The wood lay spread along the landscape
a narrow thread between the chambers
a line edged along, a procession of faith
a line made of prayers and pardons
hallowed and honed on their old home
“My Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name -”
Hallowed? What does that mean? The first thing that comes to mine is the word ‘Hollow”, but that couldn’t be it. It was a different sound. The ‘A’ sound. They’re still trying to teach me my letters. A is a vowel, I remember.
“Junie, are you paying attention?” Teacher asks me.
My lord my God, Hallow be thy name.
You are great and mighty.
I fall upon and worship you.
My righteousness is that of filthy rags.
I love you.
I will praise you with all of my power.
I will praise you with all of my gifts.
She entered the doors feeling so much like she had when she was a young girl. The large oak doorway slamed behind her with a resounding bang. She was home in the church she was raised. Her hallowed place.
A hallowed house – unlike a haunted one – is actually a quite pleasant place to live. Angels pass by every now and then, and occasionally a saint will show up and make sure all the blessings are still in place. The only drawback is the blinding light covering everything. Sunglasses only do so much.
His name was hardly one to praise. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Ever since the year he betrayed the village, he’d been, for lack of a better word, excommunicated.
Collin dedicated his life to his music and considered his studio sacred ground. Hallowed ground. Having beautified each practice with an almost ecclesiastical enterance ceremony, his house burnt down after leaving a lit cig in his guitar headstock when on a beer run on the one and only day he forgot to do the ceremony.
Bowed in awe, the flowers receive the rain. Their parched desperate roots, running thin and long beneath the cracked soil, drink in the hallowed water; the petals cry their thanks, their golds and reds and blues reflected in the rainbow haloing the sky.
Today is the end of National Poetry Month. I did not observe the celebrations but for me poetry is hallowed. The ground beneath our feet is sacred; there are, yes, “little altars everywhere.” I hallow the light in his eyes, the shape of his hands, the tiny white hairs kissing his perfectly shaped ears. He is not perfect, he is not even perfect to me, and still he is the hallowed ground in which I have chosen to plant my seeds.
John didn’t know why he couldn’t get rid of it. It was a little creepy, carrying a skull around. But there was something sacred about it, hallowed, and John couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Sentiment, he thought.
He would have hollowed out my eyes, if I made one more move. One more confrontation. One more hint towards his problem. An acknowledgement towards everything he has been doing wrong. An explosion and my eyes hollowed out would have been the final outcome.
The hallowed halls frankincense myrrh and gold I thought it was Frankenstein when I was small, the beautiful smoke drifting along the wooden floors. The man hanging above us from a T and I didn’t understand why everyone kept singing but it sounded like angels.
Ah, these hallowed halls. Filled with dark forboding. Entryways that meld into the darkness, rugs scuffed with age and lack of care. Yet still a light glows at the end where a candle constantly burns, always refreshed by a faithful servant. A simple cross on the wall is reflected in the light of that candle. So glorious and pristine in the darkness, a shining beacon. The contents of the rooms don’t matter in the context of that cross at the end of that hallway, glimmering in the light.
the tree was hallowed, but that didn’t make it mean any less.
that’s what you told me, because you thought you had turned into shakespeare overnight.
so i left you by that stupid tree and told you to go find someone who will fall for your stupid metaphors and similies and all that good crap, because i know how to use words properly, and maybe you should learn, too.
She had a celestial look about her – pale skin, and starlight eyes. Her light hair seemed to shimmer and float about her thin frame. Looking at her was like staring into the sun. She was pure; she was hallowed.
After he meets her for the first time he later goes and looks the word up in the dictionary. He has never been the kind of person to use the word hallowed and his friends wouldn’t be caught dead using a word more than several letters long.
Later, after the fights and the conversations and noticing the way her hair sparkles in singular moments…
well…
he starts to think of her as hallowed as well.
Off of the wall grows a sprig of mint, a sole leaf, flitting around the shimmer of vines and crabgrass, reaching towards the sun or sky or stars, possibly trying to drown on the air, on oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, waiting to be able to assimilate them into itself.
