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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
A Prequel to “The Lady of Stellamare”
Act I
When Thaliela was six
Years old and her sister
Rosinella was five,
Petrio, the sage old prophet,
Paid an unexpected visit
To their happy family;
As they were all sitting
Around a fire on the hearth,
He told the young girls
What would happen when
They came of age.
If they chose well,
He said they were both
Destined to marry well,
To fine handsome young men,
And he explained the
Beautiful life that awaited them
When they finally came of age
At the ripe age of sixteen.
Rosinella clung tightly to
Every single word
That Petrio uttered,
While Thaliela was lost
In daydreaming and
Didn’t pay much attention.
When Petrio was almost finished,
He firmly cautioned each of them
Not to get distracted because
The river can be very deceptive;
He advised them to keep
Their attention and remain
Completely focused on
Safely reaching the promised one
That awaited each of them,
Always steering upstream
And not downstream,
But the impatient Thaliela
Didn’t hear a word he said.
Act II
There, in the distance,
Atop that mystical mountain,
Is a grandiose garden
That is ringed by a crown of
The most radiant roses;
From it gushes forth
A crystalline river
That sparkles in the sun
Like dazzling diamonds.
One day a dark-haired
Beauty who had
Glistening green eyes
Had come of age,
So she entered a little
Black boat and
Began to row.
It was Thaliela
And she looked forward
To finally meeting
Her future beloved
At the garden’s
Golden gate;
Indeed, far far above her,
Far beyond her view,
A fair-haired youth was standing
Amidst the glorious roses.
Thaliela started rowing
Uphill towards the garden —
That was the one thing
She did remember from Petrio —
But the water was so smooth
And so wonderfully silky
That she closed her eyes
And gradually fell asleep;
When she awakened,
Her boat had drifted
Far far downstream
From where she had started.
She noticed that the water
Had changed color and
Was now a pretty pink,
And she saw that
In the distance it
Was the fantastical and
Imaginative color of fuchsia.
Thaliela was captivated
By its vibrant color --
then fragrant fruit trees
Caught her attention,
And for quite some time
She became mesmerized by
The lush forest of fine fruit trees
That came right to the banks
Of the magical river;
The trees were loaded with fresh,
Sweet-scented tropical flowers
That bloomed forth like a
Veritable rainbow of color;
She closed her green eyes,
Smiled, and soaked in
These romantic delights with
A heart filled with wonder.
Act III
But she didn’t notice that
The river became steeper,
And the water was now
Traveling at a greater velocity;
Suddenly, Thaliela’s boat was jerked by
A powerful current that quickly
Snapped her out of her reverie;
Thaliela now found herself
Tumbling through blood-red rapids
That were alarmingly getting
Warmer and warmer;
A few minutes later, the water
Was starting to boil and
The boat started to burn;
As she looked for an escape
To the shore, she saw to her dismay
That everything had
Dramatically changed;
Tall twisted trees,
Blackened and charred
By the intensifying heat,
Hung their weakened
Arms over the fiery-red
River, as if imploring Thaliela
To paddle back upstream;
But it was too late,
Soon her little boat became
Frightfully disfigured,
Melting like molten wax
In the lava-like flood;
The wicked waters raged into
The rapidly-darkening gloom,
While storm clouds savagely
Circled the mountain
And lightning,
Falling like jagged spears,
Lit up the malevolent sky.
Then Thaliela, with her bloodshot
Green eyes feeling like
They were going to explosively
Burst like globular bubbles,
Screamed in terror as she
Plunged over the edge of the
Cliff and tumbled into the
Open jaws of the abyss,
But her chilling shriek was
Silenced as she gradually disappeared
Into the fiery lake below.
Act IV
It was precisely one year
After the mysterious
Disappearance of Thaliela,
And so, now it was
Rosinella’s turn to enter
The river since she had
Come of age and was
Sixteen years old.
Although she had no
Idea of what had become
Of her sister Thaliela,
She remembered clearly
The words of Petrio;
So she entered a white boat
On the river with a degree of
Fear and trepidation,
Wondering what would
Happen to her next;
She immediately noticed
That she was beginning
To drift slowly downstream,
So she took up the paddle
And began to row,
Steering the little boat
In the opposite direction;
She did so patiently,
With her beautiful arms
Pulling long, slow, elegant
Strokes through the water;
And so Rosinella rowed
For hour after laborious hour,
And although she was tired,
For some inexplicable reason
She actually felt that
She was getting stronger;
Rosinella was so focused
On Petrio’s prophecy
That she didn’t notice
That the terrain had
Totally transformed;
The shining sun was soaked up
By the sugar-white beaches that
Now lined both sides of the river;
A balmy breeze caressed the
Surface of the water,
And even the water had changed
Into a cloudy pearl color,
Seeming to breathe in
The sunlight and absorb it;
Rosinella noticed none of
These things but continued
Pressing on towards her goal
Like a determined athlete.
