search all hearts
For a holy bride
With no other motive
Than to love her Lover
Forever and ever. 3/14/04
The Lord Loves These
A magnificent oak
spreads its shimmering sunny-lemon,
shady-lime green canopy a hundred feet high
against a turquoise sky.
The Lord loves these
as much as butterflies and bees.
blended with clouds on the horizon
gush gurgling fountains and roaring falls
down rocky corridors to ice-blue liquid halls.
The Lord loves these
as much as His graceful delight
in my tinker-toy, tumbling words;
as much as chipmunks and hummingbirds.
MY PEOPLE ARE SCATTERED THROUGHOUT
LIKE LIGHT SPARKLING ON WAVES.
DO NOT FEAR, O MY CHILDREN.
MY ANGELS SURROUND YOU
AS THE TWINKLING STARS IN NUMBER.
I AM WITH YOU ALWAYS-
I NEVER LEAVE YOU NOR TURN AWAY.
REJOICE, MY LOVE!
THE VERY RHYTHM OF YOUR HEART
IS CALLING YOU TO ME;
THE RISE AND FALL OF YOUR BREATH
WHEN YOU SLEEP
IS LIKE THE TIDE’S EBB AND FLOW.
REST, MY PRECIOUS ONE.
DO NOT BE AFRAID.
WHEN ALL MOTION CEASES
IN THE STILLNESS
I WILL STILL BE THERE
TO TAKE YOU IN MY ARMS OF LOVE
AND CARRY YOU HOME.
I WILL GATHER YOU TOGETHER, CHILDREN,
LIKE GRAINS OF SHORELINE SAND
WITH THE SOUND OF PLEASANT BREAKERS,
TO YOUR ETERNAL LIFE AND PEACE. 3/25/04
TBcH- sacrifice TLH- lamb
TBL- baptism TMA- unclean
THRH- purification TMN- conceal
TWB- goodness TEM- taste
TYT- clay TP- children
TcHN- grind TPcH- extend
TL- dew TRP- tear
Between the jaws of death is room for Love;
between the cloven void the RWcH moves.
Father of light, where goest Thou?
We’ll wait for You.
We’ll run with You.
From hidden wells come summer springs.
Ron David Metcalf © 4/18/04
(In Hebrew, TP means both “little children”, and “tambourine”)
Dance, My Children, sing and play:
tomorrow is another day.
Weep, My Children, for My Lamb;
then rise, and walk, and leap about:
raise the dead and lift up shouts,
for, He did not stay in chains
but cast them off and rose again
and proved He is the great I Am!
Pray, My Children, for My Love
to pour out on the thirsty earth
for all who humbly wait and ask
for My great blessing of New Birth
and do not fear the daunting task
of opening wide the storehouse doors
to fill the barns with fruit and grain
from windows high ‘til I come again
for the faithful remnant who remain.
Rejoice, My Children, you are free!
You will hear and you will see
when I return to embrace you
and take you to your heavenly home-
where I make all things new.
John one four
Before the beginning
to where we are going
is where we are now.
John one fourteen
Holy Spirit, breathe on me.
Let me see Your glory.
Let me behold the goodness of
Your Grace and the fullness
of Your Truth forever, my Lord,
as You walk among us in the cool of
the evening and the fragrance
before dawn; as I sing
this song to You, my God:
Shepherd, Friend; world without end.
Children playing marbles bursting into years;
Ophir’s gold refracting brilliance;
once hidden in cold hardness,
waiting for deliverance to shine.
Men worship it,
seeing their reflection, not wanting
it to melt away.
jewels on breastplates catching glints
and glimmers from cherubim’s
Outside the veil
swirling incense about the lampstand.
Now the veil is torn.
Now a face is born.
Clothed in white linen
all received is regiven
Joy of the morning!
Shepherd of the dawn!
Radiance as the sun,
You leave me undone
and return triumphant.
It is nice swimming in the ocean, this covenant of salt,
and lying on the beach watching the waves roll in below
the spindrift air, and listening to the soothing surf, and feeling
the hot sun on the glistening sand.
It is nice seeing the people walking along getting a tan
leisurely lumbering toward their beach cottage, or high-rise hotel;
back to their air-conditioned room to read a book or watch tv
before supper, and look at the stars a bit before bed.
