Wednesday, March 9, 2016


I’d, humble, walk the narrow path
With Jesus, Savior, Lord,
And by His gift, I’ll praise Him with
The pen as my bronze sword.

I cannot sing or carry tunes;
No music can I play,
But God has blessed me with a gift,
A talent, so “they” say.

(And onward, Christian Soldier, write
As going off to war,
For God’s salvation set thee free
To walk His Golden Shore!)

I’d wield a lowly poet’s pen,
Not out of duty’s call,
But out of Love for Jesus Christ;
He is great, and I am small.

So if my pen—His gift—is in
Accordance with His plan,
I want to share my God with His
Salvation for all men.

            --Monty Wheeler

Saturday, March 5, 2016


There waits a prayer everywhere;
there waits a talk with God,
and ask me why I'd pass it by
with just a cursory nod.

There waits a prayer; it's lying there
like a fresh picked rose.
And would I pause my busy day?
to bring it to my nose?

There waits a prayer and all God's care
like a heads-up penny,
and how much richer I shall be
with prayers that count to many.

                        --Monty Wheeler


Of lovers’ fights she thinks at night
And ponders on her own sad plight;
She walks the way shunned lovers will
When given naught to love but still
From loving him, her heart shan’t sway,
But lonely lives both night and day.

In love or lust the swoon’s the same,
The flutter’d heart, the whispered name,
But one shall die when passion’s fire
Would rage to ash, leave naught but ire
In lovers’ fights and wants to stray,
Then lonely lives both night and day.

She walks along the shore and sand,
Wondering why he cheated and
What’s a jilted lover do?
An angry sea of storm-tossed blue
Invites her but she stops to pray
For lonely living night and day.

                        --Monty Wheeler

*a varied refrain in the Stave Stanza where sestets built of couplets use the last line for refrain.

Thursday, March 3, 2016


Now I lay me down to weep;
I pray, perchance, for rest in sleep,
Where demons lurk beyond the dreams,
And stark reality's thin, it seems,
Where fears seem sure to win the fight.

How glad I am for cloak of night
Where no one sees the salted tears
Born of way too many years,

But then I think of Calvary,
The place of skulls where tears flowed free,
As Jesus died. Yet he would rise
And come to stand before their eyes.

While nightmares of my toil and tares
Play in midnight’s wide-eyed stares
Sleep would linger as a tease,

But granting no repose or ease.
Until I pray. “My God,” I say,
“Let Your mercy rain today
“And peace come unto me. Amen”

In faith, I close my eyes again.

                        --Monty Wheeler