When the sun set and night fell,
She finally paused to rest;
Reclining in the boat, she
Looked up into the starry sky;
Clusters of stars brightened and
Conquered the black of night,
Then, one by one,
Several moons of various
Colors and sizes rose
Above the horizon --
But the most beautiful
Of them was surrounded by
An exquisitely gold ring.
Rosinella allowed all of this
To soak deeply into
The depths of her soul,
And the next morning,
She awakened from
Her restful slumber
With renewed strength,
So she untethered the rope
That had prevented her from
Floating downstream,
And continued on her journey.
After a short while,
Her surroundings were
Transforming yet again --
She observed it all
With wonder and delight.
Act V
The sandy beach was
Gradually tapering off,
And it was replaced by
Rich, verdant lawns
Along the banks of the river;
Then she saw the summit
Of the mountain and
Noticed that it was crowned
By a resplendent garden.
This garden was ringed
By a crown of rose bushes,
And flowing from the center
Of the garden was a stunning
Waterfall that was translucent,
And its color was aquamarine pearl;
Behind the waterfall there was a
Wall of gold that was trimmed
With silver, and decorated with
Colorful gemstones of every hue,
sparkling brilliantly through
The crystalline waters of the
breathtaking waterfall.
So Rosinella paddled gently
Until she reached a small
Pier at the base, and there
She stepped out of her boat;
When she did so, she suddenly
Became aware that she now
Wore a gown that was
Dazzlingly white, and
It was embroidered with
The very same gems that
She saw behind the waterfall.
Rosinella began to ascend a
Spiral staircase of gold that
Was trimmed with silver,
And the handrails were adorned
With fine little diamonds that
Sparkled happily in the sun;
She heard a soothing greeting
And eagerly looked up.
She saw a handsome,
Dark-haired young man
By the name of Paolesco,
Who was also dressed in white,
And she greeted him with
A sweet smile and twinkling eyes.
Rosinella slowly walked
Up the staircase to the
Glorious garden above,
And it all seemed like
A lovely dream to her;
When she stood before him
Face to face,
He knelt down and
Slipped the finest of rings
On her innocent finger;
Then it was her turn to
Kneel before him, and
He gently placed a stunning
Diadem upon her head;
With that, the wind danced
Between the two of them,
Rushing through the garden
With great jubilation.
It was worth the wait for Rosinella --
Her happiness knew no bounds
As she prepared to fulfill her
Destiny in a grand new life.
Sometimes modern-day judges,
get creative and dabble in
Macbethian law:
“Fair shall be foul,
and foul shall be fair”;
but do baseball umpires
intentionally
call a fair ball foul,
or a foul ball fair?
Francis, the Poverello of Assisi, really cared for Mother Earth,
The clear starry skies and sparkling waters filled with mirth,
Happy, healthy buds burst forth brightly in glorious new birth.
NowWeWatchWithDeepDreadForOurWoundedWorldBleeds,
SheSilentlyReachesOutToUsAndEverSoDesperatelyPleads,
WhatCanWeDoInOrderToCleanseHerAndFillAllHerNeeds?
Merri strolls along, her joyful dark eyes
Sparkling in the scintillating sunlight;
Her soft smile is surrounded by the rolling
Waves of her bouncing brown hair.
Her e-mail inbox is heavy with complaints
From the company’s customers;
Yet her lighthearted fingers cruise crisply
Across her keyboard, with no worries.
Merri’s life is full of love because she
Stands on the rock of the eternal present;
No guilt of yesterday’s youth, no terror
Of tomorrow, but not carpe diem either.
The source of her inner strength is
Mystical, and her heart dances in freedom;
Her whole being is dressed in white,
Scattering the dark night of unknowing.
When liberty
is divorced from responsibility,
it dreadfully descends
in a dizzying death spiral of
selfishness.
But when liberty
is married to responsibility,
it courageously spirals upward
in a heroic flight of
freedom.
In ages past, people grew their own crops,
The fresh livestock made for the tastiest chops,
Natural food, delicious and pure, was always the tops.
ButNowFoodHasTransFatAndAspartameAndGMOs,
IfServedInUnderTenNanosecondsThenAnythingGoes,
WithGobsOfChemicalsMaybeInTheDarkItGlowsAnd
Maturity is less
about having the
freedom to do
what we want,
and more about
taking responsibility
for doing what
we need to do;
growing up is less
about age,
and more about
learning from
everyone's mistakes --
especially our own.
We start with small
roller coasters in our small
lives, seeking a little excitement;
but-it’s-not-enough-and-so-we-
want-to-go-even-faster-and-so-we
search-and-hunt-for-even-more-thrills;
ButIt’sNeverEnoughAndFasterAndFaster
WeGoUntilFinallyWeDerailFromThe
TracksOfTruthAndMoralityAnd
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.
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.
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 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.