What does this have to do with Jesus, you ask?
Well, everything, I say, to those who know Him.
Love joy and peace are still Spirit fruit
beyond marketplace strategies and the competition for
money, beauty, and fame; there still is a place in our little
vacations to pause and think about justice, mercy, and righteousness,
before the giant bandwagon I dreamed about this morning,
like a huge carousel on wheels, traps me and runs me down while
I am shouting, “STOP! STOP!” I pray that it is just a warning
which will not come true. The children on board had stern faces like
they knew the power of their vehicle, and did not care what got in the way.
Before that I remember dreaming of clear blue water and watching a shoreline
drifting slowly by. How can this world have such pleasure and such pain?
After awhile I grow bored of the beach. The salty sand sticks to my sunburned
skin, and I begin to prepare for the ride home, shaking out the blankets, pouring out
the melted ice, dipping my feet in the water one last time before I put on my sandals.
I miss the mountains: the cool breeze wafting through the dark green foliage
and the trickling and gurgling of the little streams over the rocks.
Back to the Source: this is my goal; to find the refreshing Fountainhead once again,
Father of my being; small and hidden beyond the next bend, just over the next rise.
I want to feel my blood stirring again from the hike
and hear my panting in the thin air, eager to trudge on upward on the little-used path,
well beyond the hustle and bustle of city-dwellers who care nothing for this seemingly
ridiculous venture. Is there any profit in it? Not as you measure. Then why bother?
Because God is in it, though it’s hard to explain. There’s no numbers in it at all,
not counting heads nor offerings, anyway, just maybe picking tiny umbrellas off the queen anne’s lace, wondering at the single purple speck of flower in the middle, like Jesus’ bleeding heart surrounded by clouds of glory.
I want to know my God before I get to heaven. Perhaps this is a silly request to the
practical-minded multitude demanding health and prosperity now, fighting for reserved favor as the chosen and most-deserving. This is a war, you know. All the trees have teeth. I have read it in the textbooks. You have to repeat it to get a good grade. Without obtaining the highest degree you are doomed to be a slave. This applies six days a week. On Sundays you are reminded that God really loves you for one or two hours.
I am shorter of breath now; my body is more bloated, my muscles not used to the strenuous exercise. What is the end of it? Will tiredness set in; will I turn and walk away, short of the goal, not even running, the incapable failure everyone said I was anyway? We have to know our race. There are no chalk-line boundaries here; no cheering crowds; no gold medallions or olive crowns. I am no longer in a hurry. I will put my back to this log and rest; if I can’t make it today, there is always tomorrow.
I love the campfires of the night; but this insignificant brook, sure and persistent, knows a better faith. This water springing and leaping from its rocky well, pure and clean, is the manifestation from the Throne of God that becomes the River of Healing, the Water of Life. The only burning we will know in Heaven is the countenance of God’s face and the power of His Love shining like the sun; but we will drink the cool water, forevermore.
Okay, Here’s One
Knowledge is precious.
Putting it before God is foolish,
like tasting fruit without regarding the tree,
as hearing the EARTH-SHATTERING cry
of an Infant splitting time
while demons tremble, and not running to Him.
Wind Blow Still.
Fill this empty vessel with gleaming
oil-rich LOVE. Harken to this lowly voice
heart to BEATING HEART- shake me
from slumber. God be with us-
never leave my side. Envelope me completely.
I merge with You, into You, become You;
while enemies jeer as I sit at Your table.
Jesus-in-me, come to birth.
Reach up Your tiny hand and touch the sky.
Command the wind and waves.
Move mountains. Feed multitudes
by the simple blessing of Your Word.
Your world awaits Your will- Your
Kingdom comes with the gentle rustle
Of Your stirring.
Spoiling the Egyptians
Go ahead, give Me your best reason, your earnest plea:
why I should bless you as I promised.
I have removed your sins as far as east from west, and
forgotten them in the sea; you are My child,
precious as refined gold; strong and untarnished.
Yet the enemy batters you like breakers against a stormwall;
he hates you, and everything you do, with an insane and violent fury.
I tell you not to hurry; to wait and rest; to trust Me completely;
This is My war until the end of time.
