TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES

The Little Candle said to Our Lady,

“Your merciful and majestic eyes 

   are dazzlingly modest,

Sparkling like radiant jewels 

   of kindness and compassion;

Your serene smile swiftly 

   steals my humble heart,

As you point me towards the 

   path that leads to Jesus;

Your majestic mantle and sky-blue

   sash dance joyfully in the breeze,

Reflecting the mildness and the 

   gentleness of the good God;

Your ladylike lips whisper    

   words of wisdom

That split the air like 

   atomic loving lightning;

Your sweet, saintly actions 

   ripple through the universe,

Like warm, welcoming waves 

   of heavenly peace.”

A NEW CREATION

When I wave the white flag

in the serene surrender of prayer,

I allow the water of my soul

to be poured freely into

His chalice of gold;

there I am baptized by Love

and born again,

transformed by the Transfigured,

changed forever by the sweet

new wine of the Spirit.

THE DARK WEB

We excitedly rocket through

cyberspace at supersonic speeds,

obsessively and compulsively

ricocheting back and forth,

from website to website,

magnetically mesmerised

by the alluring amusements of

the information superhighway;

but we are oblivious to the

hideous horrors that lurk

right underneath us as the

black spirit of Sauron stirs

in the giant spider-demons

that track our every move,

creeping and crawling

stealthily through the

slime and stench of

the dark web,

insidiously seeking

to exploit our weaknesses

and drag us deep down

into the infernal abyss.

O DEAREST LADY OF LOURDES

As I gently finger the beads of the rosary,

  I touch your warm soft hands,

I gaze into your merciful, majestic eyes,

  And I contemplate your loveliness;

Together our precious prayers mingle,

  And rise up like sweet incense,

Its scent perfumes the halls of Heaven,

  And delights the Lord of Light.

SPRING TRAINING BATTING PRACTICE

“My heart is ready, O God,

  my heart is ready”:

I hit a shooting star that

  shatters the dark night

as it swiftly sizzles over the 

   diamond and into left field.  

“Non abbiate paura,” I hear --

  and again, “Non abbiate paura!”:

I swing and barrel a flaming missile

  that lights up the dark night

as it soars high over the wall and

  onto the berm in left-center field.

With great fervor, “My spirit

  rejoices in God my Savior”:

I gently lay down a regal bunt

  that's as humble as a flickering

little candle in the dark night --

  and now I am ready to love.

WHO WAS JUDAS ISCARIOT?

Was he actually

humble?

Or did his pride

puff

like swollen eyelids and make him

stumble?

Was he possibly

kind?

Or did silent envy

creep

like a serpent into his

mind?

Did he patiently

wait?

Or did his simmering anger

boil

as he smelled that costly nard with

hate?

Did he have

zeal?

Or was his faith

sluggish

like at his last supper

meal?

Did he perchance

share?

Or did his fingers

clutch

the silver coins to keep in his

lair?

Did his temperance avoid every

snag?

Or was he a glutton who

gobbled

all the leftover loaves from his

bag?

Did he have self-

control?

Or did he pant and burn for

power

since killing the Romans was his

goal?

Did he ultimately

repent?

Or did his soul

fall

through the noose like

cement?

TO ST. DISMAS

In your jail cell, groaning in your guilt,

  You reflect upon your miserable life;

Your dirty hair hangs limp like dry vines

  As you think about all your mistakes.

Tormented and terrorized by Death,

  You suffer in fear, utterly alone;

You can almost feel the demons of doom

  Grasping at you with their craggy claws.

The Roman soldiers, with black hearts,

  Act like the Gollums of Golgotha;

Yet they hardly even notice you as their

  Tongues scourge a bloody Nazarene.

In indescribable pain, He prays for his

  Persecutors, pouring His love upon them;

As Jesus’ holy blood drips down His cross,

  Some of it silently trickles into your heart.

Suddenly your spiritual eyes are opened,

  And you recognize the merciful Messiah;

The Lamb’s blood warms your cold heart,

  And your soul soars with new hope.

THE LIGHT IN THE DARK NIGHT

As I gradually look up,

  I see luminous rose petals

Fall gently and delicately

  From the sky like snow,

Eucharistic-white

  In the deep dark night.

My mission is prayer

  In the dark night of the unseen,

My mission is surrender

  In the dark night of unknowing,

My mission is love

  In the dark night of the cross.

The path before me is

  Strewn with radiant roses that

Glow like glorious lamps,

  So I faithfully travel it and find

The Eucharistic Light

  That transfigures the dark night.

TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

Back in the day, people would quietly chat by the fire,

Or maybe silently read and learn, like a monastic friar,

Of tranquility's beauteous bliss we would never tire.

ButNowThereIsNoiseNoiseNoiseBombardingOurEars,

HonkingHornsScreamingSirensAndSnaggletoothedJeers,

TalkingHeadsBoisterouslyBabbleAndTrebleOurFearsAnd

TO ST. LONGINUS

You rammed your lance into His side

  And out the crimson blood poured;

Startled when it splashed your face,

  You looked up at the crucified Lord.

Later His sacred blood pierced your soul,

  So you knelt down and began to pray;

This gradually led you towards holy freedom,

  To a path that was to become The Way.

Pontius Pilate marveled at your courage,

  For as a martyr you chose to die,

He wondered if what he heard of Jesus

  Might be the truth and not a lie.

