FIRE AND FEAR /  by Joe Castorino

 

Don’t fight fire with

    fire,

And don’t fight fear with

    fear;

Rather, fight fire with

    forgiveness,

And fight fear with

    faith.

 

DIVINE MERCY /  by Joe Castorino

 

My intellect puffs with pride,

but as I kneel before Jesus

hanging on the cross,

I am cut by contrition

as if by a crown of thorns;

then, the blood of Divine Mercy

cleanses my corrupt soul,

and I am born again.

 

My hot veins boil with anger,

but as I kneel before Jesus

hanging on the cross,

I am punctured by penitence

as if by knife-like nails;

then, the water of Divine Mercy

purifies my putrid soul,

and I am born again.

 

My heart throbs with envy,

but as I kneel before Jesus

hanging on the cross,

I am stabbed by sorrow

as if by the soldier’s lance;

then, the light of Divine Mercy

floods my foul soul,

and I am born again.

 

UNEXPECTED JOURNEYS /  by Joe Castorino

 

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.

 

DIVINE MERCY IN THE DARK NIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

 

My heart is ready, O God,

   my heart is ready;

I take batting practice,

   and the crisp crackle of

my maple-wood bat echoes

   throughout the stadium.

 

Later, I hear a soft sweet voice say,

   “Do whatever He tells you”;

therefore, when I see the Spirit signal,

   I gently lay down a regal bunt that

humbly dies to itself in the grass as I run

   to first base like a strong driving wind.

 

As I stand on first base, with a

   smile on my face from ear to ear,

my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

   for in my surrender I start to love;

however, The Beast, seething in hot

   anger, already plans his revenge.

 

When I return to home plate,

   The Beast strikes me out

over and over and over again

   with the flaming fastballs of fear,

and I fall, carrying a heavy cross,

   dizzy with discouragement.

 

My Manager benches me in the chapel,

   but lovingly teaches me to fast from fear

and leave my worries in His loving hands,

   so for three days I return to the chapel, 

for ten minutes daily, to ask for His guidance,

   and to receive the Spirit's gift of wisdom.

    

When I'm back in the lineup, The Beast

   scornfully glares at me from the mound

with his mean menacing black eyes;

   But I hear a voice encourage me:

“Non abbiate paura,” and again,

   louder, “Non abbiate paura!”

 

By God's grace, I stand again in the

   batter’s box, and I hit a shooting star

whose sparkling trail is red and white,

   quickly shattering the dark night,

and the line drive swiftly sizzles over  

   the shortstop and into left field.

     

Then, in my next at-bat, filled with

   the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit,

I swing and barrel a flaming missile,

   that brightly lights up the dark night,

and as the ball soars high over the wall,

   the angels playfully dance around it.

 

THE RESURRECTION /  by Joe Castorino

 

I turn around and before me you stand,

  one whose robe is dazzlingly white,

As you speak my name and say “Mary,”

  you forever shatter my deep dark night;

With great love, you bestow your peace upon me,

  through your wonderfully warm brown eyes,

Your merciful smile cheers my heart,

  so that my soul can most sweetly arise;

In the joyful breeze of the Holy Spirit,

  your flowing hair very gently swirls,

In my heart I totally surrender to you,

  and for you this is a treasure of pearls.

 

THE CRUCIFIXION /  by Joe Castorino

 

In a shadow of deep darkness, the Light

  of the world hangs crooked on the cross,

A jagged crown of razor-thin thorns is

  thrust maliciously into His throbbing head;

Bright-red blood and the fickle crowd’s

  sour spittle trickle into His stinging eyes,

He licks His cracked lips, and He tastes

  the bold bitter flavor of blood.

 

The Roman soldiers’ wild whips tore

  and radically ripped Jesus’ holy flesh,

And now the sticky crusted wounds cling

  to the weatherbeaten wood and ooze;

Knife-like nails puncture His hands and feet,

  and make them look like cored apples,

His shoulders slump down, crushed under

  the weight of every sin in human history.

 

The soldiers hellishly hammered the nails

  into Jesus’ flesh, as if He were an animal,

Indescribable pain blasted through the

  bones of His body like dynamite;

He now surrenders His body, mind, soul,

  and spirit to the will of His Father,

He lovingly practices what He preached,

  and He prays for His persecutors.

 

Jesus is high up, as if atop an isolated

  island, surrounded by a sea of hate,

A cacophonous chorus of insults assails

  His ears, and the smell of sin is in the air;

His mother, living in the dark night of

  unknowing, silently waits and watches,

She kneels in total surrender, while a 

  sword of sorrow slashes her heavy heart.

 

In the afternoon, Golgotha is enveloped

  in a mysterious murky darkness,

Then, when Jesus dies, the earth quakes

  in violent anger at the murder of its Creator;

Rumbling and roaring, buildings catastrophically

   crash and crumble to the ground,

The terrifying temblor forces the sanctuary’s 

  curtain to explosively burst apart.

 

That mysterious murky darkness remains

  in the hearts of Jesus’ faithful followers,

Their entire worlds are seriously shaken,

  and they are stunned and stupefied;

But on the third day, the nebulous fog

  of uncertainty will finally dissolve,

On the third day, a heavenly ray of Light

  will come, far brighter than the sun.