You wish to make Your covenant with Me: you want to follow
what I have commanded. I am yours and you are Mine;
yet you do not understand this earthly conflict between
what I have desired, and what he has demanded.
Join My tribe, one out of twelve, chosen as My remnant bride:
Judah: Praise to Me is holy, without pride in earthly things,
soaring to the heavenlies, worshipful and reverent; despised by
the wicked; overlooked by the cunning; shunned by those who trust
in riches as silly and irrelevant.
Eat My Sacrifice, My unblemished Lamb, with thanksgiving to your Maker
and Deliverer; rejoice in My salvation to you: My infinite LOVE;
have faith that you are never left behind, nor forsaken.
Thus saith the LORD GOD:
”LET MY PEOPLE GO, THAT THEY MAY SERVE ME.”
Above towering, thundering edifices
Of finite grandeur, a whispered prayer
Ascends to the Throne:
Sweet-smelling sacrifice from a grateful heart
For breath and measure to strike a chord
And sing a note
Endless days in penultimate praise to You,
Most Ancient, Holy One: LOVE incarnate,
Giver of light and life.
I grow tired of talk without miracles;
I grow weary of knowledge without God.
Age on age, His story remains the same:
How the meekness of love overcomes the horrors of evil.
This is our faithful witness; this is our mountain-moving faith.
YShE: the salvation, deliverance, victory of
Son of Amoz: AMWtS:
AMH: tribe, people
AMtS: strong, solid, hard, bold, secure
that he saw concerning Judah: YHWDH:
YDH: praise, thanks, confession
YHWDY: Jew, Jewish
HWD: majesty, splendor, glory, honor
HWH (older, rare form); HYH: to be, become, exist
cHYH: have life, revive from sickness, live prosperously, live forever
and Jerusalem: YRWShLM:
YWRH: early rain
YRShH: possession, inheritance
ShLM: Shalom: perfect peace, wholeness, completion, fullness, unity
(Isaiah 1:1 a)
In Jesus’ love and name, Ron David Metcalf 6/01
Healing of the Nations
The canyon breathes life
entering and entertaining the soul with Ponderosa Pines’
perpendicular lines, raising green arms toward
heavenly light in vertex psalms to God
Who trod earth’s Garden and suffered gross Cross’s
shame; Who walks again with us victorious forever
in Jesus’ name.
I. The Source
Spring up, O well! Sing to it! Numbers 21:17
Flagstaff’s white-crowned peaks speak
Throneroom proclamations and thundering Temple
aspirations in horizon’s heartbeat’s bubbling flow,
running rivulets into gullies into rivers,
sustaining ancient paths storied in triumph
and shadow, racing ruined reason’s shards with
arrowheads’ pointed vectors’ flitting fireflies of the night.
Rest’s institution abides in sovereign solemn Law
past argument and mime: the churning chiming
timepieces repeat star-studded season’s retreats
and the mighty’s studied repose.
Growth’s ascending demands accelerate
into decline; logged dams cannot contain the
swelling flood below the vantage view.
Dawn’s broad hue nurtures the humble weaning glow;
simple nature constantly transcends whatever perfection
we can show.
Below the rim, walls close in
In massive muted mountainous shades of
camouflaged rangers of national preserves.
Oak Creek’s benevolence welcomes all: poor, weak,
wealthy, strong. Transit Hobbit tent-and-hammock communities
rival the splendor of luxurious resorts.
Over all, smiling sentinels guard the constant
Cry of the Creek, urging the weary
to lay burdens down and wait, watch and
listen for awhile. Swaying water rushes and elder
drink the shimmering, moving reflections;
blackberry pickers’ joyful crimson juice
attracts stellar jays, audacious hummers, and
near-tame robins. Refreshing rustling sycamore
anthems agree in woodwind chords
with the orchestra’s tender
Ark of Peace and Ruach’s Arch.
Twilight’s sweet-smelling spark of manzanita
and alligator juniper herald firepit cinder
rifle shots splitting the darkness and echoing down
surprised hallowed halls.
II. The Blood
Unto us a Child is born; unto us a Son is given. Isaiah 9:6
Sedona’s Song, secret seed implanted,
hums lullabies from sanguine cliffs against
the beckoning turquoise sky.
Makeup hides wrinkles as she nurses
her babe, content for the moment with life as it is.
