The Lord of the Baseball Diamond

Seven-foot Sauron stands imperiously

   like a goliath on the mound,

Wearing his glistening, gleaming armor,

   he longs to be crowned;

His wind-up is Smaug-like and

   slithering and serpentine

As if he’s been guzzling and gulping

   hot Mordor turpentine;

Brimming with poison pride, he

   frantically fires a fastball of power,

That rings through the air

   as it aims to devour.

Recognizing the temptation,

   Mr. Baggins the most honorable,

Surrenders to the Spirit and humbly

   lays down a bunt phenomenal;

The baseball sneaks softly

   down the third-base line

And Mr. Baggins thinks to himself,

   First-base is all mine!

Then, like a slingshot, off to

   first base he invisibly darts,

And the burglar makes it safely

   because he’s so smarts.

Nino the Donkey

Nino the Donkey thought

   he was much better than all,

His diamond-studded saddle

   made him feel rather tall,

His pride did nothing but fill him

   with the most bitter gall.

Nino should focus so much

   more on his good deeds,

Instead of wearing the most

   fashionable fancy tweeds,

He would be better off thinking

   about other people’s needs.

To St. Francis of Assisi

Your jolly, joyful eyes dreamily dance

  to the sublime, saintly symphony

Of the unimaginably beautiful creations

  of the Most High Lord God;

Your pious, prayerful persistence

  and earnest embrace transform the

Leprous lechery of our lives into

  the radiant Son-shine of lasting love;

Your voice, like a melodious and

  musical church bell, resonates and

Reverberates throughout the ages

  with the clarity and purity of truth;

Your simple, kindly actions speak

  louder than the sonic boom of the

Ghastly gossip and eloquently

  empty chatter of the world.

A Chronicle of Narnian Baseball

With the sensual swirl and clustered

  curls of her wild, wicked whirl

Of hair, the wanton white witch

  stood on the mound ready to hurl;

The saucy wench went into a

  windup most sultry and seductive,

Her voluptuous goddess-like physique

  flamed as a volcano eruptive;

She fired a cutlass-like curveball,

  ready to slice into the lion’s soul,

And the ball sang through the air

  like a Siren, quite out of control.

There stood Aslan the Amazing,

  the spectacular baseball star,

He royally dug into the batter’s box,

  ready to hit the ball far;

Then, the Spirit spoke: “If you gaze

  at her fair face, you shall be undone;

Through Truth, unmask her sickly soul,

  and the battle shall be won!”

Clutching his bold, brave bat, he crouched

  like a catapult ready to spring,

Then, as he humbly surrendered to

  the Spirit, he took his first swing.

His bat flashed around like lightning

  and filled the crowd with wonder,

And as the ball hit his bat, there was

  the sound of crackling thunder;

Filled with chastity and purity,

  he crushed a laser-beam home run,

And gently trotting around the bases,

  he was as radiant as the sun;

When he was in the near occasion

  of sin, Aslan was on his guard,

And that’s why he’s now strolling

  down Championship Boulevard.

Pruning

If you never prune your spiritual tree,

Your sins will be like an untamed storm at sea,

And, even worse, you’ll never ever be truly free.

Monthly confession can make you really alive,

It can also help your spiritual life totally thrive,

Making the Lord first is the goal for which to strive.

To St. Clare of Assisi

Your exquisite bright blue eyes

   are soft and serene,

 Beholding the remarkable

   richness of God’s creation;

Your honey hair cascades

   over your shoulders like a

Wonderful waterfall of God’s

   ineffable, indelible love;

Yet you choose to be a

   princess of holy poverty,

And your only wish is to

   sweetly serve in simplicity;

You are a faithful friend to

   the good Saint Francis,

As you both sacrificially surrender

   to Jesus the Just;

You are a merciful mother

   to the nuns of San Damiano,

As you guide them in purity

   and prudence and peace;

You are a beauteous bride

   to Christ the Courageous,

And your soul is bedecked with

   the precious pearls of virtue;

As you fervently follow in the

   footsteps of Our Loving Lord,

May we too live on in

   the laudable light of Christ.

The Mystical Monastery in the Desert

The long, arduous journey

  was finally over,

More challenging than going

  from London to Dover;

Clarissa Candela opened

  her deep, dark eyes,

She got out of bed not

  expecting any surprise;

For the last 33 days it’s been

  a time for new prayers,

Almost like climbing a beautiful

  resort’s elegant stairs;

Going upward towards God

  in an imperceptible way,

She didn’t notice any spiritual growth

  when she knelt down to pray.