A GIFT FOR THE LEADOFF HITTER

For years and years

I stubbornly bought

my own baseball bats,

because I always

wanted to be in control,

but like my

big-shot dreams,

they all shattered,

splintering and

bloodying my hands;

at last, I listened

to You,

and I let You

choose one for me,

a powerful bat

of strong

Virgin wood,

perfectly formed,

and as regal

as a princess;

she isn’t a

heavy bat

but a light one -- 

and she doesn’t

weigh me down

with worry,

for she is filled

with Light;

her lovely name is

“La Madonnina”

and as I surrender

to the Spirit,

she sweetly

guides my swing

and thunder crackles

upon impact with

adversity, as I hit

lightning line drives,

exasperating the enemy.

TWO SHAKESPEAREAN SOLILOQUIES ON LIFE

To be

Or not to be,

That is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler

For Mommy to surrender

To the slings and arrows of

Sacrificial love,

Or by aborting,

End me.

To die from guilt while

contemplating abortion:

To sleep, to sleep

No more!

Perchance to have dreams --

Or eternal nightmares --

Of what I am about to do

To my innocent baby;

When I have shuffled off

The mortal coil of his

Umbilical cord and

Allowed him to be

Dis mem ber ed,

I dread something worse

Than death: Hell,

The undiscovered country;

Thus, conscience can make

Heroes of us all --

Soft you now,

It’s never too late,

So my fair baby shall live.

MERCY IN THE DARK NIGHT

I am wilfully wandering

in the woeful desert,

my blistering mind scorched

by the sizzling sun of sin;

I am oh so very lost,

eerily encircled by the

towering black sand dunes

of turbulent temptation;

but then,

as the dark night

falls fast, I find Him,

a Star sparkling like a diamond,

like a brilliant beacon,

and the Light of Divine Mercy

streams into the hollow center

of my humbled heart.

MADAME LA GUILLOTINE

Her mouth opens wide

  from a nasty frown,

Then as the rope flies up,

  her teeth speed down;

Through bloody gossip

  she lops off man’s head,

Thus his reputation is now

   totally dead.

FOUL-MOUTHED FRED

Fred is a linguistic

  con-a-sewer,

And his foul words stink

  like black manure;

His expletives are

  nuclear missiles,

More irksome than

  teeth-shattering whistles;

His vile phrases

  detonate in our ears,

And our clean thoughts

  the toxic fallout smears;

Of his weapon he is

  extremely proud,

His soul is poisoned

  in the mushroom cloud.

TO ST. VERONICA

Under the cross, the Christ is crushed,

  And He staggers to the ground,

His loveblood pours from thorny wounds,

  Yet He utters not a single sound;

The stony Roman soldiers encircle Him,

  Watching for a menacing threat,

But with holy compassion for the Master,

  You just want to wipe away His sweat.

Like an invisible angel you pass them by,

  Focused on serving your Lord,

You approach to clean His bloody head,

  A head that has been badly gored;

For the very slightest moment of time,

  The weary Jesus has time to relax,

Then He presses His face into your cloth,

  Like a signet ring pressed to warm wax.

The savage soldiers abruptly grab you,

  Rudely and cruelly pushing you away,

But something catches your attention,

  A hopeful sign on this sorrowful day;

Your eyes twinkle with sincere wonder,

  And diminished are all your fears,

For there on your simple white cloth,

  The bloody visage of Jesus appears.

UNEXPECTED JOURNEYS

To escape -- like a coward --

the stranglehold of stress,

I try my best to sidestep

inconvenient interruptions

whose menacing thunder

frightens me;

yet they lead me on a journey

to the God of surprises,

to Heaven’s horizon,

where the sun’s streaming rays

of radiant red and white are

colored by Love’s divine mercy.

JUBILEE 2000: THE PIETÀ

 Inspired by Michelangelo’s masterpiece

As I look up at the statue, I see Santa Maria,

  as white as virgin milk, holding her Jesus;

She is the elegant embodiment of humble

  Obedience and selfless compassion.

The Savior lay in the stately surrender of

  Sacrificial love, in His mother’s majestic arms;

He is crushed, the weight of the world’s

  Woes heavy upon His wounded body.

On the surrounding walls, the magnificent

  Marble is a multicolored whirlwind;

The Holy Spirit beautifully swirls and

  Soars through it in grace-ful agape.

THE OPERA SINGER

"Pride goeth before a fall"

As the titanic tenor sings a tune,

Pride inflates him like a hot air balloon;

With an arrogant wrinkle of his brow,

He revels in a long slow snooty bow;

The crowd erupts in explosive applause,

And he smiles a plastic smile with his jaws;

But then something unexpected takes place,

A vine-ripened tomato hits his face;

The singer gives the guy a dirty glance,

But then abruptly trips and rips his pants.

A KNIGHT OF CHRIST

Dedicated to Fr. Peter Rossa (1964-2017)

 

Ladies and gentlemen, our pastor is gone,

  A caring priest with a heart of gold,

One who surrendered all that he had,

  To share with us the Bread of Life;

His excited eyes twinkled with delight

  Through his little round spectacles,

And he smiled broadly and cheerfully

  As he spoke about the good God.

Beyond doubt, he was a fearless shepherd,

  Always unafraid to speak the truth,

A courageous defender of the unborn,

  He stood up for the dignity of all;

Through his brave example, he showed

  Us how to be soldiers of Christ,

He taught us how to stand firm in faith,

  Like the tower of the church he built.

In the footsteps of John Paul the Great,

  He will heroically help us from Heaven,

With the strength of a valiant warrior,

  He will pray for his cherished flock;

He will be united to the Victorious Virgin,

  And also to the Merciful Messiah,

Our beloved pastor will steer us from darkness,

  Leading us toward the Limitless Light of Love.