TO ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE

You watch with piercing pistol eyes as

  Stephen is brought before the Sanhedrin,

The leaders flog him with false witness,

  And revengefully rush at him;

They drag him outside the city,

  And lay their cloaks at your Pharisaical feet,

Then, with hellish hate, they hurl

  Spear-like stones that crush his body;

Horribly hideous thoughts float through

  The black ocean of your mind,

And you are obdurately obsessed with

  Driving Christianity into total oblivion;

You track and hunt down the Christians

  With dreadful determination,

You throw them into prison,

  Seeking to snuff out the sparks of the New Way.

On the dusty road to Damascus,

  You relish your recent conquest over the Christians,

You are smugly satisfied with your success

  Against those religious rebels;

But then there is a blinding flash,

  Infinitely brighter than a bolt of lightning,

Catapulted from your horse,

  You clumsily crash to the ground and collapse;

Then you unmistakably hear that familiar

  Gentle voice of Christ the Courageous,

He tenderly and mercifully asks,

  “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

Suddenly you are struck blind,

  And you are entirely enveloped in darkness,

It appears as if God has blown out the sun,

  As if it were a giant candle in the sky.

Pondering and perturbed, you are praying quietly,

  In a home on Straight Street,

Lost in your thoughts, you rhythmically

  Stroke your black mustache and beard;

Your heavy heart weeps in dismay,

  As your brashness has led to your bitter blindness,

Now the hero who was persecuting the rebels

  Is himself converting into a rebel;

Scattered at your feet are the shattered

  Pieces of your old way of life,

A day ago those puzzle pieces all fit together,

  Like the pillars in Solomon’s Portico;

But now a key piece of the puzzle is missing:

  The messianic centerpiece,

You repentantly fast and pray,

  As Ananias approaches with the missing piece.

Gazing at the Circus Maximus, you know

  That your time in this world is very short,

As you reflect back upon your life,

  You realize how much you’ve changed;

Through the limitless love of the Lord,

  You have become a very humble man,

And through the Prince of Peace,

  You are filled with the fruits of the Spirit;

After so many years, you long to

  Give the kiss of peace to the saintly Stephen,

You hunger and thirst to embrace your

  Magnificent Messiah, Jesus the Just;

The sun sets in Rome’s crimson sky,

  Surrounded by clusters of woolly clouds,

This flock of lambs is ready to follow

  The shepherd-sun down into Vatican Hill.

TO ST. PETER THE APOSTLE

Your fishing boat bobs up

   and down in uncertainty,

As you reflect upon the

   meaning of your life;

With a sterile stare you

   gaze at the wobbly waves,

While the wonderful wind of

   the Spirit is silently approaching;

A merciful Son of Man is

   standing on the sandy seashore,

He is looking for his Rock,

   to make him a fisher of men;

The breeze blows through

   your stubborn dark hair,

As the Son of Man asks if He

   can come aboard your boat.

As Jesus ascends, He disappears

   into nebulous misty clouds,

You feel like a floundering

   fisherman without his nets;

Without the Good Shepherd,

   your heart seems hollow,

You now appear more like

   a pebble than a rock;

But later, a deafening wind

   whirls through the room,

And fantastical flaming

   fireballs crown all present;

In divers tongues, all mystically

   praise the good God,

And you proclaim the Word

   with holy courage.

As you are cruelly crucified

   upside-down on Vatican Hill,

Your life is brimming with

   meaning and significance;

Your blood falls to the earth

   like a myriad of mustard seeds,

Where the Church will

   take root and grow strong;

You are the first link in

   the precious papal chain,

An unbreakable chain dripping

   with martyrs’ blood;

This chain will withstand

   the hammering of heretics,

It will be like a fruitful vine

   bringing Love to the world.

THE RESURRECTION

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.

VIA CRUCIS

Pummeled by Parkinson’s,

he battles through the basilica,

leaning forward, heavily,

hunched over, crushed

under an invisible

wooden cross, laden

with the world’s woes;

from the ocean of onlookers,

like Veronica with her veil,

a mother mildly lifts up

her little newborn;

the Holy Father’s

old, wrinkled face

winces with pain,

like a warrior’s,

as he most tenderly

blesses the babe

with a gentle kiss;

the spectators exhale

a halo as they breathlessly

and solemnly sigh, “O!”

THE CRUCIFIXION

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

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.

MOODINESS

It is a passiveness

That brings no peace;

It is an aggressiveness

That silently implodes;

It is blind to the kind,

It destroys all joys,

It chills; for it kills.