As the beacon of dawn

  gradually conquered the night,

The sinful, fearful darkness

  was very quickly put to flight;

The angels unfurled the banner

  of God’s light across the sky,

As on the freeway Clarissa

  calmly drove in the desert so dry;

Her pilgrimage was to the beauteous

  chapel of Our Lady of Solitude,

And since she could see the cupola,

  her arrival was a certitude;

With holy sunbeams striking a

  stained glass window from afar,

The chapel looked like a lighthouse

  reflecting Bethlehem’s star.

Clarissa got out of her car, and a

  sweet smile danced across her lips,

Her long, dark hair through the comforting

  breeze ever so gently whips;

Looking at the chapel, she saw arches

  and columns in a style European,

The dappled desert stone, rustically

  elegant, made it look Galilean;

The cupola, topped with a simple cross,

  was Our Lady’s jeweled crown,

And the t-shaped tau on the gable

  declared good St. Francis’ renown;

Clarissa looked up, twirled around,

  and saw an immense sky so blue,

She had never seen such beauty clothed

  in such peace, ‘tis so very true.

Then she entered the chapel

  experiencing a spiritual thirst,

Truly there were not many people

  at mass on this January First;

Their few voices were humbly and

  quietly raised almost inaudibly aloft,

And the Franciscan priest said mass

  in a voice that was very, very soft;

The devout Poor Clare nuns were

  all engaged in the deepest prayer,

And, honestly, the mass was so silent

  that it was exceedingly rare;

When Clarissa’s 33-day prayers of

  consecration were finally done,

Might she be in danger of ending

  as uneventfully as she had begun?

But St. Louis de Montfort’s

  Consecration to Jesus through Mary,

Was recommended by her wise old

  Irish pastor Monsignor O’Clary;

He had preached quite a fine homily

  about this special devotion,

Saying, “It can really change your life,

  if you have the notion”;

But now let me share with you

  one rather noteworthy fact,

St. Louis’ closing prayer is

  really a form of holy contract;

She knelt before Our Lord’s

  beautiful crucifix near the altar,

And she dearly hoped that her

  heart would not ever falter.

Midway through this closing prayer,

  Clarissa’s heart was passionately,

Preciously pierced by the sweet sword

  of the Spirit; her soul, suddenly

Brimming with God’s majestic mercy,

  soared in a spiraling celestial

Crescendo of God’s love for her;

  fearing that her heart, like a fiery

Supernova, might explode with emotion,

  she silently slipped out

And sat quietly, alone, on the sofa

  in the pilgrims' guest room;

Here she serenely surrendered all

  to the Spirit, like a noble

Knight of Christ, Through Our Lady,

  The Queen of All Hearts.

Then like a giddy geyser she gushed

  torrents of light-hearted laughter

And happy, heavenly tears; this golden

  cascade of pure love poured

Over her soul like a warm, wonderful

  waterfall of holy honey; deep down

Inside, the Spirit was strumming on

  the harmonic harp of her heart, and

She was deliciously, delightfully deluged

  by this overwhelming ocean of God’s love for her.

Afterwards, Clarissa softly strolled

  back into the chapel to finish her

Closing prayer; approaching the altar,

  with awe, she beheld the crucifix

Where Christ the Courageous heroically

  hangs; from the back of the church

She felt his love as a light, blissful,

  balmy breeze; but as she

Drew closer to that crucifix, she felt

  His love magnificently magnified as it

Ignited into an intense, surging storm

  of explosive, electric joy;

Kneeling before that same crucifix,

  as a bold, brave warrior, she battled

Through her emotions until

   word by word, slowly,

Meaningfully, she finished

   her prayer of consecration.

Every year for the rest of her life

  this holy devotion she would pray,

She would always return to Our Lady

  of Solitude on the very same day;

Just as Our Lady had very few truly

  remarkable days in her saintly life,

Clarissa had few days in which intense

  joy pierced her soul like a knife;

Although she never again experienced

  a cascading heavenly waterfall,

Every so often a raindrop of pure,

  holy love her heart would enthrall;

In the twinkling of an eye the sword

  of the Spirit would pierce her soul,

As if to remind her that perfect love

  in Heaven must always be her goal.

