Devotion
As a priest of dedication and devotion
My life is gorgeous, complete and emotional.
The monks climb the ladders of faith,
And my life feigns a disorder, always bold.
The monk enjoyed his life when cold
But the shrine I build for my prayer is gruelling.
The shrine is gold, fully old and never shining,
Like the precious thoughts so pretended.
We save our time and find some space
For serious worship but the monks are fully told.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Faith More Precious Than Gold
Although now, for a while,
Sore distressed by grievous trial,
And your love for your Lord may grow cold,
You are shielded by Him,
To His hope you’re born again,
And your faith is more precious than gold.
How intense is the fire
Of your grief and deep desire
And the pain of the sob of your soul;
Of God’s plan you’re afraid,
And by Him you feel betrayed,
But your faith is more precious than gold.
Though He slay, you can trust
Him who made you out of dust;
He is still the same God as of old.
Though you can’t see Him now,
Still you love Him anyhow
With your faith that’s more precious than gold.
God is now glorified
When in Him you still abide
And His fruit of endurance show bold.
You’re the work of His hand,
And on Him you must depend,
So your faith is more precious than gold.
You can greatly rejoice
In His name and in His choice
More like Jesus your being to mold.
So then run to the Lord,
To His side and to His Word;
Put to practice this faith more than gold.
When you flee thus in prayer
And experience His care,
Then the proof of your faith will be told.
Though some pain might remain,
You’ll thank God for all the rain,
For you’ll know your faith’s worth more than gold.
And this faith has an end
That you’ll better comprehend:
The salvation and life of your soul,
An inheritance sweet,
Bowing at your Savior’s feet,
Praising Him for this gift more than gold.
(Based on 1 Peter 1: 3-9)
poem by Edward A. Morris
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The Unseen Shrines
The shrine where only one person can reign,
That is formless, figure less, unseen but felt and ours,
It is simply elusive, safe, treasured, but monopolized,
it is formless, figure less, unseen but felt and ours.
The shrine where only one person can reign,
Light this shrine with the wick of kindness,
The kindness, the size of life long,
Oil of understanding to fuel it regularly,
As Tolerance suffocates the person in it,
Let us understand and love each other,
The shrine where only one person can reign,
Never lighten this shrine with spirited lamps,
Smoke it with Incense of weeds and drugs,
The shrine that is figure less,
The shrine that is formless,
The shrine that is unseen,
The shrine that can be felt,
The shrine that can be enjoyed,
The shrine that can be worshiped,
It is nowhere else, it is in our heart,
That is built for the person whom we love.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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How to quarrel
There were two monks who
shared a cell in perfect amity.
Yet they, concerned to perfect their compassion
for all humankind, wished to know all
mankind’s troubles.
Mankind, said the one,
seems always to be quarrelling –
always too ready to pick some fight -
how can this be?
It seems, said the other, that in order to
assert their selfhood and to be ‘somebody’,
they must then invent an enemy,
who seeks to take something from them
that they deserve to have…
so then, they can allot
a ‘mine’ and ‘thine’, and pick
a violent quarrel to prove
their right to be themselves…
they’ll find anything so to label –
‘my tribe, your tribe’—even though
to anyone else, they seem the same –
my religion, your religion – though God is unaware
of any such division or allegiance; or when they’re
really desperate for something to fight about,
‘my postcode public territory,
your postcode public territory’…
Oh dear Lord, said the other monk,
how can we have compassion
for these suffering souls? We’ve never had
a quarrel…
Then we must invent one, said
the first monk: suppose I draw a line
in chalk along the floor of our cell..
and then we’ll call one side, my space,
the other yours…
And this he did. Now, he said,
we can have a quarrel: look,
I’m standing in your half of the room…
No you’re not, said the other,
it’s not my half…yes it is, we’ve agreed,
said the one…
Oh very well then, take it … you win!
said the other.. But there’s
nothing to take! said the first…
The two monks sat and sighed.
They would never know how
human kind could ever own
anything worth the quarrel over.
How difficult a holy life can be.
Have compassion, then, for the plight
of those two monks…
*
[Based on a story from the
early days of the Desert Fathers]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Blue Tattoo
Once upon a lifetime
The spirits of the dark
Came to kill the beauty
Of our world
Every sould was spell bound
And prisoned into ice
Just shining through
Sad as a blue tattoo
Tears have turned to ice
As a sacrifice
Broken voices rise
From the age of the ice
To the raging skies
And they exorcise
Cause on judgement day
We must hide - we must fight
We must pray - hey
It's a blue tattoo
But the monks of mercy
They prayed for every soul
Til the sword of fire
Took control
In a crash of thunder
The ice broke into two
And shining through
There was the blue tattoo
Monks:
You know, down low
There's a light, it's a true blue tattoo
Just go, down low
Gotta hide now, gotta fight now
Gotta save your soul and pray
Gotta break the cold ice away
Gotta find the blue tattoo
song performed by by Vanilla Ninja
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Soul
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.
Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.
Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,
where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,
where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church
that dissolve, that
dissolve in
God.
poem by Rabia al Basri
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0006 Prayer for the Condemned
He’ll be the next to go.
In the Condemned Block, over many years,
he’s moved up the line; now he’s got that end cell.
All legal processes have been tested.
Of course his lawyers will fight once again –
a pardon’s out of the question, of course,
but maybe just a lifer? (He’s spent half of it
behind bars anyway.) At Association Time,
if it’s allowed, the others look at him
covertly – how’s he taking it? And maybe
know a little more of themselves..
And so, we’re asked to pray for him
knowing in our hearts, that he’s but
a metaphor for all of us.. so despite his crimes,
there’s that in us which feels that we are he…
and redemption’s not unknown, to God or man…
are we just praying for ourselves?
But how to pray, and how to pray for – what?
that he be free to be himself again?
but we don’t know him well enough to trust
him when he says, he’s found God in there…
And if we pray that he remain himself,
but where he is, behind those bars,
to work out his life, like a monk
(who also needs more time, even forever,
to understand ‘ forever’ more) –
there’s mercy for you, of a sort,
if he will get that spiritual support
that monks may call upon…
We may pray to God to bring him change of mind,
if it’s not too late now.. and here again,
who is to judge, or how may he himself so prove?
‘O Lord, please give him one more chance…’ –
are we thinking more of him than of ourselves?
Yes, we may pray, deep in ourselves, that human law
may bring together as we best may know
justice and mercy in their godly match..
and in a subtle sense, his death, if it bring
that dedication in our social thoughts,
will have been in some small way
another death but on the cross of life for us;
And for some of us, prayer's not unlike
the action of a wounded animal - as if comatose,
gathering all one's capabilities, and diving deep
beyond words, beyond thought, beyond any wish,
like a surrender of one's living soul
to seek, deep within oneself, that place
where all souls meet...;
Those who live a life of faith
need but to dip into
the holy water of eternity
flowing in the sweet words
of the age of faith:
'Lette goe the teares
of earthlie wepynge -
comende hys sawle
to Cristés kepynge'...
So should we not, when and if we pray each day,
and use the Lord’s Prayer, reaching that too familiar line,
‘Thy Will be Done’,
pause, and remember him in his last hours,
- perhaps remember Him in His last hours -
and live the remainder of our lives
(as we move up the line towards That Day)
slightly, subtly, differently; and know
a little more about prayer; about ourselves.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Too Run
Life is a
Faith for
Love...!
you love
Your's family
And friend...!
Faith fully
Life gone
Humblee...
You did not
Love your's
Familey and
Friend's...
Faithfully
Y our's life
Was very
Pain full...
So,
Love your's
Family and
Friends
Faith fully love
Too run the life...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Youngman's Decision
The doctor told me I was suffering from hypertension
and I had to calm down and do much less.
Burning the candle at both ends would be a killer,
and my body required a much needed rest.
Working all day and playing all night cannot last,
there's only so much a body can take!
Without recharging the batteries comes exhaustion,
and before long the body will break.
I worked long hours and enjoyed a social life,
adored women and having a ball,
and the only time I had for fun and romance
was at night when inhibitions fall.
My social life was occupied fully by women
at different places on particular nights.
My encounters were usually brief but exciting,
but three remained the lights of my life.
I loved them all for their character and beauty,
and obviously their sexual play.
But my life style had to have dramatic changes
and cuts had to be made right away.
Giving up occasional romances was difficult,
but I could not give up all three.
I had to find a way of deciding the one and only,
a decision that really troubled me.
Josephine, was the youngest and most sexual,
Mo, so gorgeous and satisfying in every way.
Christine was the sexiest mover and good looking,
but who could I trust night and day?
I told Josephine that I had found a new love in Christine.
Christine, that I had found a new love in Jo,
and I was sorry to lose their tremendous love and affection,
and much more than they would ever know.
poem by Tex T Sarnie
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Life Itself
"It is that life itself, fully awake, fully active,
fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder."
Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Dark rain penetrates
tender leaves, swell spirits, sparks
dormant roots to life.