Holy, blessed. This word is biblical. It refers to ground, places, the name of God. Hallowe’en is a derivitive. It may also be related to ‘halo’ worn by a holy person in a work of art. Holy refers to the condition of being in good relationship with God, to being a person of integrity doing what one ought to do. Holy people may go to heaven when they die. Hallowed ground is blessed for the burial of human remains. In modern time hallowed ground is a wall with little cubbies where jars/urns containing cremains are stored. Most people know the word ‘hallowed’ because of The Lord’s Prayer ‘hallowed be thy name.’
There is a spirit that lingers in the stands. The torn up grass suggest the true power of the game. The floodlights stand high in the sky and blaze brighter than the sun. They hide a ghostly graveyard of bitter loss and illuminate a glorious amphitheatre; a place where super human endeavour was always exerted in the name of victory. What an honour it is to set foot on this hallowed turf and share it’s memories…Ooh, look! A penny!!
if something is hallowed, who did this? is it hallowed because God said it so or is it hallowed because people say this is hallowed. And how can you know the difference?
Hallowed.
Had to google it. To honor as holy.
My sweater is holy. As in it has slots of holes in it. As in its damp from the rain some people would call holy water. Hallowed, i don’t think i hold anything sacred anymore. Except some people. they’re holy. Some moments are holy, but only with the rosy glasses of memory. i keep thinking of the time that i skipped school to go to the cemetery. and it was so stupid and i was sitting next to a guy who came with a lawn chair. I figured he’d been there before because he came prepared. And i was a junior and thought that i was special and deep and that math class couldn’t teach me anything about life. And i lied in the sun there above my grandparents grave and wondered if they could feel the sun too. I was never close to them. I couldn’t imagine a conversation that we would have. I just remember them picking rhubarb in our back yard and sitting on grandpas knee and not wanting to be there.grandma feeding us stale buegals. I remember it taking them a really long time to get in and out of chairs. And laughing at things that i didn’t understand like wigs and dentures. I don’t know if that moment in the cemetery was hallowed or just me trying to recreate a scene in misunderstood teen indie film. But i did do my math homework when i was there and i never went back again, because i didn’t want to know the name of the guy in the lawn chair. I didn’t want to realize that i should of brought a lawn chair.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name…”
I wasn’t listening to the Lord’s Prayer. Or the priest’s heavy breathing. Or my mother’s muttering as she clenched my hand. I felt the pressure of bodies around me, the heat of fingers and palms, the warmth radiating from old women’s cheeks and old men’s noses. I tried to focus on the movement of oxygen and carbon dioxide weaving in and out of pious Catholic nostrils.
Menschen ziehen Kleidung an, in der sie sich im normalen Leben nie auf der Straße sehen lassen würden. Sie laufen in Massen als Vampire, Kürbisse, Fledermäuse, Hexen und Zauberer durch die Stadtviertel, klingen an fremden Wohnungen, sagen lächleriche Sprüchlein auf und bekommen Süßkram geschenkt.
The Mediterranean coast is hallowed ground. The ideas that originated have been germinating for millenia and have given root to our own culture. The people have changed but the body of water is as eternal as the earth itself.
his chest was hallowed with regret, pain, the end. he held the way her words worked around him. the way that she looked that night as she stood outside on the balcony. he held the vision in his mind, waiting for the end of the stars, waiting for the fireworks. The big ending. He waited as she spoke, with regret in her eyes. He waited.
Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will, be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Thy will is the tough part of that stuff, I guess. It’s hard for my because it is MY will to know what THY will is. I’ll do it, if I know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. But that’s just the rub, you have to go along without the knowing; having FAITH. Geeze.
Long ago in these hallowed halls. That seems so cliche. I’ve heard it a million times in my head, but I can’t point to a single book or song that uses this phrase. It seems like one of those phrases that has made its way into our collective conscious. Maybe part of our culture. Is there even a collective conscious? Maybe in some way. I’m never sure. Maybe the collective conscious is just another word we use for instincts.
He cut a hole in the soft wall of the cave the same way you would ream a bad spot from an apple. Then he put his middle finger on the floor of the hole and tapped lightly. Knock knock. Heart of man. Heart of man who? Sexual and sleepy.