Little Obsessions

You frequently get so

   obsessed about things,

You need to recall the

   anxiety a possession brings,

You start to obsess and need

   a warning bell that rings.

But even so much better

   for your peace of mind,

Pray a little at a time throughout

   the day, to avoid the grind,

Truly God’s ineffable love and joy

   you will most certainly find.

To St. John Paul II

You have a playful, loving smile

  that was delightfully disarming,

You have pleasant, penetrating eyes

  that looked deep into our souls,

As a humble seminarian you silently

  evaded the nefarious Nazis,

Years later, your heroic words crushed

  the cold-hearted Communists;

Your valiant, victorious voice was

  carried on the wondrous wings

Of the cheerful cherubim who raced

  round the globe and rained down

On the world your heavenly hope

  and wonderful words of wisdom.

You are a saint for our century:

  poignant poet, daring dramatist,

Protector of the powerless,

  merciful mystic, pro-life pope,

And stalwart spearhead who ignited

  the fire of the New Evangelization;

Your hideous opponent the devil,

  like a sly, sneaky soccer player,

Tantalizingly tried to kick abortion

  through Holy Church’s doors, but

As the goalie of the Chair of St. Peter,

  you flicked away temptation,

With your rock-solid shepherd’s staff

  gripped in your warrior-like hands.

In Poland, you relentlessly pursued

  Christ’s love even though

You had to trudge terribly through

  the dreadful, dreary dark night

Of Nazi dictatorship, and you had

  to bear the wicked weight of the

Cruel, crafty Communists in your

  beloved, historic city of Krakow;

Through your remarkable writings

  you lifted us ever so high in the air

In a Heaven-bound spiral, far far above

  the murky mist of moral relativism

And into the sublime, sunny splendor

  Of Christ’s truth and freedom.

Christ the Courageous

Philovanitas didn’t want a spiritual life

  Where she had to follow lots of rules,

For her the Church was run by men

  Who were really a bunch of old fools;

A free life where she could decide

  Was her idea of sensible fun,

So she steered her ship into enticing seas

  While soaking up some sun;

But the evil one launched a surprise attack

  And thunder she started to hear,

A tempest rushed in with frantic fingers

  And tried to strangle her with fear;

Like demonic fireworks, lightning exploded

  Fanatically all across the sky,

And murderous rain came down like daggers,

  So it was impossible for her to stay dry.

Philovanitas was trapped like a captive

  At sea in a savage Storm of Deception,

She spun her ship around in the wild, wicked

  Wind and lost all sense of direction;

She was engulfed by the tangled, twisted

  Waves of venomous and violent temptation,

And so she paid the ultimate price

  For her silly pursuit of sensation;

She stood aghast in terror as the breakers

  Blasted against her vessel,

And her formidable foe was far too strong

  For her to ever even attempt to wrestle;

She said, “Oh, dear Lord Jesus, please please

  Rescue me from this frightfully horrid place,

I’m sincerely sorry for my sins and want

  Nothing more but to see your sweet face!”

She turned around and before her stood

  One whose robe was most dazzlingly white,

On His head was a glistening gold crown,

  Set with gemstones radiant and bright;

With love He compassionately caressed her

  With his wonderfully warm brown eyes,

And his mild, merciful smile rescued

  Her heart and made her spirits arise;

Then He looked up, thrust His arms into the air

  And commanded the storm to be still,

The tempest immediately retreated

  And was obedient to His holy will;

Back fled the thunderclouds, back fled

  The lightning bolts, to the dark abyss of hell,

The sun now shone cheerfully, the sea now

  Splashed gleefully, and all was well.

At this the evil one foamed at the mouth

  Like the monstrous madman Othello,

He wanted revenge and he wanted it now

  So he vehemently started to bellow;

In a gruesomely gravelly voice he raged,

  “All hands on deck! Attack! Attack!”

And as the pirate demons sped by,

  He gave each one a menacing whack;

The pirate demons loaded up their weapons,

  For the spiritual blitzkrieg was on,

Time was of the essence, otherwise

  Their opportunity might be all gone;

They boarded their ghastly ghost ships

  Like a swarming plague of flies,

They fanatically followed their emperor,

  And he be the Father of Lies.

