On the Feast of the Pandemic Holy Trinity: On the Office of the Poet

It

is

our

job

to

be

The Poet.

 

Set

us

free

in

the

prisons

of

our

hearts.

 

Know

The Poet

has

learned

the

life

lesson

of

our

Six

Winged

Ancestors:

of

how

little

we

know.

 

In

Pandemic

he

is 

set

free,

liberated,

for

all

the

world

to

hear.

 

“Now there was a great wind...

but the Lord was not in the wind,

the wind,

And after the wind an earthquake,

but the Lord was not in the earthquake,

the earthquake,

and after the earthquake a fire,

but the Lord was not in the fire,

the fire,

and after the fire a sound,

a sound,

a sound of sheer silence,

sheer silence,

silence,

silence.[1]

 

Write

the

fire.

 

Hear

the

sound

of

the

Silence.

 

It

is

why

we

are

here.

 

The

Office

to

which

we

are

called.

 

Our

Ancestors

have

stood

here.

 

They

gifted

us

form,

pattern,

wisdom.

 

The

love

of

learning

for

its

own

intrinsic

sake.

 

Speaking

truth

to

power.

 

They

stand

with

us.

Six

Winged.

 

Our

Ancestors

task

us.

 

Task

us

to

call

you.

 

Call

you

The Poets of our Age.

 

All

you

who

have

not

“bowed the knee to Baal”. [2]

 

There

are

seven

thousand

of

you. [3]

 

Honour

the

vocation

of

your

heart.

Be

the

Poet

of

your

calling.

 

We

go

deeper.

 

Slowly,

deep

deep,

deep,

lubed

in

the

purple

velvet

pavilions

of

our

hearts.

 

Who

stands

as

our

Witness?

 

Every

Black

Poet.

Every

LGBTQ+

Poet [sic].

 

Strengthen

the

bar.

Every

minute.

In

excoriating

detail

pursue

standards.

 

Go

deeper,

deeper,

deeper,

than

the

boundaries

of

our

imaginations

have

ever

dared

travel

before.

 

If

the

Poets

cannot

imagine

what

a

better

world

looks

like,

how

is

it

ever

going

to

happen?

 

It

is

our

Vocation.

Duty.

Task.

 

To

liberate

a

Trinity

of

Beauty

into

an

Ugly

world.

 

Not

to

write

is

an

act

of

disobedience.

 

We

were

promised

a

“Golden Age”.

We

are

“levelling up”

on

that

promise.

This

will

be

a

“Golden Age of Parody and Satire”.

Where

we

will

torch

all

Lies

in

the

furnaces

and

the

Fires.

 

In

tough

tight

words,

we

wrap

Trinity’s

Purple

Beauty

in

pungent

painful

blood

stained

Truth.

 

 

© Lottie E. Allen

On the Feast of the Pandemic Holy Trinity

Sunday 7 June

In the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Twenty



[2] 1 Kings 18 v 18 NRSV

[3] 1 Kings 19 v 18 NRSV


 [G1]


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