Like a god, Your star
ascends; with wonder and grace
shines Your mighty face!
poem by Steven Federle
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Remove Your Eyes
I live the cave life
Scribbling down hieroglyphics
Later to be found
By acetic monks
Of a new religious order
Not yet created.
I’m certain I’m fated
To remain in obscure mist
Contemplating godliness
And the rhythmic music
Of gently falling streams of tears.
Next lifetime,
I’ll paint secret code
In beautiful landscapes
Of urban failure and fear.
Someone saw me yesterday,
But I’m no longer there;
If you remove your eyes,
You will see me smiling forever
At a Buddhist shrine.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Life Is Nothing
Life is nothing without you.
It's just continuous time.
Its meaning is lost on me, I fear.
It's just one unendurable climb
to find where you are.
and feel its meaning again.
I felt it before.
I must find it anew.
For life is nothing without you.
Life was everything that life can be
when time stopped moving so slow.
It meant that all the things that I had
kept my life aglow
with pieces of happiness
shining like the sun.
And why was that?
It was because we were one.
We were in tune
with life.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Keep moving
Keep triumphing
Go on moving
Halt no where
Always dare
Nice words
To hear and look forward
But is that so easy?
When life is quite hard and busy
The childhood has been just over
I have lost parent's sympathy and cover
As they know what I can do with!
Fully capable of and armed with teeth
My outlook is now fully changed
Front teeth are hardly managed
Soul has barely managed inside
And sour over happenings worldwide
Life is not likely to cut much ice
Even if I prove right and offer promises
Fulfill it with vigor and assert like statesman
Yet I shall remain so as helpless and poor human
What have I to look back and turn for future?
Everything moves as per His wishes for sure
I keep myself fully fit and sing in his praise
So far I have been kept in complete health and raised
I live with pain, agony and lots of fun
Meanwhile I watch the life in turmoil and on run
How whole world is on move with no time to spare
How to mange easy life and prepare for new venture?
Yes, yes, someone apprised me of how to act upon
When fortune turns up and life is not torn!
I have learnt to live with ordinary but imposing style
That shall be continued till last for remaining miles
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Anniversary hymn
[sung to tune: "All Saints New"]
Our fathers, in the years grown dim, reared slowly, wall by wall
A holy dwelling-place for Him, that filleth all in all.
They wrought His house of faith and prayer, the rainbow round the Throne,
A precious temple builded fair on Christ the Cornerstone.
The Angel of the Golden Reed hath found the measure strait'
He hears the Great Foundation plead for ampler wall and gate.
The living pillars of the Truth grown on from morn to morn,
And still the heresy of youth is age's creed outworn.
But steadfast is their inner shrine wrought of the heart's fine gold,
Its hunger and its thirst divine, with jewels manifold,
Red sard of pain, hope's emerald gleam, white peace, no glory missed
Of righteous life and saintly dream, Jasper to amethyst.
Spirit of Truth, forbid that we who now God's temple are
And keep the faith with minds more free, our father's fabric mar.
Better than thoughts the stars that search is self still sacrificed,
For only Love can build the church whose corner-stone is Christ.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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A Reason To Smile
Life is precious hold on to life so tight
The happiness is right there hold on so tight
Don't say I can't you will find a way
Do not wait someone or a reason to make you smile
The happiness lies right there within your heart
No one will care if you are happy or not
Just keep smile and you will find out
The shining light through the dark
Just believe in the strength of your faith
So soon you'll find out that there are millions of ways
To turn the small point of the light largest then the dark to light up your chilly nights
Just smile to life and it will return back the smile
Don't wait for a reason or someone to come to your life may make you smile
I've found my way to happiness through my way to the god
When I found out being alive itself is enough to hold on to life
The happiness lies there inside everyone of us
Say I'm happy and you will find the out
That you don't need a reason to make you smile
Can't you see that your life is a gift from god above
Try to celebrate your life
And praise the god
Build a big home within your heart just for the love
Just trust the god and every new day you will find a new reason that makes you smile
The life is precious enough to make you smile
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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The Selfish Shellfish
Deep in the briny sea
Was a monk fish monastery;
A prayerful variety
Of contemplative piety
From gentle soles to trout,
All swimmingly devout,
Where once a pious oyster
Went strolling ‘round the cloister,
And he was quietly grumbling,
His tummy it was rumbling.
He spied a tasty morsel,
A fellow shark monk's dorsal.
He lopped it with his chopper,
And hid it good and proper.
He'd eat it some time later
With peas and beans and ‘tater.
There's no way he would share it,
His stomach wouldn't bear it.
Meanwhile the poor old shark monk
Swims round and round like he's quite drunk.