Soon the ghost galleons’ powerful armada

  Half-surrounded Philovanitas’ ship,

The evil one stood up like a hunchback

  And was ready to crackle his whip;

Impatiently pacing, back and forth,

  He was like a lion that was ready to devour,

But when he saw the handsome Holy One,

  His attitude really turned sour;

With a slobbering spit of hot yellow sulphur,

  The evil one gave his sign,

And the pirate demons loaded their weapons

  While drinking some stale wart-hog wine;

The great Battle for Philovanitas’ Soul

  Was almost ready to commence,

And for the angelic crowd in the clouds,

  There was certainly growing suspense.

The Father most kind and gentle humbly

  Sent down the sweet Spirit of love,

Carrying a sword from the celestial heights,

  The Spirit was shaped like a dove;

He shot down from Heaven like a sunbeam

  Through a sky that was stunningly blue,

And He delivered the sword to Jesus,

  The Lord who makes all things new;

With a hilt of gold and a blade of steel

  The sword was razor-sharp,

And when Christ the Courageous swung it round,

  It sounded like a melodious harp;

Swinging the Sword of the Spirit was

  Something for which Jesus had a knack,

So He turned around, got in the ready position,

  And waited for the enemy to attack.

With that the devil’s hateful, hellish heart

  Burned like Halley’s Comet,

So he gave the signal to attack

  And sulphurous lava he began to vomit;

The demon archers with cryptic crossbows

  Shot electric arrows into the air,

The arrows buzzed like a swarm of sparkling

  Bees as they targeted Philovanitas’ hair;

But Jesus exhibited tremendous athleticism

  And certainly He frustrated His foe,

With His sword He deflected the electroarrows

  And they fizzed into the sea below;

The devil saw that the arrows were useless

  And it was time to turn to flaming missiles,

These are the kind that blaze through the air

  With terrifying and eerie whistles.

Jesus then changed His grip on the holy sword

  As if He would stab Death in the heart,

Then He flung the sword like a spiraling spear

  And it gave the devil a start;

When the sword struck the sea, there was a

  Blinding flash and a deafening sonic boom,

For the evil one and his pirate demons

  This could certainly only spell doom;

A supersonic shock wave swiftly fanned out

  Like Saturn’s colorful rings,

It explosively ripped through the devil’s galleons

  By the power of the King of kings;

The devil and his pirate demons were blown right back

  Into their dark, infernal pit,

And because of where they were painfully injured,

  They found it very hard to sit.

Jesus saw that the splintered wood from the

  Galleons was strewn all over the sea,

Troublesome temptation had been driven out

  And Philovanitas was finally free;

Jesus turned around and saw her trembling

  Because she had such a terrible fright,

So He took His bride into His arms

  And then embraced her very, very tight;

Jesus said, “Henceforth you shall be ‘Philothea’

  For now you love God above all,

I shall always love you as a treasure

  And be with you whenever you call”;

Then He tenderly kissed her cheek

  And she felt the softness of His bearded curls,

Never had Philothea felt so special,

  Even more precious than the rarest of pearls.

He pierced her soul with truest love,

  And her heart brimmed with Heavenly light,

Thanks to Christ the Courageous,

  Philothea’s spiritual eyes regained their sight;

With a peaceful smile on His face,

  The Lord wiped away her happy tears,

Her heart was so full of contentment

  And banished were all her fears;

She learned that freedom’s not freedom

  Without love and responsibility,

And avoiding the near occasion of sin

  Involves a lot of spiritual agility;

In the brisk balmy breeze, Jesus’

  Flowing hair so very gently swirled,

He said, “Behold I am with you always,

  Even unto the end of the world.”

Nino the Gossip

Nino the Donkey was the

   biggest gossip in the state,

He couldn’t wait to text the world

   about Kate’s awkward date,

He’s the kind of guy

   people can absolutely hate.

That’s what happens when

   Nino wants to be cool,

He laughs at others because

   he’s a ridiculous fool,

Nino needs to learn that

   the Golden Rule is a jewel.

To St. Helena

Dear modest, majestic

   mother of Constantine,

You sweetly speak

   with stately serenity;

As a holy pilgrim, with

   eyes alive and animated,

You search for Christ’s

   true cross on Calvary.

Lumbering laborers dig up for

   you a dizzying number

Of dirty crosses -- yet

   only one is miraculous;

Only one cures the

   worn-out woman’s incurable

Disease when she is

   wondrously made well.