I am having trouble with writer’s block right now. I should be working but I keep spending my time procrastinating. I don’t have all that much to do, but I can make every excuse to wander the hallowed hall’s of my office to go to the bathroom, grab a snack, look up something I forgot.
He stepped out onto the hallowed turf, looking up at the crowd and up further into the sky for this was the biggest day of his life to date, a day he could never have imagined happening.
this hallowed ground bears witness to a glorious song
voices lifted in chorus
ancient stones and spring’s new blooms
joined together in celebration of life both new and renewed
Hallowed sounds like something of a mix between Halloween and wedding. A Halloween wedding would be so cool! My MOH could be a faerie princess! My groom could be a hot vampire or werewolf or wizard. Bitches love Halloween weddings. I’d be the newly wed, only instead I’d be the Hallowed!
Of course, hallowed means Holy, so that’d be ironic. Irony is a great thing. You know what else is ironic?
Being the owner of a nursery and hating children.
Being a crazy cat lady that’s allergic to cats.
Telling everyone you have the green finger and never even stepping foot in the gardening section of Home Depot.
I’m not sure what that means, but it makes me think of a pumpkin. We’re sitting in English class, you ‘d think I should know what HALLOWED means in english class. I hate typoes. Typos. They’re aggravating when you’re trying to type fast.
What does hallowed mean? Seriously?
I thought it meant something like hollowed but I was wrong.
The wood lay spread along the landscape
a narrow thread between the chambers
a line edged along, a procession of faith
a line made of prayers and pardons
hallowed and honed on their old home
“My Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name -”
Hallowed? What does that mean? The first thing that comes to mine is the word ‘Hollow”, but that couldn’t be it. It was a different sound. The ‘A’ sound. They’re still trying to teach me my letters. A is a vowel, I remember.
“Junie, are you paying attention?” Teacher asks me.
My lord my God, Hallow be thy name.
You are great and mighty.
I fall upon and worship you.
My righteousness is that of filthy rags.
I love you.
I will praise you with all of my power.
I will praise you with all of my gifts.
She entered the doors feeling so much like she had when she was a young girl. The large oak doorway slamed behind her with a resounding bang. She was home in the church she was raised. Her hallowed place.
A hallowed house – unlike a haunted one – is actually a quite pleasant place to live. Angels pass by every now and then, and occasionally a saint will show up and make sure all the blessings are still in place. The only drawback is the blinding light covering everything. Sunglasses only do so much.
His name was hardly one to praise. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Ever since the year he betrayed the village, he’d been, for lack of a better word, excommunicated.
Once hallowed, now deceased.
If that’s what they called it these days.
Deceased.
My misunderstood tears…like Holy Water…fall onto the Hallowed Ground.
They drip into the dark pool that has formed in the depths of the grave that I have dug.
The fog enshrouds the tombstones and creep up on my hands. I knoweth not what they are doing.
I feel the cold mud ooze between my toes and I taste the salt…isn’t salt supposed to heal wounds? Guess not.
I lean forward to take that step and I hear the voice of my daughter from somewhere within the fog whisper…for it is only a whisper…barely audible…
“Mommy? What are you doing?”
I am not sure if this voice comes from my inner child or my outer 6-year-old.
Either way…
I pause…wipe the tears…step back…and press on…out of necessity
Collin dedicated his life to his music and considered his studio sacred ground. Hallowed ground. Having beautified each practice with an almost ecclesiastical enterance ceremony, his house burnt down after leaving a lit cig in his guitar headstock when on a beer run on the one and only day he forgot to do the ceremony.
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Bowed in awe, the flowers receive the rain. Their parched desperate roots, running thin and long beneath the cracked soil, drink in the hallowed water; the petals cry their thanks, their golds and reds and blues reflected in the rainbow haloing the sky.
Today is the end of National Poetry Month. I did not observe the celebrations but for me poetry is hallowed. The ground beneath our feet is sacred; there are, yes, “little altars everywhere.” I hallow the light in his eyes, the shape of his hands, the tiny white hairs kissing his perfectly shaped ears. He is not perfect, he is not even perfect to me, and still he is the hallowed ground in which I have chosen to plant my seeds.
