THE PARADISO: A DIVINE ROMANCE

Based on Dante’s Paradiso

As we look up into the warm face

Of the glorious, majestic Sun,

We are free from the weight of sin,

And so we gently soar upwards

At the sizzling speed of Light,

Into the marvelous Marian blue sky.

As we approach the Heavenly Realm,

We peacefully pass through the leaping

Flames of the bright Ring of Fire

Which orbits our little blue planet;

Then our ears are serenaded by

The lovely Music of the Spheres,

Each sphere slicing into space like

The melodious bow of a violin.

We begin by visiting the First Sphere,

An ever-changing inconstant orb,

And there we find those happy souls

Who, though unintentionally, broke

Their vows, and so, are in the lowest

Tier of Heaven, glad but not nearly

As happy as many other souls,

And yet they are content and they

Feel no envy whatsoever towards

Those more greatly blessed.

In the Second Sphere we see the

Virtuous seekers of holy honor;

Their happiness is clearly greater

Than the souls of the previous sphere

As they sing the praises of God

And dance with quiet contentment

In a place where fear does not exist.

In the Third Sphere are the amorous,

Who sinned with hearts full of lust,

But, by God’s holy grace, they learned

To love the most holy Son of Love;

Thus, these fortunate souls dance with

Overflowing joy, for they are saved!

In the Fourth Sphere are twelve 

Saintly doctors of the Holy Church,

They form a bright human garland 

In the air that is even more dazzling

Than the stars that shine behind;

Their hymn of praise resounds

Through all of the Heavenly Realm,

And their generous love is sincere.

In the Fifth Sphere are the valiant

Warriors of God who are arrayed in 

The formation of a large cross and

Their radiance is of a still greater

Intensity as they taste peace and joy

Unlike anything ever known on Earth,

They are like shooting stars darting

Across the sky in their holy ecstasy. 

In the Sixth Sphere, the souls are even

More beautiful, even more dazzling;

Here are the courageous, where the

Just and temperate rulers dwell in 

God’s peace, and above we can see the

Heavenly luminaries arranged to form

An eagle, surrounded by glowing lilies,

High up in the sparkling clear sky.

In the Seventh Sphere the holy 

Contemplatives live in a perpetual

State of sweet harmony, happiness

Following upon happiness, as they

Reflect with deep satisfaction on the

Inexhaustible Mysteries of Love;

They are surrounded by a globe

Of heavenly crystalline,

And atop of it is a Golden Ladder

Upon which saints soar

To the lofty summit of God’s glory.

As we ascend still higher, we arrive at

Our next destination, the Eighth Sphere,

Where the intense and ineffable ecstasy of 

Love deliciously fills all of these good souls

So completely and so eternally;

They smile with incomprehensible contentment

As they look back through the universe

And see the Earth, minuscule and 

Insignificant, and yet greatly loved

By the Lord, the King of the Universe;

Then through the theological virtues of

Faith, Hope, and Love, we are ready to 

Pierce deeper into the Heart of Love.

We arrive at the Primum Mobile and

Through the magnificent Mystical Rose

We can finally see the Empyrean itself,

Where God, who is Light from Light,

Is surrounded by choirs of angels:

Seraphim and cherubim, thrones and

Dominions, virtues and powers, 

Principalities and archangels -- all in

Ceaseless praise and holy jubilation.

This is where all words fall short,

For nothing can ever describe just

How good is the source of all goodness,

How true is the source of all truth,

How beautiful is the source of all beauty -- 

How can we even begin to describe

Spiritual union with The Divine Mercy?

The sublime serenity of eternal peace!

The dreamy delight of everlasting joy!

The sweet sensations of endless love!

THE PURGATORIO: A DIVINE DRAMA

Based on Dante’s Purgatorio

Let’s now take a tour through the Purgatorio 

By going back to Dante’s Alighieri’s time,

It’s all about poetic justice over there,

So let the punishment fit the crime!

They start at the base of the mountain,

From sea level they gradually ascend,

On an island surrounded by ocean,

Their souls must gradually mend.

The arrogant carry heavy boulders,

Their proud faces hilariously frowned,

For their weight crushes their bones,

Making a mighty crackling sound.

The envious up on the next level

Are stuck in an emotional rut,

They want to pull their hair out,

For their eyelids have been sewn shut.

The wrathful are on the next level,

Blinded by angry black smoke,

They try to breathe in some oxygen,

But hate makes them gag and choke.

The slothful are sleepy-eyed sluggards,

And yawning’s what they do for fun,

But now they scramble like maniacs,

Though exhausted, they run, run, run.

Next we encounter the greedy misers,

Who lie with their faces in the dust,

As scavengers they searched for money,

Wanting wealth like the upper crust.

As we continue, we see the gluttonous,

They stretch but can’t reach the fruit,

It maddens them, making them crazy,

For their hunger indeed is acute.

Ascending higher, we reach the lustful,

Who leap high through the fiery flames,

They do it to win their freedom,

In the Purgatorial Olympic Games.

On Earth, these souls were very selfish,

And their sins, oh yes, they were many,

Sadly, they chose Justice over Mercy,

So they must pay back every last penny.

Yet they journey up towards Paradise,

Cleansed so much better than soap,

For the Purgatorio is a true blessing, 

Since it’s so full of heavenly hope.