 

THE AGONY OF UNREQUITED LOVE /  by Joe Castorino

 

I love you, I love you

so very much,

more than you

can possibly imagine,

yet you carelessly

turn your back on me

and you ignore me,

living your busy life

as if I never existed;

now I kneel here

in this olive garden,

with my warm hands

clasped tightly together,

so deeply and so greatly

in love with you,

and my heart is breaking

because I want to share

my life with you,

my heart is nearly broken 

because I love you,

and I painfully weep

hot tears for you,

and my sweat turns into

drops of blood --

all because of you.

 

THE DARKNESS OF DOOM /  by Joe Castorino

 

Act I

There was midnight madness

in the heart of darkness,

where lustful lovers caroused

and burned with wild passion,

and although they were

warned by pilgrims who

were on their way to Rome,

they lived the philosophy

of carpe diem:

they could always repent

tomorrow;

but early in the morning

on the very next day,

an event took place

that forever changed

the world of Pompeii:

it was August 24, 79 AD, and

proud Pompeii was bathed

in warm peaceful sunshine

when the earth began to quake

to the awakening heartbeat

that began to stir deep inside of

the voluptuous Vesuvius,

and here and there the roof tiles

of the stately city of Pompeii

undulated in a rhythmic motion,

up and down, and up and down,

before resting quietly

and slumbering again,

as Vesuvius silently and stealthily

yawned a slow stream of

thin white smoke into the

clear blue sky.

 

Act II

By the afternoon,

there was a light veil

of white smoke that now

draped Vesuvius’ verdant body,

but when she suddenly and

violently erupted in anger,

belching coal-colored smoke

from her crater’s trembling lips

and spewing it high into

the pale blue sky,

it was only a matter of seconds

before flaming black rocks,

like Mephistophelian meteorites,

revengefully rained down

from the swiftly darkening sky,

smashing the roof tiles and

crushing the marble statues

above the villas’ courtyards;

meanwhile, the stunned citizens

scrambled and stumbled around

as the vigorous heartbeat

of the vain Vesuvius

pounded powerfully,

and a cataclysmic earthquake

ripped through Pompeii:

the sleeping giant

was now fully awake;

as the terrified men and women

raised their wild eyes

to the sullen sky,

they screamed like savages

and cursed their pagan gods

for punishing them,

and they spat in the air

at their pathetic gods.

 

Act III

Several hours later,

above the hellish rubble

of this humbled city,

the black sun approached the

black horizon and ominous clouds

suffocated the helpless sky:

Pompeii wailed in pain

and writhed woefully

as the victorious Vesuvius,

bathed in the seductive

red glow of liquid lava,

relentlessly embraced the

city in her hot wrath,

and electric bolts of

volcanic lightning danced

like convulsive demons

and lit up the murky sky

as ashen rain fell feebly

to the flaming ruins below;

maimed dogs howled in horror

at the shockingly surreal and

apocalyptic spectacle,

while the lonely human survivors,

their psyches severely shattered,

huddled together for cover

under the crumbling columns

that were sinking in a sea of

charcoal-gray ashes.

 

Act IV

As the sun slowly rose

the next morning,

the new day dawned with

a deep deafening silence,

and the sickly sun shuddered

as it peered through the

broken black clouds,

lamenting the loss of the

once grand city of Pompeii;

as the scattered survivors

clutched ever so tightly to

their shredded sliver of hope,

it appeared that perhaps the

volcanic storm had finally

exhausted itself,

and the remaining citizens,

with empty expressions

on their blank faces,

slowly and weakly

began the process of

putting the splintered pieces

of their lives back together again;

but in the distance

they suddenly heard a

thunderous roar that

rapidly and frighteningly

crescendoed as it drew nearer,

sounding very much like

a stampede of the gods;

with great trepidation,

the people lifted their

bloodshot eyes and they saw a

massive wall of

whirling gray clouds --

as tall as Vesuvius herself --

rushing madly along the

surface of the ground and

coming right towards them;

it paused momentarily,

as if trying to catch its breath,

before making one last

diabolical attack upon its enemy;

then in a twinkle of time,

the voracious cloud of hot ash

charged through and hungrily devoured

the crumpled carcass

of pitiful Pompeii.

 

Act V

As Time drearily dragged the

morning into afternoon,

the poor Pompeians

were forever frozen

and cemented into history,

buried alive in a twelve-foot

blizzard of blazing ashes;

the solitary sun looked down

sadly upon the waveless

gray ocean of volcanic ash,

and Pompeii was nothing more

than a desolate wasteland --

even the powerful Vesuvius

was left seriously crippled,

with her cone blown off

by the explosiveness of her fury;

when the news of this event finally

reached the imperial city of Rome,

Pope Cletus gathered for mass

with his flock and, together,

they fervently prayed for

the souls of the victims who perished

in the very dark tragedy of

the doomed city of Pompeii.

 

TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

“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? /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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 /  by Joe Castorino

 

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.