Then, when you eagerly

   embrace its holy wood

In your amiable arms, you

   tremble with jubilation;

Strands of your long flowing

   hair blow in the breeze across

Your lovely face and then

   softly caress the holy cross.

MacScrooge and the Maelstrom of Diamonds

MacScrooge steered his sailing ship

  Towards the swirling maelstrom of mystery,

He heard that it held one of the most

  Tantalizing treasures in all of human history;

Old sailors say millions of sparkling

  Diamonds are twirling round and round,

Spinning like a glittering galaxy,

  The maelstrom makes a murmuring sound;

When he entered the Forbidden Sea,

  His ultimate goal was near,

He had heard that the vortex was deadly,

  And there was certainly reason to fear;

But more than anything else he wanted

  To own an envious pile of wealth,

Perhaps if he kept a safe distance,

  Then he might succeed through stealth.

From afar the magical whirlpool

  Shone with shimmering, glimmering light,

It was completely blanketed with diamonds

  Floating so very bright;

MacScrooge eased his ship carefully

  Into the whirlpool’s serpentine tail,

The waters seemed so peaceful

  That perhaps his mission wouldn’t fail;

As the waters crept along sleepily,

  Many gems by MacScrooge were collected,

With a heavy net he snatched them up,

  And there were many more than he expected;

His insatiable appetite for riches

  Grew through his laborious task,

MacScrooge’s beard dripped with sweat,

  So he took a drink out of his flask.

MacScrooge became so obsessed with diamonds

  That of surroundings he lost all sense,

But when his ship suddenly surged forward,

  He abruptly became very tense;

He noticed that the ship’s speed had

  Augmented in a very disturbing way,

The sea rapidly became rather turbulent,

  And it was turning into an ominous day;

Black clouds swiftly eclipsed the sun,

  And extinguished nearly all of its light,

MacScrooge’s heart sank like an anchor,

  And he trembled with terror and fright;

An icy, wicked wind began to blow,

  And he saw the waters violently churn,

Sadly, MacScrooge knew it was too late --

  He was beyond the point of no return.

From the center of the whirlpool

  There was an explosive and thunderous blast,

MacScrooge knew that something dangerous

  Was approaching very, very fast;

Then the vortex vomited sulphurous lava

  That sprayed high into the skies,

And molten rock fell like blazing meteors,

  A dreadful sight for his eyes;

The flaming boulders struck the sea

  And every diamond was ignited,

When MacScrooge saw the maelstrom on fire,

  He had never been less delighted;

Faster and faster the murderous maelstrom spun,

  Like a whirling wheel of fire,

And all of these events were triggered

  By MacScrooge’s inordinate desire.

MacScrooge had arrived at the mouth

  Of the vortex, and clearly this was not good,

While his ship was burning in ferocious

  Flames that hungrily ate its wood;

A vile, horrid, foul stench arose from

  Deep within the cavernous abyss,

This was far, far different from his dream,

  Of power and worldly bliss;

His ship plunged down into the funnel,

  In a death spiral leading towards hell,

And clutching the helm tightly,

  MacScrooge cursed and swore as he fell;

Then volcanic lightning blasted him

  And cooked the flesh off of his head,

The ship disappeared into the void below

  And, tragically, MacScrooge was dead.

When Lady MacScrooge heard the shocking news,

  Terror gripped her heart,

Like MacScrooge she lusted for power,

  But now she wished to make a fresh start;

She would try to avoid all temptations

  That invited her to hoard,

Instead she would strive for love and peace

  Just like our Blessed Lord;

MacScrooge did only what he wanted,

  And that’s how he rolled the dice,

He avoided not the near occasion of sin,

  And that’s when he paid the price;

Since MacScrooge gambled with temptation,

  In the end he only got hurt,

It would have been better for him,

  If he had remained sober, vigilant, and alert.

Nino the Donkey: IL VESUVIO

When Nino gets angry, he blows his top,

He wants control, but without it he’ll pop,

His selfish attitude must come to a stop.

Patience will help him win in the clutch,

Broadening his boundaries to not need so much,

The Holy Spirit he must reach out to touch.