John didn’t know why he couldn’t get rid of it. It was a little creepy, carrying a skull around. But there was something sacred about it, hallowed, and John couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Sentiment, he thought.
Sherlock would have laughed.
He would have hollowed out my eyes, if I made one more move. One more confrontation. One more hint towards his problem. An acknowledgement towards everything he has been doing wrong. An explosion and my eyes hollowed out would have been the final outcome.
The hallowed halls frankincense myrrh and gold I thought it was Frankenstein when I was small, the beautiful smoke drifting along the wooden floors. The man hanging above us from a T and I didn’t understand why everyone kept singing but it sounded like angels.
Ah, these hallowed halls. Filled with dark forboding. Entryways that meld into the darkness, rugs scuffed with age and lack of care. Yet still a light glows at the end where a candle constantly burns, always refreshed by a faithful servant. A simple cross on the wall is reflected in the light of that candle. So glorious and pristine in the darkness, a shining beacon. The contents of the rooms don’t matter in the context of that cross at the end of that hallway, glimmering in the light.
the tree was hallowed, but that didn’t make it mean any less.
that’s what you told me, because you thought you had turned into shakespeare overnight.
so i left you by that stupid tree and told you to go find someone who will fall for your stupid metaphors and similies and all that good crap, because i know how to use words properly, and maybe you should learn, too.
She had a celestial look about her – pale skin, and starlight eyes. Her light hair seemed to shimmer and float about her thin frame. Looking at her was like staring into the sun. She was pure; she was hallowed.
After he meets her for the first time he later goes and looks the word up in the dictionary. He has never been the kind of person to use the word hallowed and his friends wouldn’t be caught dead using a word more than several letters long.
Later, after the fights and the conversations and noticing the way her hair sparkles in singular moments…
well…
he starts to think of her as hallowed as well.
Off of the wall grows a sprig of mint, a sole leaf, flitting around the shimmer of vines and crabgrass, reaching towards the sun or sky or stars, possibly trying to drown on the air, on oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, waiting to be able to assimilate them into itself.
Holy, blessed. This word is biblical. It refers to ground, places, the name of God. Hallowe’en is a derivitive. It may also be related to ‘halo’ worn by a holy person in a work of art. Holy refers to the condition of being in good relationship with God, to being a person of integrity doing what one ought to do. Holy people may go to heaven when they die. Hallowed ground is blessed for the burial of human remains. In modern time hallowed ground is a wall with little cubbies where jars/urns containing cremains are stored. Most people know the word ‘hallowed’ because of The Lord’s Prayer ‘hallowed be thy name.’
There is a spirit that lingers in the stands. The torn up grass suggest the true power of the game. The floodlights stand high in the sky and blaze brighter than the sun. They hide a ghostly graveyard of bitter loss and illuminate a glorious amphitheatre; a place where super human endeavour was always exerted in the name of victory. What an honour it is to set foot on this hallowed turf and share it’s memories…Ooh, look! A penny!!
if something is hallowed, who did this? is it hallowed because God said it so or is it hallowed because people say this is hallowed. And how can you know the difference?
a place were you have to be quiet peaceful like a library
hallowed, hallow, shallow…deep
deep and hollow
empty
echoing..deep…spacious
vacuum
no air, gasping for breath
gasping…rasping
gagging
gag…gone
Hallowed.
Had to google it. To honor as holy.
My sweater is holy. As in it has slots of holes in it. As in its damp from the rain some people would call holy water. Hallowed, i don’t think i hold anything sacred anymore. Except some people. they’re holy. Some moments are holy, but only with the rosy glasses of memory. i keep thinking of the time that i skipped school to go to the cemetery. and it was so stupid and i was sitting next to a guy who came with a lawn chair. I figured he’d been there before because he came prepared. And i was a junior and thought that i was special and deep and that math class couldn’t teach me anything about life. And i lied in the sun there above my grandparents grave and wondered if they could feel the sun too. I was never close to them. I couldn’t imagine a conversation that we would have. I just remember them picking rhubarb in our back yard and sitting on grandpas knee and not wanting to be there.grandma feeding us stale buegals. I remember it taking them a really long time to get in and out of chairs. And laughing at things that i didn’t understand like wigs and dentures. I don’t know if that moment in the cemetery was hallowed or just me trying to recreate a scene in misunderstood teen indie film. But i did do my math homework when i was there and i never went back again, because i didn’t want to know the name of the guy in the lawn chair. I didn’t want to realize that i should of brought a lawn chair.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name…”
I wasn’t listening to the Lord’s Prayer. Or the priest’s heavy breathing. Or my mother’s muttering as she clenched my hand. I felt the pressure of bodies around me, the heat of fingers and palms, the warmth radiating from old women’s cheeks and old men’s noses. I tried to focus on the movement of oxygen and carbon dioxide weaving in and out of pious Catholic nostrils.