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,

  It aggressively massaged his bloody scar.

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!”

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.

THE LORD OF THE PITCHER'S MOUND

A Variation of “The Lord of the Baseball Diamond”  (with a revised conclusion)

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.

But Gandalf hits a flaming line drive

  that decapitates Sauron’s poor head,

This fire-eyed fool paid for his arrogance,

  and that’s why he’s doornail dead;

Sauron was buried on the pitcher’s mound,

  where it came to be known as Mount Doom,

That night there were post-game fireworks

  that erupted from his fiery tomb.

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.

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 the

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 faithless soul

fall

through the noose like

cement?

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Inspired by Thomas Cole’s masterpiece

Adam and Eve gratefully gaze

in awe and wonder at the

beauty of God’s holy creation;

beyond the sublime peace

of the verdant meadow and

the fresh tropical fruit trees

that lovingly embrace it,

a whispering waterfall sparkles

like aquamarine crystal in

the warm welcoming sun

and gracefully pours into

the pristine lake below;

rising majestically behind it

is a towering mountain of rock

that stands in stately grandeur,

piercing the serene blue sky,

joyfully pointing to the realm

of the Heavenly Homeland.

THE CREATION OF ADAM

Inspired by Michelangelo’s masterpiece

The Father of Freedom reaches

across the atmosphere,

accompanied by His angels

which are clustered closely

in the blessed bouquet

of His bountiful love;

Adam marvels at the amazing

generosity of the good God,

grateful for the gift of life,

and his eyes fill with tears

as he beholds the beauty of

the Compassionate Creator.

PRAYING HEAVENLY CHESS

Spiraling through Little Pearls of Prayer

Guided by the Spirit,

I strategically move

The little chess pieces

Across the chessboard

Of my daily prayer life.

I awaken to Our Lady’s advice,

I spiral slowly through the Rosary,

I surrender to sweet Divine Mercy,

I whirl through the holy Word,

I praise God through poetry,

I magnify Him in holy mass,

I delight in delicious devotion,

I confide totally in the Christ,

I listen intently to the Light,

I wonder at the wisdom of the saints,

I honor the Hour of Mercy,

I feast on spiritual communion,

I examine my conscience in humility,

I sleep in my guardian angel’s arms.

The evil one has no moves left,

He fearfully wrings his hands and

Grinds his teeth in eternal despair --

Jesus is the King of the Universe,

He is the Unconquerable One:

Checkmate.

SATURN

As the stunning jewel of our solar system,

  the planet Saturn reigns in regal splendor,

Ringed by its exquisite, elegant crown,

  its yellow-gold complexion is unparalleled;

Angels casually coast around the rainbow rings

  as Saturn swiftly spins in ecstatic glee,

Twirling atop God’s invisible index finger, this

  planet humbly reflects the beauty of the good God.

TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES

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

   loving lightning;

Your sweet, saintly actions

   ripple through the universe,

Like warm, welcoming waves

   of heavenly peace.

SILKEN CORDS

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 professional 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 professional baseball contract

Hanging quietly 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 to her.

So the guardian angel delicately

Snips that silken cord,

Like a cluster of grapes

Taken from The Vine.

TEMPORAL POVERTY

Problems weigh me down,

Much like Jacob Marley’s

Prodigious iron chains;

And being temporally poor,

I am nearly bankrupt of the

Precious gift of time;

So what am I to do?

Is there any hope of escape?

Can I ever really be free?

Yes, but I must fix my gaze on

The Passion — with patience! —

For in this way I will be victorious;

I must surrender my time to Him,

I must lay the gift of my time

At the feet of Baby Jesus, and

Wait -- wait for the resurrection!

For with God all things are possible.

THE DIVINE SENSE OF HUMOR

Inspired by Venerable Fulton J. Sheen

The divine

   sense of humor

      makes us laugh,

Without it,

   life is just

      lived to the half;

We are happy,

   and we smile

      with good cheer,

For the Lord’s

   perfect love

      casts out all fear.

LIFE IS WORTH LIVING

Inspired by the writings of Venerable Fulton J. Sheen

“Is life worth living?”

You wonder out loud;

For much of the time,

You’re lost in a crowd.

Life is worth living,

The bishop was right;

We find our mission,

And walk in the Light.

DISGUISES IN THE DARK NIGHT

Gentle St. Mother Teresa

Said that Jesus came to her

In the distressing disguise

Of the poorest of the poor,

And, of course, she was right;

However, is it possible that

Jesus also comes to us

in the distressing disguise

Of the inconvenient,

Of the unexpected, 

Of the cross?

OLD FAITHFUL

I’m nothing more than

a hole in the ground,

and nobody notices me,

and I’m okay with that.

But when I receive the

Body of Christ, an invisible

spring of living water leaps

up out of my peaceful soul.

These crystal clear waters

of pure love surge upwards,

with unbounded freedom and joy,

praising the King of Heaven.

HUMILITY

humility is

understanding

that i am nothing more

than a bag of bones

who recognizes The Truth.

A HOMELESS MAN

I am weary,

my eyes bleary;

I drag around,

without a sound;

I have no home,

so off I roam;

I beg for food,

my shoes are glued;

on the mend,

I seek a friend.