THE ANCHOR

The captain loved the anchor

Of his elegant cruise ship,

He utterly adored that anchor,

It was solid silver and gold and

Was decorated with diamonds,

It sparkled in the moonlight,

But then a sudden storm swept

Over the sleepy sea and

So the anchor was lowered --

He clung to her metallic body,

Blinded by his foolish attachment,

Then as the anchor splashed

Into the thirsty black water,

The sharks’ blade-like teeth cut 

His flesh like a million daggers,

Mangling his wretched body,

And his soul sank deep into

The bottomless abyss of

The Dark Sea of Doom.

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.

ASH WEDNESDAY

Misty grey flakes of melancholy ash

Fall in my dark, gloomy sky as I

Somberly reflect on the approach of

The dreaded and deadly pestilence;

As I examine my life, I realize that

Truly I’ve crucified the Lord of Glory

Through my solitary selfishness and

Through my treacherous tongue;

But after my discipline in the desert,

The Light of the Divine Mercy

Will shine in dazzling brilliance

And quickly warm my cold heart.

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.

THE BATTLE

Like an aggressive squadron of

Enemy fighter jets, a flurry of

Problems is rapidly approaching

My sector in attack formation;

In my anxiety I am tempted to take

Them on all at once, but, instead, 

I veer off to the right and one breaks

Off from the pack and follows me;

I take my adversary into the Light

And he is utterly blinded by it, so

I launch the missiles of patience

And love until he is destroyed;

One by one, I do the same with

The other challenges until, finally,

The spiritual airspace is clear, then

I praise the King of the Universe.

THE INCARNATION

Whispered sweetly, her “yes”

Ripples and reverberates

Through the Halls of Heaven,

And the Spirit speeds through the

Atmosphere in a powerful pulse

Of gleaming, virginal white light

Into the humble House of Gold:

And, behold, The Divine Mercy is

Incarnate.

THE TILMA

In the old mission church,

We, faithful pilgrims, are 

Packed together tightly

Much like votive candles,

Our weary wicks waiting

To be lit by Our Lady,

With the fire of the Spirit;

It wasn’t the real tilma,

Yet the good God has

No limits whatsoever, so

After mass, I approached,

Not expecting anything —

But when I touched her,

Love’s flame filled me,

And the Divine Mercy

Warmly embraced me.

PEPPERMINT FIRE

The Spirit of Love

Awakens in my heart

Like peppermint fire,

Burning away impurities,

Enlightening my mind,

Sweetening my soul.

TO SANT' ANGELA DI FOLIGNO

Forty years in pursuit of 

Wealth and worldly respect,

Before you realized

It was all totally worthless;

But you made up for lost time

As the Wonder Counselor

Graciously removed the

Dead weight out of your life

So that you would be free,

Free to follow Him forever;

You generously gave away

Almost all you owned,

And Jesus sweetly filled you

With the fruit of the Spirit;

Like Augustine, too late

Did you know Him, but

Thanks to The Divine Mercy,

It’s never, ever too late

To finally find The Good,

To finally find The True,

To finally find The Beautiful:

God is love.

TO ST. BONAVENTURE

You were the genius blessed by God

Who spoke of the holy marriage of

Faith and reason, and, indeed,

What a fruitful couple they make.

You were the teacher blessed by God

Who showed that everything we do,

No matter how great or how small,

Should point us towards Heaven.

You were the diplomat blessed by God

Who brought Light to the Franciscan order, 

And as the sagacious Seraphic Doctor,

You were an instrument of God’s peace.

THE FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT

Our fruit is very sweet,

And He is very happy,

When we remain attached

To the one true Vine.

Joy warms us with light,

Peace conquers fear,

Patience stops time,

Kindness multiplies smiles.

Generosity feeds the world,

Faithfulness makes us a Church,

Gentleness purifies the heart,

Self-control shuts out darkness.

But Love, yes Love, wondrously

Binds them all together into

Majestic harmony as our souls

Drink of the Lord’s Divine Mercy.

TO SAN JUAN DIEGO

Humility was your middle name,

So at Tepeyac to you she came;

You really didn’t know what to say,

Your only thought was to stop and pray;

You became Our Lady’s holy slave,

Always trustworthy, and very brave;

You saw sweet roses out of season,

The Virgin gave them for a reason;

Then you brought them to the bishop’s place,

The people filled with God’s dazzling grace;

As at your tilma everyone gazed,

The most wondrous sign left all amazed.

CHRISTMAS TIME

Christmas is a time

     with bright little toys,

St. Nick rewards good

     little girls and boys;

A time for Scrooges

     to help those in need,

Baby Jesus came,

     and now we are freed;

It’s a jolly season

     blessed by The Dove,

The manger is filled

     with His Divine Love.