POISON /  by Joe Castorino

 

Melancholy is a

potent poison

that sours

the sweetness of

devotion.

 

But if we stir in

the sludge of

impatience and anger,

it produces an even more

toxic potion.

 

Life languishes

in somber sadness

when we wallow

in egotistical

emotion.

 

DESCRIPTION OF TRUE DEVOTION /  by Joe Castorino

 

Sinners,

like ostentatious peacocks,

run wild

and never get off the ground.

 

Lukewarm worldlings,

like hunted hens,

fly awkwardly,

if chased by a hungry hound.

 

Carpe diem:

they just want to have fun,

wantonly

playing around.

 

But devout souls,

like effortless eagles,

soar aloft into the

beautiful blue sky.

 

Their genuine love is

frequent and prompt,

and their faith

is the reason why.

 

With their lives focused

on cheerful charity,

speeding towards

Heaven they fly.

 

SILKEN CORDS /  by Joe Castorino

 

Blowing in the Spirit’s breeze,

Millions upon millions of

Beautiful blessings

Dangle from Heaven’s

Clustered clouds on

Silken cords.

 

A little freckle-faced boy

Raises his innocent prayer to God,

Hoping one day to become a pro

Baseball player.

 

With great agility,

His guardian angel

Does a somersault in the air

And, like an all-star,

Catches the boy’s

Wild pitch.

 

He faithfully flies up to Heaven

And finds a large, palatial cloud

That is lined with the most

Glimmering gold, and under it

Is a pro baseball contract

Hanging limp on its

Silken cord.

 

He gets ready to cut it,

But kneeling on a cloud nearby,

Our Lady ever so sweetly smiles

As she shakes her head at him,

Slowly, knowingly.

 

Then she playfully runs

Toward another cloud,

A little cloud,

Pointing at a poet’s pen

Filled with the creative ink of

Imagery and alliteration,

And it is dancing in the wind on its

Silken cord.

 

Brimming with joy,

She eagerly looks back

Towards the throne and sees

A twinkle in the eyes of our

Heavenly Father as He happily

Nods yes.

 

So the guardian angel delicately

Snips that silken cord,

Like a cluster of grapes from

The Vine.

 

THE EXCELLENCE OF DEVOTION /  by Joe Castorino

 

The pleasure-seeking world

is puzzled by Christians,

because we pursue

devotion.

 

But choosing to live in sacrificial

love doesn’t mean we’re

poisoned by a hobbit’s

potion.

 

So if we’d really like to live

like the holiest of saints,

tell me, what’s all the

commotion?

 

At first, the fruit of sacrificial love

tastes very much like

bitter, bloody

juice.

 

But it gradually matures over time,

like the sweet fruit of the vine,

and is not at all a form of

abuse.

 

Best of all, holy devotion is like a

sharp spiritual sword that cuts

temptation’s threatening

noose.

 

OUR LORD'S LEADOFF HITTER /  by Joe Castorino

 

I quietly and invisibly

live my faith,

and accept life’s

incessant curveballs;

I am obedient to my

Manager’s wish for

bunt singles

instead of home runs.

 

The people of the world

are sitting in the box seats,

busied with food

and entertainment;

living in another world,

they have no idea

what I’m doing

in the batter’s box.

 

But Our Lord, Our Lady,

and the heavenly court

happily cheer me on

from the upper deck;

I live my life behind

the cross,

living in the dark night

of the unseen.

TO ST. Mary Magdalene /  by Joe Castorino

 

Your attractive dark hair,

very long and wavy,

flowed aimlessly and

hopelessly over your

darkened eyes --

you were worn out

by the world’s dirty coins

and dirtier men.

 

But when you met

Him, the brightest light

of the purest love

streamed into your eyes,

driving the deadly demons

into a fearful frenzy and --

suddenly -- you found yourself

finally free.

 

Then, on the third day,

you giggled like a little girl

as you jubilantly ran

from the tomb

to the upper room

of your heart,

with a smile sparkling

and a soul soaring.

 

TO ST. JOACHIM /  by Joe Castorino

 

It is said that one day

You had a great vision,

Did you accept it?

Or reject it in derision?

 

The vision came true

When little Mary was born,

So for you and Anne

Was it a glorious morn?

 

You praised the Lord

That His will was done,

But when did you know

She was a chosen one?

 

Even little John was not

Fit to untie His sandal,

Was a virgin birth too much

For you to handle?

 

TO ST. ANNE /  by Joe Castorino

 

As the wind blows,

Your wise brown eyes

Are covered by wisps

Of your brown hair;

You watch your

Little Maria,

Your saintly cherub,

Skipping away

With a smile;

Your finely furrowed brow

Is knitted in a knot,

As you are pensively

Waiting, wondering:

What does the Mighty One

Have in mind for my

Darling dark-haired daughter?

May the Messiah be on the move?