Money, beauty, and fame are temporary things
we pursue anyway, as gold’s eveningwear softens
hardship’s noon glare.
100-year storms and 500-year droughts
signal excess and dearth and the hope of restoration
while golf course sprinklers sputter “It’s okay! It’s okay!”
despite extreme fire danger expectations.
Massaging fingers raise spinning
clay pots beyond all art, toward
living without making.
Salt covenant sweat and tears ask,
“Will you spit on, or kiss, the face of God?”
Love’s commission, not profession, sees a million
white doves hovering above the Village, as
Native tom toms intercede for the Latter Rain, and
the lame dream of dancing like the running deer;
while Verde mesquite pods dry in the sun,
like bends in parched washes that continue all day,
like old cowpoke poets finding
their meandering way.
III. The Free
“And it shall come to pass, in whatever tribe the stranger sojourns, there you shall give him his inheritance,” says the LORD God. Ezekiel 47:23
Prescott’s brave spirit soars above the
Independence Day celebration in four fly-by
Phantom jets in tight formation while
the local band plays a token patriotic tune.
The fireworks demonstration is one of the best
we’ve seen, we agree as it takes the same
45 minutes to leave the parking lot.
What price for entering the Eagle’s domain and wearing
Frontier Freedom’s ring? Sacrificial politics
satisfies the elected; but what of liberty
and justice for all? Smoky thoughts remain
as we cross the granite dells, ringing
like bygone era nuptial bells. Free means either
cheap and tawdry, or of immeasurable worth; the difference
missed by those who only preach and push
and know no sacrifice themselves:
“nothing left to lose” the once oft-sung contradiction.
Jesus said that Truth would set us free indeed;
Pilate shrugs: “What is truth?” as
Roman platitudes and Jewish fables
sit side-by-side at dinner tables.
Holy Spirit conceptions still defy
Stealth Bombers and global nuclear deceptions
while war is waged in the name of peace.
Who do we trust; to whom do we offer belief?
Relativity is mathematically precise;
words can be twisted into favorite
defragmented doctrines; but words convey meaning
mere numbers cannot comprehend, before the
beginning, and after the end.
Lover of Life, wash over me;
let me see Your todays and tomorrows.
Sharer of Sorrows, deliver me:
set me on high and show me Your ways.
On the third day in the morning:
thunder, lightning, and a thick cloud on the mount;
the trumpet sounded, and the people in the camp trembled.
Moses brought them out to meet with God:
Mt. Sinai filled with smoke, and the whole mountain shook.
The voice of the trumpet became louder and louder;
Moses spoke, and God answered, and called him up,
and showed him the Covenant.
Come, let us reason together, says the LORD.
Is My Law a curse? No, of course not!
The curse is because of your disobedience:
old man Saul must be washed away in the flood.
I give you My Son as a hope and a promise:
He will take away your sin, and give you resurrection life.
He will bring you to the light of My sanctuary,
where you will dine with Me, and stay with Me;
He will lift the veil of the bridal chamber, and give you rest.
Why do you resist My Presence?
I have showed you what is good, and what is required.
My ways are not yours:
you are stubborn and rebellious,
preferring your astrology, psychology, and replacement theology
to My Word.
Why don’t you believe in My angels, and their chariots?
Why do you only understand symbolic idols?
Surely the bow of Israel is hung in peace, and the gentle waters
of Jerusalem are prepared for you; yet you insist on wielding
the Gentile sword, and shedding innocent blood.
I come to the lost sheep of Israel:
be adopted into the Vine.
No one comes to the Father except through Me:
follow neither pastors nor prophets nor apostles, who are only men.
Yes, My Spirit abides in them; but they are not God, as I Am.
You ask for the fire; yes, I will refine you;
but remember My Day is a day of darkness.
You are My lighthouses to a shipwrecked world:
let your light shine before mankind.
With tambourines and singing I will break forth as the dawn:
the deceiver’s reflected crescent has no part in Me.
With dancing and gladness I will bring My Presence to My house;
do not suppose that it is in Rome, or America:
for Zion’s sake I will not be silent.
Your Gentile days are fulfilled, as six turns into seven:
come, and let us go up unto the house of the LORD.
Love in Christ Jesus: Yeshua Messiah,
Ron David Metcalf © 10/25/04