To St. Peter the Apostle

Your fishing boat bobs up

   and down in uncertainty,

As you reflect upon the

   meaning of your life;

With a sterile stare you

   gaze at the wobbly waves,

While the wonderful wind of

   the Spirit is silently approaching;

A merciful Son of Man is

   standing on the sandy seashore,

He is looking for his Rock,

   to make him a fisher of men;

The breeze blows through

   your stubborn dark hair,

As the Son of Man asks if He

   can come aboard your boat.

As Jesus ascends, He disappears

   into nebulous misty clouds,

You feel like a floundering

   fisherman without his nets;

Without the Good Shepherd,

   your heart seems hollow,

You now appear more like

   a pebble than a rock;

But later, a deafening wind

   whirls through the room,

And fantastical flaming

   fireballs crown all present;

In divers tongues, all mystically

   praise the good God,

And you proclaim the Word

   with holy courage.

As you are cruelly crucified

   upside-down on Vatican Hill,

Your life is brimming with

   meaning and significance;

Your blood falls to the earth

   like a myriad of mustard seeds,

Where the Church will

   take root and grow strong;

You are the first link in

   the precious papal chain,

An unbreakable chain dripping

   with martyrs’ blood;

This chain will withstand

   the hammering of heretics,

It will be like a fruitful vine

   bringing Love to the world.

The Miracle of the Sun

Like Rosary beads dipped in holy water,

  Raindrops are falling from the sky,

Seventy thousand people in the roaring rain

  Who would really rather be dry;

The valley of the Cova da Iria is a black

  Blanket of umbrellas and hats,

And the drenched, dripping crowd is like

  A muddy mob of very curious cats;

Three children kneel before an outdoor altar

  As they await the promised sign,

And non-believers mockingly joke that

  The children are just tipsy with wine;

The riotous rain finally stops at noon,

  As the weather is forced to succumb,

But noon passes, and Heaven is late,

  So perhaps no miracle will come.

But then a marvelous, mystical stillness and quiet

  Come over this blessed place,

All laughter subsides and totally vanishes,

  Without even the slightest trace;

Our Lady appears to all the three children,

  Wearing garments dazzlingly white,

Her shape is graceful and delicate,

  And her clothing is brighter than light;

Her eyes are like sparkling jewels,

  And her sweet voice makes their hearts sing,

Her face is most exquisitely beautiful,

  And she is a treasure of the great King;

But after hours and hours of waiting,

  The crowd sees nothing at all,

If a Heavenly sign they don’t get,

  Then perhaps the children they’ll maul.

After speaking to the three young children,

  Our Lady casts a glance up above,

She gently points upwards to Heaven,

  With a heart filled with mercy and love;

Then Lucia quickly points at the sky,

  And tells everyone to look at the sun,

They only see a thick cloudy darkness,

  So their expectations are little or none;

But through the clouds the sun is slicing,

  And it’s spinning like a circular saw,

At this very strange and unnatural sight,

  The crowd’s nerves really feel raw;

The sun is like a gyrating sparkler,

  With sizzling sparks flitting about,

It is held by God’s invisible hand,

  He is mighty -- of this there is no doubt.

Then the fickle sun changes colors,

  And the many spectators reflect its glow,

The chamelionic sun lights up sky and land,

  Putting on an impressive show;

First the sun turns a stunning silver,

  And this is followed by a brilliant blue,

Then it turns a glorious, gleaming gold,

  Followed by a most radiant red hue;

Every so often there are stellar explosions,

  With blinding bursts of light,

The people are starting to tremble,

  And are wondering if they should take flight;

They stare at the sun for a very long time,

  Yet none of them hurt their eyes,

The whole crowd gapes in surreal wonder,

  Observing this sign in the skies.

But suddenly unbolted from the wall of clouds,

  The sun moves about in the sky,

It looks like it’s riding on a roller coaster,

  On invisible tracks way up high;

The blazing orb dances in a fiery frenzy,

  Although there’s not a lot of wind,

And glacial hearts are melting below,

  Of those who have seriously sinned;

But now, like a menacing molten meteor,

  The sun falls down towards the Earth,

Thousands of people cry out in terror,

  Not experiencing any kind of mirth;

Alarmed atheists pray Our Fathers,

  As their hearts’ flag of surrender is unfurled,

And agnostics stagger and stumble for cover,

  Fearing it’s the end of the world.