 

TO ST. SIMON THE APOSTLE /  by Joe Castorino

 

You were a zealot against the Romans,

  Whom you terribly wanted to crush,

Perhaps you dreamt of spearing their skulls,

  And watching their bright blood gush;

But Jesus of Nazareth was meek and mild,

  And he turned the other cheek,

When He healed the Roman’s servant,

  Did you think the Messiah was weak?

 

But Jesus spoke to rich and poor

  With an amazing proclamatory power,

And before no man -- Jew or Roman --

  Did He ever stoop or cower;

His multitudinous miracles filled your

  Heart with amazement and with awe,

Almost imperceptibly you came to realize

  That He was the fulfillment of the law.

 

Some say that you were cruelly crucified,

  Just like Our Most Blessed Lord,

Others say you were sawed in two,

  With your body savagely and brutally gored;

Either way, the acid anger of hate corroded

  The malicious murderers’ brains,

While in your holy heart God’s Spirit

  Everlastingly and eternally reigns.

 

TO ST. BARTHOLOMEW THE APOSTLE /  by Joe Castorino

 

With smug sarcasm you doubted Philip:

  The Christ from Nazareth could not come;

To you it sounded like your friend’s

  Naivete was in reality pretty dumb.

 

But this Jesus said, smiling softly,

  That he had seen you under the fig tree;

Your spiritual eyes suddenly opened, and

  The true Messiah did you finally see.

 

You saw Lazarus lazily lurch forward,

  As he stepped out of his rocky grave;

This was one of many amazing miracles

  That in the end your soul did save.

 

Decades later, you screeched and screamed in pain

  As your sordid killers skinned you alive;

But now your bright eyes see Heavenly glory

   Where for eternity you very happily thrive. 

 

TO ST. JAMES THE just /  by Joe Castorino

 

You were the first bishop of Jerusalem,

  And were known as James the Just,

As Jesus’ cousin and St. Jude’s brother,

  People knew that you they could trust;

Your knees thickened like a camel’s,

  From all your time kneeling in prayer,

You had a long beard and lots of hair,

  And you always treated people fair.

 

The Jewish leaders failed with St. Paul,

  So they turned their ire towards you,

Their raging revenge was out of control,

  And their delirious desire grew;

They wanted to crush the New Way,

  So they pursued you like angry apes,

Christians were sprouting up everywhere,

  Like vineyards full of plenteous grapes.

 

You bravely refused to reject the Christ,

  So they threw you from the temple’s pinnacle,

Their grotesque expressions were ghastly,

  As they chose to be stubbornly cynical;

Then they hurled jagged stones at you,

  And with a mallet broke your bones,

But you uttered prayers for your attackers,

  In between your painful groans.

 

TO ST. JAMES THE GREATER, THE APOSTLE /  by Joe Castorino

 

You were a son of Zebedee and Salome,

  And brother of John the Apostle,

Though your fishing boat was very reliable,

  It was definitely nothing colossal;

You were a fiery fisherman from Galilee,

  And Jesus called you a son of thunder,

Perhaps your anger flared in the boat

  When your brother committed a blunder.

 

You saw Jesus rise at the Ascension,

  And it stirred in you a most pious desire,

Then within your breast burned a glorious zeal

  Which glowed like a holy fire;

But King Herod Agrippa persecuted Christians,

  And wanted them to go away,

He thought that killing a respected apostle

  Would make them cease to pray.

 

It’s very true that King Herod seemed

  Like the most vile and pernicious slug,

He was very much like his grandpa,

  Who killed the holy innocents like a thug;

His wretched grandfather was selfish,

  The very violent Herod the Great,

Who savagely slaughtered the babes of

  Bethlehem in his beastly ire and hate.

 

Being a member of Jesus’ inner circle,

  You had a target on your back,

The giant executioner grunted, as he

  Chopped off your head with a whack;

You became the first apostolic martyr,

  In the year A.D. forty-four,

But Jesus awaited you with a beaming smile,

  As you opened that Heavenly door.

 

TO ST. JOHN THE APOSTLE /  by Joe Castorino

 

Son of Thunder, you requested that Jesus

  Revengefully rain down ferocious flames,

You wanted to get back at those fools from

  Samaria who wouldn’t welcome Him;

But your fisherman’s soul was softened

  By the Savior, as Love taught you to love,

You were transformed by the Transfiguration,

  And you soon became the Apostle of Light.

 

During the Last Supper, you leaned on Love,

  And, alarmed, asked Him about the traitor,

Then, later, you saw the wondrous wounds

  Of Love wash away the world’s guilt;

He gave you His Most Blessed Mother,

  And you cared for her with holy compassion,

You, the Beloved Disciple, bravely and

  Courageously taught us obedience.

 

You were the miraculous martyr who

  Survived a bubbling, boiling cauldron of oil,

Then the Roman Emperor Domitian

  Egregiously exiled you to the isle of Patmos;

Hideous heresies denied Christ’s divinity,

  So you wrote a glorious gospel to refute them,

You were the mild mystic, the peaceful preacher,

  And the unforgettable Apostle of Love.

