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.

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.

SMART PHONES

These little electronic

beasts

have insatiable

app-etites.

Like possessive pets,

they feast on my

attention --

they demand that I

stroke them and pet them,

constantly,

more and more and more,

until I’m dazed and confused and

technologically schmoozed.

And then,

when I least expect it,

their sleek semiconductors

swallow my sleepy

soul.

THE DARKNESS OF DOOM

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.

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?

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.

THE MYSTICAL MONASTERY IN THE DESERT

The long, arduous journey

  was finally over,

More challenging than going

  from London to Dover;

Clarissa Candela opened

  her deep, dark eyes,

She got out of bed not

  expecting any surprise;

For the last 33 days it’s been

  a time for new prayers,

Almost like climbing a beautiful

  resort’s elegant stairs;

Going upward towards God

  in an imperceptible way,

She didn’t notice any spiritual growth

  when she knelt down to pray.

As the beacon of dawn

  gradually conquered the night,

The sinful, fearful darkness

  was very quickly put to flight;

The angels unfurled the banner

  of God’s light across the sky,

As on the freeway Clarissa

  calmly drove in the desert so dry;

Her pilgrimage was to the beauteous

  chapel of Our Lady of Solitude,

And since she could see the cupola,

  her arrival was a certitude;

With holy sunbeams striking a

  stained glass window from afar,

The chapel looked like a lighthouse

  reflecting Bethlehem’s star.

Clarissa got out of her car, and a

  sweet smile danced across her lips,

Her long, dark hair through the comforting

  breeze ever so gently whips;

Looking at the chapel, she saw arches

  and columns in a style European,

The dappled desert stone, rustically

  elegant, made it look Galilean;

The cupola, topped with a simple cross,

  was Our Lady’s jeweled crown,

And the t-shaped tau on the gable

  declared good St. Francis’ renown;

Clarissa looked up, twirled around,

  and saw an immense sky so blue,

She had never seen such beauty clothed

  in such peace, ‘tis so very true.

Then she entered the chapel

  experiencing a spiritual thirst,

Truly there were not many people

  at mass on this January First;

Their few voices were humbly and

  quietly raised almost inaudibly aloft,

And the Franciscan priest said mass

  in a voice that was very, very soft;

The devout Poor Clare nuns were

  all engaged in the deepest prayer,

And, honestly, the mass was so silent

  that it was exceedingly rare;

When Clarissa’s 33-day prayers of

  consecration were finally done,

Might she be in danger of ending

  as uneventfully as she had begun?

But St. Louis de Montfort’s

  Consecration to Jesus through Mary,

Was recommended by her wise old

  Irish pastor Monsignor O’Clary;

He had preached quite a fine homily

  about this special devotion,

Saying, “It can really change your life,

  if you have the notion”;

But now let me share with you

  one rather noteworthy fact,

St. Louis’ closing prayer is

  really a form of holy contract;

She knelt before Our Lord’s

  beautiful crucifix near the altar,

And she dearly hoped that her

  heart would not ever falter.

Midway through this closing prayer,

  Clarissa’s heart was passionately,

Preciously pierced by the sweet sword

  of the Spirit; her soul, suddenly

Brimming with God’s majestic mercy,

  soared in a spiraling celestial

Crescendo of God’s love for her;

  fearing that her heart, like a fiery

Supernova, might explode with emotion,

  she silently slipped out

And sat quietly, alone, on the sofa

  in the pilgrims' guest room;

Here she serenely surrendered all

  to the Spirit, like a noble

Knight of Christ, Through Our Lady,

  The Queen of All Hearts.

Then like a giddy geyser she gushed

  torrents of light-hearted laughter

And happy, heavenly tears; this golden

  cascade of pure love poured

Over her soul like a warm, wonderful

  waterfall of holy honey; deep down

Inside, the Spirit was strumming on

  the harmonic harp of her heart, and

She was deliciously, delightfully deluged

  by this overwhelming ocean of God’s love for her.

Afterwards, Clarissa softly strolled

  back into the chapel to finish her

Closing prayer; approaching the altar,

  with awe, she beheld the crucifix

Where Christ the Courageous heroically

  hangs; from the back of the church

She felt his love as a light, blissful,

  balmy breeze; but as she

Drew closer to that crucifix, she felt

  His love magnificently magnified as it

Ignited into an intense, surging storm

  of explosive, electric joy;

Kneeling before that same crucifix,

  as a bold, brave warrior, she battled

Through her emotions until

   word by word, slowly,

Meaningfully, she finished

   her prayer of consecration.

Every year for the rest of her life

  this holy devotion she would pray,

She would always return to Our Lady

  of Solitude on the very same day;

Just as Our Lady had very few truly

  remarkable days in her saintly life,

Clarissa had few days in which intense

  joy pierced her soul like a knife;

Although she never again experienced

  a cascading heavenly waterfall,

Every so often a raindrop of pure,

  holy love her heart would enthrall;

In the twinkling of an eye the sword

  of the Spirit would pierce her soul,

As if to remind her that perfect love

  in Heaven must always be her goal.

OUR LADY OF DIVINE MERCY

Trembling, I hid in your mantle, protected

  From the dark night of unknowing;

You guided me up the steep, perilous path,

  Towards the sparkling, starry heavens.

