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.

TO THE HOLY FAMILY

Good St. Joseph, you were sent

To be my wise knightly master,

So that through your assistance

I could reach Heaven faster.

Sweet and holy Queen, you are

So kindly patient and so humble,

The dark one terribly hates you,

For you make him trip and stumble.

Babe of the Incarnation, above you

Swirls the immaculate white Dove,

For now God enters His creation

To show the true depth of His Love.

THE KNIGHT

Christmas,

The night of Christ,

The breathtaking eve when the

Babe of the Incarnation

Heroically came to save us.

St. Joseph,

The Knight of Christ,

The brave, holy man that the

Babe of the Incarnation

Trusted wholeheartedly.

A FATHER'S PRAYER TO ST. JOSEPH

O St. Joseph,

The humble one,

Unite your prayers

To Our Lord Jesus

With those of

The Holy Virgin,

And implore Him

To give each of us

What you gave to

Your Holy Family:

Strength to lead,

Love to inspire,

Wisdom to guide.

Amen.

THE HOLY KNIGHT

You are the knight of the Dove,

Who on that Holy Night met Love.

The magi in their wise hands hold

Both sweet frankincense and gold,

But your strong courageous arms

Save Baby Jesus from all harms.

You are the brilliant Star of Light

In Bethlehem’s deep dark night.

Hellishly bloody Herod the Hater

Fears that he’s not the greater,

But you, oh most humble father,

With vainglory don’t even bother.

You are the knight of the Dove,

Who on that Silent Night met Love.

TO ST. JOSEPH

Your thick, wavy brown hair happily

  Blows in the breeze of God’s will;

Your warm brown eyes twinkle with

  Contentment, crinkling as you smile.

You protect the holy Babe from Herod’s

  Hellish hands, which are dripping with blood;

In obedience, you help the Holy Family

  Evade him and elusively escape to Egypt.

As a worker, you handle the wood of

  God’s creation with gentle strength;

With industrious ingenuity, you use

  God’s good gifts to serve others.

You shatter lustful temptation with your

  Carpenter’s mallet of holy purity;

Then, as God’s valiant soldier, you slay

  Selfishness with the sword of surrender.

In your loving example, you show little Jesus

  how to be a good son to His mother;

With your humble heart, you teach Love

  How to love, and the angels are amazed.

OUR LADY OF JOY

As she serenely stepped out of the upper

  room, she rejoiced in a fresh new day,

She looked about her peaceful surroundings,

  drinking in the delicious goodness of God;

Clusters of clouds casually wafted by, so low

  that they brushed the pinnacle of the temple,    

They passed by like eager pilgrims, Eucharistic

  white against the bright blue morning sky;

Later that morning, she and the Apostles were

  deeply immersed in prayer when, suddenly,

She inhaled the sweet scent of God’s presence,

  and joyfully breathed in the Lord’s love;

The balmy breeze of grace swirled around her

  and compassionately caressed her,

She reflected on God’s glorious grandeur,

  and His magnificence soaked into her soul;

Then, the Word rushed through them all,

  as the Holy Spirit swiftly swooped down,

The bold beautiful breeze of heavenly hope

  placidly filled the sails of their souls;

The Paraclete, like a powerful, whirling wind,

  spectacularly sparked the wicks of their

Souls, and ignited the fire of love, which

  rippled through and rhymed in their hearts;

Then, Our Lady’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;

With peaceful confidence, her heart,

  like a fiery supernova, exploded with

Feelings of love, joy, and peace,

  of patience, kindness, and generosity;

Her smiling eyes then beheld the

  flaming fire of Love resting on all, and as                                                           

She serenely surrendered all to the Spirit,

  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 her

  Jesus’ magnificent mercy and love;

The Light of the World had scattered

  and defeated the dreary dark night.

EASTER AT EMMAUS

Our heads hung low,

Saddened and perplexed

By the troubling events just

Three days prior in Jerusalem;

My companion and I were

Searching for the missing piece

Of the Messianic puzzle,

Not realizing that it was less

Than a stone’s throw away;

Then, when we turned around,

We found a man who was both

Wise and friendly, and He too

Was on the road to Emmaus;

As He spoke to us over the

Next several miles, the fire of

Heavenly hope began to rekindle

Within our souls once again,

So we invited Him to sup with us

When we arrived in Emmaus;

After the sun set over the hills,

The stars twinkled with delight as

The Son suddenly rose in our hearts,

For when He broke the bread,

He smiled His very gentle smile, 

And we felt as if we had been

Born again.

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.

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.