Carry
your
sorrows
in your compassion.
Carry
your
regrets
in your forgiveness.
Carry
your
opinions
in your wisdom.
Carry
your
dreams
in your heart.
Carry
your
love
in your hands.
And
carry
your
steps
to the dance floor.
In every second
in every moment
The Maker lives in you.
Why not entertain
the music
with your graceful feet
on the belly of the heavens?
The moon won’t mind a few more footprints.
~a poem by Shelly Monte
a poem for our time:
Grace in a Toilet Bowl
Yes, you read that correctly.
I found grace in the most
inconspicuous places
like toilet bowls
and dirt-packed laundry.
Was there ever enough time
or clothespins?
Hardly….
bookkeeping with numbers
that multiplied
and vegetables
and weeds
and meals
as daylight
diminished.
Then one
evening, unaware
you staged
a Divine Ambush.
So ample life now,
and time.
Surely you heard my praises.
But tell me,
was I the first to thank
the toilet bowl
and pay homage
to the weeds
and laundry
as I clung
to your fringe?
It’s a pokey
situation
searching for desert nectar.
The wise thing
anyone
can do
is follow
the
flicker.
Let’s not bring up the topic of…
You remember,
When you were once Poison Ivy?
Oh how rash
The decision
You made then.
Luckily,
You didn’t spread that around
Too much.
Weeds are fine.
We all need reasons
To bow.
Take time today
my Dear.
Unsee the things you see.
Unknow the things you know.
Especially, unhear them.
If seeing sneaks into
your trained eyes, close them.
If opinions sneak into your reason untie them.
If hearing causes you to unhear-
then dismiss the words.
At hand there is nothing
greater than unleashing these
in front of you
in truth, inside.
I risk a lot
even speaking of such
to you.
But this secret is a good one.
Keep nothing in mind.
See without seeing.
Unhear all that
clutters the heart and robs your peace.
Suddenly you will see.
Suddenlly you will hear.
Suddenly you will understand.
We begin this season, most of all, trying to acquire much. The least of us will celebrate this Christmas with the least of all. Here is a poem, inspired by the style of concrete poetry Robert Lax is known for.
May it enrich your spirit. May it nourish your soul. May it radiate the light and love within you to be gifted to those with the least this Merry Christmas.
Most
of
All
of
Most
of
Us
are
Least
of
All
giving
to
the
Least
of
Us.
While living in Patmos; I became acquainted with Robert Lax. At the time, Robert was well into his purpose of serving Jesus with simple poems of recognition and praise. Robert’s clear blue eyes, fixed on yours, could burn meaning into a simple word or response. He was brief at every opportunity. And every word given by his love for Jesus was elevated by its simplicity and worth. This Christmas; I remember Robert’s love for savior Jesus. This poem was originally written in December of 2016. I have changed a few lines in this version.
Wake from this sleepless night.
All discourd was not dreamt, was it?
“Tell me, my love?”
You hold near to hear these words.
Rest at the counter with coffee and thanks.
It will come.
Let the night of sleeplessness recede.
Hold still
long enough
to bump into
yourself.
Hold still.
Spirit insures.
The promise
is
here.
Hard wired we go to this and that grasping the moment.
Full circle
circles back
in you
my
friend.
Let’s not
be fussy.
Re-Lax
accourding
to R. Lax.
Sip a
glass
of spirit.
One that tips
when topped.
Let’s hope our pleasant server
never
ever
stops.
Let’s fill
our glass
and sip it
down.
The spirit
will
surely
last,
far beyond
the
thirst,
far beyond
the
glass.
I say
the drink
delights.
I say
it sparks
with glee.
But all we’re
really drinking
is
something
made
for
free.
truth to tell 