The demonic winds gusted, and with

  Frightful ferocity thunder shook the air;

Serpentine lightning darted in the sky, and

  Lava streams slithered down the slopes.

But then the Sun of God dazzlingly dawned,

  And He put an end to the dark night;

Beams of bright light, both red and white,

  Streamed soothingly into my soul.

Atop the summit, you took my hand,

  And together we flew into the Light;

We laughed like merry little children,

  Soaking in the sunshine of pure Mercy.

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.

A PRAYER BEFORE CONFESSION

Dearest Jesus,

As I prepare

For the sweet sacrament

Of Holy Reconciliation,

Through the power

Of the Holy Spirit

Please bring to my mind

Every sin

You wish me to confess,

Every root cause

You wish me to acknowledge,

Everything forgotten

You wish me to remember,

That I may totally

Pour out my heart

Before you,

And totally surrender

To your Divine Mercy.

Amen.

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.

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 TRAFFIC SIGNAL

Inspired by the writing of St. Augustine

Patience is the amber Light

Of our beloved soul;

When we impetuously 

Want to speed through

The intersections of life

And just do what we want —

Not what God wants —

Then the red Light stops us,

So that we can recognize the danger;

Acting rashly, thoughtlessly,

Charging ahead of the Lord,

All of these cause nothing but trouble,

So the red Light gives us a little more time,

To ponder, to reflect, to pray,

So that when the Light turns green,

we can move and act

In God’s time, in God’s will;

For as St. Augustine wisely said,

Patience is the companion of wisdom.

THE THIRD DAY

I returned to Jesus,

like Magdalene,

sobbing, my tears

trickling, I kissed

the wounds

on His hands, 

on His feet, 

on His side, 

on His head,

the wounds that I,

yes, I myself,

inflicted upon Him,

and with gentle

compassion

He raised me up

on the third day,

embracing me

with His Holy

Spirit of Love.

AN ACT OF THANKSGIVING: TO JESUS THROUGH MARY

A DIVINE MERCY PRAYER

All-powerful, most holy, most high, and

Supreme God, I am so sorry for hurting you:

I impudently spat upon your sorrowful face,

I violently scourged your most blessed body,

I scornfully crowned your holy head with thorns, 

I savagely kicked you as you fell with the cross,

I cruelly crucified your flesh with stinging nails;

In short, I have bitterly tortured you with

Every single one of my sins against you.

I despise and abhor all my many sins,

Including any I have withheld from you in

The past — mortal sins or venial — or never

Confessed honestly, or forgot about;

And I accuse myself of being guilty of

High treason against your Majesty,

Deserving to be executed -- and exiled -- 

Because my sins offend you, Lord God,

Who are all good, supremely good,

Totally good, who alone are good --

You deserve only my heartfelt love

And blind obedience to your holy will.

Therefore, I hereby make this

Declaration and resolution:

I am absolutely and utterly determined,

Through your sweet holy graces and

Your unfathomable Divine Mercy,

To be your humble and obedient slave,

Through Mary, the Queen of All Hearts,

And to be your faithful servant who

With promptitude runs away from

The false enticements of all sin and

The empty allure of all temptation, and,

Instead, I completely surrender myself

Into your warm embrace and with

A heart bountifully overflowing with

Thanksgiving for your mercy to me,

I receive your loving kiss of peace.

Amen.

EXECUTION AND EXILE

We all deserve execution,

To be nailed on a cross of wood,

We all deserve exile in hell,

For only God is purely good;

He chose to take our place in death,

Bloodily stabbed into the tree,

He paid the price to rescue us,

For only He can set us free.

THE SHADOW OF THE SHEPHERD

The fruit of the Spirit

Flows ever so bountifully, 

Irrigated by the magnificent

Living Water that behind 

The Shadow of the Shepherd,

But when I lose my focus,

And I start to get distracted

By empty, frivolous things,

That delicious fruit dries up,

And when this happens,

I find that I’m no longer in

The Shadow of the Shepherd,

Yet when I slowly look up,

I see the Good Shepherd

Driving out fierce wolves

With His powerful staff and,

When I walk back towards Him,

The wonderful Word of God,

Behold, I find I’m once again in

That joyful, peaceful place,

In the Shadow of the Shepherd.

THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE

Powerful and impressive and majestic,

The Sun’s luminous rays reach out

Towards the distant outer rim,

Where the darkness is pervasive,

And where evil breeds in the 

Black cloud of never-ending night.

Disappointed and disillusioned,

In the dark night of discontent,

Sad souls long to fill the void

Of the black hole in their hearts,

So they search for truth and beauty

At the center of the universe.

Patient and gentle and merciful,

The Son’s compassionate glance

Seeks souls empty and broken,

And they are attracted by the

Gravitational pull of His joy and

The ecstasy of His eternal love.

THE TERROR OF DEMONS

Pride is a red dragon that tries

To kindle our sinful souls with

The flaming fires of falsehood,

Causing our egos to swell with

The helium of haughtiness;

But thanksgiving is a weapon,

A weapon of heavenly wonder,

Used by the Holy Family when

There was arrogance in the air;

So when we are praised for some

Fine worldly accomplishment,

Then we too should turn to the

Lord God, and, with a little smile,

We should frequently thank Him

For each of His gracious gifts,

And seeing our happy hearts filled

To the brim with gratitude, behold,

The devilish dragon flees in terror.