 

MARIAN SYMPHONY NO. 3 /  by Joe Castorino

 

Mother of Divine Grace, ever so kindly

  Preserve me in humble piety and patience;

Ask the gentle Jesus to pour upon me

  His heavenly hope and gladdening grace.

 

You merit praise for being a perfect mirror,

  Reflecting His merciful compassion;

Because of you, divine favors fall upon me

  Like starry raindrops from the sky.

 

I am a little candle in the cave, and the

  Birth of the blessed Babe is mystical to me;

Pray that your sovereign Son will help me

  To be single-hearted in the Spirit.

 

The Timeless One is triumphantly shoehorned

  Into Time, and He totally transfigures it;

Guide me and show me how to live in the

  Eternal present of the loving Lamb.

 

MARIAN SYMPHONY NO. 2 /  by Joe Castorino

 

Mother of Christ, you are the treasured

  Tabernacle of the Most High;

The brilliant Sun magnificently shines

  Forth from you in spiritual direction.

 

Pray that we may be poor in spirit,

  Surrendering to Christ the Compassionate;

Pray that we may be pure in heart,

  Like the precious Poverello of Assisi.

 

Your luminous light-brown hair cascades

  Over your shoulders like a waterfall;

Your radiant smile lights up my soul,

  As I hold your soft, gentle hand.

 

You lead me in His holy footsteps, showing

  Me the short way, the easy way, to Jesus;

From the depths of my soul I love you,

  My Heavenly guide, my darling friend.

 

MARIAN SYMPHONY NO. 1 /  by Joe Castorino

 

Holy Virgin of Virgins, the foolish enemy

  Feverishly and frantically pursues me;

Bravely brandish the sword of the Spirit,

  And courageously cut him down.

 

Scatter his seditious stratagems, and

  Utterly destroy his devilish plans;

Through your lovely, delicate hands,

  May my prayers arise to Jesus’ throne.

 

The humble beauty of your sweet smile

  Eclipses the light of both sun and moon;

Your pristine prayers for me perfume

  Highest Heaven with the fragrance of roses.

 

Ask the Father to teach me truth: that holy

  Devotion is possible in any profession;

Quiet queen, ignite the little candle

  Of my heart with the fire of compassion.

 

TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF TOMORROW /  by Joe Castorino

 

i-fear-

the-dangerous-and-

dreadful-death-spiral,-

the-dantean-inferno-

of-chilling-chain-reactions,-

of-technological-terrors,-

of-atomic-annihilation,-

of-regressive-progress,-

moving-us-forward-yet-

plunging-us-deeper-

and-deeper-and-deeper-

down-down-down-

into-the-frightening-funnel-of-

tomorrow

 

RITA THE RUSHER /  by Joe Castorino

 

Rita rushes madly all the day long,

She’s petrified things will turn out all wrong;

Her two nervous eyes seem made of green rock,

That shift like the pendulum of a clock;

Keep up with the Joneses, she must, she must,

Or all of her dreams will turn to grey dust;

Her sad sour life is a merry-go-round,

And Fear chases her like a hungry hound;

Tragically, she lives at a breakneck pace,

With worrisome wrinkles on her blank face;

Rita’s afraid she just might go crazy,

The truth is that her future’s quite hazy;

She needs to run, run, run, and buy, buy, buy,

But she never stops to ask herself why.

 

THE LADY OF FATIMA /  by Joe Castorino

 

O Lighthouse of Love, you shine as a beacon

  Of God’s mercy to deliver us from darkness;

In your sublime sweetness, teach us

  To share this mercy with the world.

 

Our meddlesome enemy muddles our

  Daily lives with intoxicating idols;

May the Lord’s renewing rain rinse us

  Clean of corrosive, inordinate desires.

 

From His youth, and through the years,

  Jesus offered Himself to you in obedience;

May we too listen to the merry melody

  Of your delicate, dulcet voice.

 

Reach out and rescue us who are in need

  Of the refreshment of God’s love;

Pray that as overwhelmed outcasts we may find

  Favor and holy hope in the triumphant Trinity.

 

MYSTICAL ROSE /  by Joe Castorino

 

Sweet Queen, I glory in your gracious goodness,

  With my whole soul I delight in you;

I declare with a dancing heart that you bring

  Me ever nearer to the joys of Jesus.

 

Through you I thrive, in a life filled with

  Thanksgiving, as you invite me to Heaven;

With you as my guide, I gladly glide along

  The river of life closer to the Messiah.

 

You are the heavenly funnel through

  Which the fountain of the Spirit flows;

With excitement in your eyes, you point me

  Towards your Son, who patiently awaits us.

 

I run with you through the fields of grace,

  With your hand clasped in mine;

We laugh with elation, our hearts filled

  With the ecstatic love of the Holy Spirit.