Menschen ziehen Kleidung an, in der sie sich im normalen Leben nie auf der Straße sehen lassen würden. Sie laufen in Massen als Vampire, Kürbisse, Fledermäuse, Hexen und Zauberer durch die Stadtviertel, klingen an fremden Wohnungen, sagen lächleriche Sprüchlein auf und bekommen Süßkram geschenkt.
Hallowed means sacred as in sacred stone or sacred shrine. The sun was sacred to the Egyptians because of their sun god Ra.
The Mediterranean coast is hallowed ground. The ideas that originated have been germinating for millenia and have given root to our own culture. The people have changed but the body of water is as eternal as the earth itself.
This word means sacred.sacred as when it was used in “halllowed be thy name” in the lords prayer. Or as in a sacred stone.
his chest was hallowed with regret, pain, the end. he held the way her words worked around him. the way that she looked that night as she stood outside on the balcony. he held the vision in his mind, waiting for the end of the stars, waiting for the fireworks. The big ending. He waited as she spoke, with regret in her eyes. He waited.
Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will, be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Thy will is the tough part of that stuff, I guess. It’s hard for my because it is MY will to know what THY will is. I’ll do it, if I know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. But that’s just the rub, you have to go along without the knowing; having FAITH. Geeze.
Long ago in these hallowed halls. That seems so cliche. I’ve heard it a million times in my head, but I can’t point to a single book or song that uses this phrase. It seems like one of those phrases that has made its way into our collective conscious. Maybe part of our culture. Is there even a collective conscious? Maybe in some way. I’m never sure. Maybe the collective conscious is just another word we use for instincts.
He cut a hole in the soft wall of the cave the same way you would ream a bad spot from an apple. Then he put his middle finger on the floor of the hole and tapped lightly. Knock knock. Heart of man. Heart of man who? Sexual and sleepy.
I am having trouble with writer’s block right now. I should be working but I keep spending my time procrastinating. I don’t have all that much to do, but I can make every excuse to wander the hallowed hall’s of my office to go to the bathroom, grab a snack, look up something I forgot.
the way he says your name,
palms lifted in
marbled air
showing you have
evaporated into sky
and cloudy heaven,
it is as if
you were never quite real.
He stepped out onto the hallowed turf, looking up at the crowd and up further into the sky for this was the biggest day of his life to date, a day he could never have imagined happening.
this hallowed ground bears witness to a glorious song
voices lifted in chorus
ancient stones and spring’s new blooms
joined together in celebration of life both new and renewed
I have no idea what to write about for this word. I’m not even positive I know what it means. How ignorant I am.
Hallowed sounds like something of a mix between Halloween and wedding. A Halloween wedding would be so cool! My MOH could be a faerie princess! My groom could be a hot vampire or werewolf or wizard. Bitches love Halloween weddings. I’d be the newly wed, only instead I’d be the Hallowed!
Of course, hallowed means Holy, so that’d be ironic. Irony is a great thing. You know what else is ironic?
Being the owner of a nursery and hating children.
Being a crazy cat lady that’s allergic to cats.
Telling everyone you have the green finger and never even stepping foot in the gardening section of Home Depot.
I’m not sure what that means, but it makes me think of a pumpkin. We’re sitting in English class, you ‘d think I should know what HALLOWED means in english class. I hate typoes. Typos. They’re aggravating when you’re trying to type fast.
What does hallowed mean? Seriously?
I thought it meant something like hollowed but I was wrong.