Approaching at a frightful velocity,

  The sun gradually drinks the dark sky,

As the speeding star draws ever nearer,

  The people are preparing to die;

The red giant now fills the heavens,

  And the situation is exceedingly dire,

The surface of the sun is a seething solar ocean

  Of fantastical flaming fire;

But all this time the three good children

  Have visions from the Heavenly realm,

They experience ecstatic joy and peace,

  Since the good God is at the helm;

Then, in the twinkling of an eye,

  The crowd looks up through happy tears,

They’re stunned because their nightmarish vision

  Very suddenly disappears.

Just ten minutes earlier, the spectators in the

  Cova were standing in the mire,

But now, in a flash, it is completely dry --

  Faster than anyone could ever desire;

Ten miraculous minutes…

  Have forever softened many thousands of souls,

Their lives are totally transformed,

  And they no longer seek secular goals;

October 13, 1917…

  Will be remembered throughout all of history,

Though for skeptics who read of Fatima,

  This day may always be a mystery;

Many atheists and agnostics saw a miracle

  That made them turn quite pale,

So know that this story happened,

  And it is not some silly fairy tale.

Nino the Salesman

Nino the Donkey squeezes

   out every penny in sales,

His smooth, slippery power of

   persuasion never ever fails,

He legally pickpockets without

   getting thrown into jails.

Nino needs to learn how to

   sincerely serve each client,

He should give people a break

   and with pricing be more pliant,

He must make others’ lives

   easier and not be defiant.

To St. Paul

You watch with piercing pistol eyes as

  Stephen is brought before the Sanhedrin,

The leaders flog him with false witness,

  And revengefully rush at him;

They drag him outside the city,

  And lay their cloaks at your Pharisaical feet,

Then, with hellish hate, they hurl

  Spear-like stones that crush his body;

Horribly hideous thoughts float through

  The black ocean of your mind,

And you are obdurately obsessed with

  Driving Christianity into total oblivion;

You track and hunt down the Christians

  With dreadful determination,

You throw them into prison,

  Seeking to snuff out the sparks of the New Way.

On the dusty road to Damascus,

  You relish your recent conquest over the Christians,

You are smugly satisfied with your success

  Against those religious rebels;

But then there is a blinding flash,

  Infinitely brighter than a bolt of lightning,

Catapulted from your horse,

  You clumsily crash to the ground and collapse;

Then you unmistakably hear that familiar

  Gentle voice of Christ the Courageous,

He tenderly and mercifully asks,

  “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

Suddenly you are struck blind,

  And you are entirely enveloped in darkness,

It appears as if God has blown out the sun,

  As if it were a giant candle in the sky.

Pondering and perturbed, you are praying quietly,

  In a home on Straight Street,

Lost in your thoughts, you rhythmically

  Stroke your black mustache and beard;

Your heavy heart weeps in dismay,

  As your brashness has led to your bitter blindness,

Now the hero who was persecuting the rebels

  Is himself converting into a rebel;

Scattered at your feet are the shattered

  Pieces of your old way of life,

A day ago those puzzle pieces all fit together,

  Like the pillars in Solomon’s Portico;

But now a key piece of the puzzle is missing:

  The messianic centerpiece,

You repentantly fast and pray,

  As Ananias approaches with the missing piece.

Gazing at the Circus Maximus, you know

  That your time in this world is very short,

As you reflect back upon your life,

  You realize how much you’ve changed;

Through the limitless love of the Lord,

  You have become a very humble man,

And through the Prince of Peace,

  You are filled with the fruits of the Spirit;

After so many years, you long to

  Give the kiss of peace to the saintly Stephen,

You hunger and thirst to embrace your

  Magnificent Messiah, Jesus the Just;

The sun sets in Rome’s crimson sky,

  Surrounded by clusters of woolly clouds,

This flock of lambs is ready to follow

  The shepherd-sun down into Vatican Hill.

The Inferno: A Divine Comedy

Based on Dante’s Inferno

Let’s now take a tour through Dante’s

  Inferno by going back in time,

It’s all about poetic justice down there,

  So let the punishment fit the crime!

Hell is shaped like a giant funnel,

  And it leads to the center of the Earth,

It’s an ugly place with a vile stench,

  And it’s certainly not known for mirth.

In the Vestibule are those neither good

  Nor bad who are like the living dead,

And as they are stung by wild wasps,

  Their elastic eyes pop out of their head.

In Circle One are the honorable pagans,

  Who lived by the glory of reasoning,

These souls are feeling sad in limbo,

  Since they will never taste heavenly seasoning.