To swim quite straight he needs all fins;
He twists and swerves, he dives and spins
Into a crazy cork screw loop;
His fin must be saved from the soup.
The other monks are looking
At what the oyster's cooking.
They see he has the shark fin;
They can't allow this shell fish sin
And since he is a sinner,
They confiscate his dinner,
And sew in back on shark monk's back
So he can get himself on track.
The oyster now is pleading;
Forgiveness he is needing.
He's being quite rambunctious;
He's big and plump and scrumptious,
And so the monks decide his fate
Is to be served up on a plate.
So now they all are wine-ing,
They're dancing and they're dining,
In their monastic cellar
On oyster Rockefeller.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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When There Is Faith
WHEN THERE IS FAITH
God willing with his smiling
Smooth will be the sailing
Disappear will storm soon
When a new day will bloom
When there is faith
Future will bring mirth
Have the lasting devotion
Bring it will celebration
When the wrong is done
Flames of candle will burn
To make river of life turn
In the light of shining sun
When there is faith
Future will bring mirth
Have the lasting devotion
Bring it will celebration
God willing with his loving
Life will be less frightening
Anguish of heart will vanish
Life will be a joyous parish
When there is faith
Future will bring mirth
Have the lasting devotion
Bring it will celebration
poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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Using Brooms With Sticks As Weapons
Priests and monks fighting amongst themselves,
In a sacred place...
To determine which ones are deserving of more space,
With a worshipping done to do of a savior?
Under one roof where their faith is aloof.
Those with the most creative of minds,
Would not find the time to make this up.
And the ones who claim to walk with 'holiness',
Are now reported to be using brooms with sticks as weapons.
When will the truth end all delusions of self righteousness?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nine Billion Names Of God
Once nine billion names of God were known
the world would end, the monks declared.
When scientists transferred them from a stone
on which He’d written them, they then compared
these names to those of all the stars astronomers
had managed to discover, and thus found
a proof their names were all eponymous,
based on a God, who out of sight and sound,
left traces in the starry sky that He
exists, the Founder of the universe.
Once this was known, they could no longer see
the stars, which He extinguished with a curse,
because although He challenges us to know
His names, He does not want us to find out
precisely where the trees of knowledge grow,
because His universe is based on doubt.
Dennis Overbye (“A Boy’s Life, Guided by the Cosmic Wonder, ” NYT, March 25,2007) writes about the science fiction writer and space visionary, the co-creator with Stanley Kubrick of the classic 1968 movie “2001: A Space Odyssey”. Overbye, who was greatly influenced by Clarke’s writings which he describes as the ultimate reason why he ended up becoming an MIT graduate, reports that a supernova exploded in the constellation Boötes on the day of Clarke’s death:
It was the remains of a cataclysmic explosion, a gamma-ray burst, that must have torched a galaxy seven billion light-years away, around the curve of the cosmos, as Clarke might have put it. Nobody knows if there could have been somebody or something living there, when the universe was half its present age. When I heard about it I couldn’t help thinking about Clarke’s Jesuit and the star of Bethlehem. Whoever or whatever was there now belongs to the ages. Darkness has now reclaimed that spot in the sky.
Overbye also writes:
In his short story “The Nine Billion Names of God, ” published in 1953, Clarke wrote of a pair of computer programmers sent to a remote monastery in Tibet to help the monks there use a computer to compile a list of all the names of God. Once the list was complete, the monks believed, human and cosmic destiny would be fulfilled and the world would end. The programmers are fleeing the mountain, hoping to escape the monks’ wrath when the program finishes and the world is still there, when one of them looks up. “Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.”
3/25/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Myanmar - Air of Freedom
shackled without chains
again the chants of monks
again the chants of monks
aung san looks over to the hazy horizon
for days when she would breathe the air of freedom
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Grow Old
Yes, yes one must grow old
To find life’s gold
You have yet to unfold
Many things which remains untold
Child age is totally different
People consider you as heavenly sent
You are seen as an innocent creature
Lovely smile on face for future
Youth is spent on making drive
Earnest attempt to struggle and survive
Life may be seen as close and live object
May offer many challenges to excel with acts
Yet something might be left behind
You may have little time left to find
You were very desperate to reach an end
Even though it was not appreciated trend
Still many loop holes were to be plugged
You had to go very bold but still begged
You did everything to gain position
It did not pose then any question
Now the time is to reap the harvest
So far you have tried your best
It was destiny hour and acid test
You have now ample time to rest
You can no feel fully satisfied
You were honest and never lied
The result is before you
As you have proved very true
One must conclude positively
Live life giant size and actively
It is not our concern to assess the past
As life is moving rapidly and very fast
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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