In Circle Two are those with carnal passions,

  Who allowed sensuality to abound,

Lustful lovers are kissed by a whirling tempest

  In an eternal merry-go-round.

In Circle Three are the vomit-stained gluttons,

  In a squalid snow unholy,

Three-headed Cerberus loves their fatty flavor

  Even more than a tasty cannoli.

In Circle Four are the hoarders and wasters,

  Whose only idol in life was money,

They all have heavy weights on their backs,

  And shuffle around kind of funny.

In Circle Five the wrathful are swimming

  In the swampy Stygian mud,

They look like the drool a cow spits out,

  After it has blandly chewed its cud.

A flame from the Great Tower

  Marks a shift from upper to lower hell,

This flashing fire signals hell’s capital

  In lieu of a funeral bell.

In Circle Six stands the City of Dis,

  Shrouded with the smokiest fog,

The heretics are cooked in flaming graves,

  As if they are a barbecued hot dog.

Circle Seven is a little bit different,

  And it’s divided into three separate rounds,

The sinners are suffering in divers ways,

  Making all kinds of screaming sounds.

In Round One are the violent souls,

  Mad warlords who wanted to be boss,

Their heads bob in a boiling river of blood,

  Like meatballs in tomato sauce.

In Round Two the suicides have turned into

  Trees that have black leaves on top,

Their souls are bottled up inside,

  Very much like bubbly soda pop.

In Round Three the blasphemers lie on burning sand,

  And it makes them really sizzle,

They must have heard the forecast wrong,

  Because there is a fiery drizzle.

Circle Eight is also quite unusual,

  Divided into bolgias numbering ten,

Each bolgia is a deep, cavernous ditch,

  More filthy than a swine’s muddy pen.

In Bolgia One are the selfish seducers,

  Who perennially rush around in a mob,

They look like interns late for the subway,

  Who are afraid of losing their job.

In Bolgia Two are the flatterers,

  Who speak words of sweet sugar-coated goo,

One of them falls into the pool of excrement,

  And swallows a mouthful or two.

Bolgia Three is lined with a honeycomb of tubes,

  For simoniacs who misused their position,

They’re crammed head-first into each of them,

  With their feet ignited by nuclear fission.

In Bolgia Four are the fortune tellers who

  Thought predicting the future was pretty neat,

But now they have their heads on backwards,

  And they look like twisted pretzels when they eat.

In Bolgia Five, the grafters look like fried frogs,

  Peering out from the boiling black tar,

When a demon raked one with a grappling hook,

  He felt like he got flattened by a car.

In Bolgia Six are the hypocrites, wearing

  Beautiful robes of the heaviest lead,

With buckling knees, they’re sweating bullets,

  And their faces are turning strawberry red.

In Bolgia Seven are the thieves,

  Who are grievously guilty of blame,

The serpents squeeze them very tight,

  And like matches they burst into flame.

In Bolgia Eight are the evil counselors,

  Whose murky malevolence is most dire,

They could really go for some lemonade,

  Since they are wading in a lake of fire.

In Bolgia Nine are the sowers of discord,

  Who are decapitated by a demon who looks drunk,

One of them palms his head in his hand,

  Like a basketball player preparing to dunk.

In Bolgia Ten are the crafty counterfeiters,

  Who loved to print monetary junk,

Now their skin is crusted with horrid diseases,

  And they have a stench like a fricasseed skunk.

In Circle Nine are the beastly betrayers,

  Whose souls are so grimly black,

The devil chews and chomps on them,

  In a crunchy never-ending snack.

Finally we’ve reached the bottom of hell,

  And our fascinating journey is done,

Hopefully Dante is pleased with the result,

  As we’ve had just a little bit of fun.

But the moral of the story is to remember always

  The very true words of St. John Vianney,

He put it quite well when he said with utter sincerity,

  “Hell exists!”

Traveling at the Speed of Light

NowLifeIsSoStressfulAndSoRushedAndSoObsessiveAndSoFast,

WeHaveToBuyBuyBuyAndBeSuccessfulAndAlwaysAvoidBeingLast,

WeNeedFlatScreensAndSmartPhonesAndNoTimeAtAllForThePastAnd

2,000 years ago life was lived at a slower pace,

There was time for family, and to see everyone’s face,

People made time for prayer, and to receive God’s grace.