Church Going

we go to church to have a good time,

to feel good about ourselves,

to feel happy and entertained.

we go to ward off the guilt.

we go in shorts and comfortable t-shirts,

and cheap slippers,

because we are going as if to a picnic,

to the park, to the beach.

it is the only Sunday we have and we want

to make most of it. we could have gone

to the movies, or to the mall, or to the food court instead,

and yet we've come here,

so remember that. we're using up precious time for this,

and we expect it to be worth it. 

so while you're up there, Father, make sure

to say a few jokes and keep us entertained.

we don't want to be bored. and also

tell us that God loves us in spite of what we've done.

now don't start preaching about sin,

we don't want to be feeling bad about ourselves 

when we leave this place.

and it's fine if we're a bit late to Mass, okay,

we are busy people,

don't start telling us off for that.

we will be early for interviews, movie shows, and for lunches with friends,

because those things matter,

but we might be a bit tardy for church.

because it's all about us

    it's all about us

        it's all about us

            and not about God

indeed, it's not like we really need to be here -

it's the 21st century and we are at last truly enlightened.

we have our phones. we have technology. we have ai.

we are adults and do not take baby steps anymore.

we tell ourselves, we can walk without God

    until

        we

            can't 

Beyond the myriad of grumbling voices,

In the tabernacle of the Church,

In the Most Blessed Sacrament

Of the Holy Eucharist,

Wherein is contained the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ,

Wherein is contained all the riches of the Church,

Wherein is contained the hidden elusive treaure 

That all the universe desperately yearns for,

Before Whom kings, warriors, and noblemen genuflect - 

In this Most Blessed Sacrament,

The Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe -

Revered by the angels of the celestial courts

But not honoured by busier men -

Weeps and weeps and weeps,

As men distract themselves from 

The purest gold and diamonds,

Playing in the mud.

His blessèd Heart, hurt and wounded

By a million arrows from mankind on every side,

Bleeds and bleeds and bleeds for mankind.

Like a prisoner in his own palace,

Like a beggar in his own kingdom,

This King humbly, quietly, asks for your love.

What do you say?

The Contagion of a Smile

and I asked them stonecutters,

"mates, when ye engrave ma name

in yon tombstone,

could ya put an exclamation mark after my name

and maybe a picture of me

as a young lad

with a wide, wide smile?"

in life and in death,

I want to smile widely

and see the smile

spread like a plague

from me to my neighbours, 

to everyone in my town,

to everyone who lives.

joy for everyone, none excepting

wind on the trees beside the road

I heard Your voice whispering,

gently, gently,

through the wind blowing

amongst the trees

as the leaves rustled sweetly

You said I love you,

and with the wind and the trees

and all the rustling leaves,

I whispered back

I love You too

of dust and clay and blood and bone

and silently I said unto Him:

my Jesus who loves me

like mad, like mad,

I beg Thee have pity on me

a sinner - a sinner!

dust and clay, mere dust and clay!

this frail, fragile, soon fading being

of blood and bone

cannot live, cannot survive,

without Thy blessed breath!

If Thou takest away Thy breath,

I soon fade away

and depart from this world.

only Thy hand sustains me,

maintains me in this blessed existence

without Thy hand holding me up,

I stumble and fall despite my desperate

tottering, doddering, confused baby steps,

and all I would know is despair, ignominy, and wretchedness

petering out miserably into oblivion,

for I would know not where to walk 

and why and how.

lead Thou me forward, past life, past death,

into Thy hands

hold me up, Lord,

with Thy hands,

if only so that I could feel 

Thy hand in mine,

For the remainder of this long, 

sometimes tedious, journey towards Thee,

hold me up

thus my imperfect, mortal prayer

of dust and clay and blood and bone.

and as an epilogue,

I whisper fiercely to the trees, to the stars, 

to the wind, to anyone who would listen:

I believe that Christ will take care of me

Portrait of a Quixotic Poet

Poor delusional me,

To whom all reality seems textual in nature.

The world is a word, the sun is a noun, the moon is derived from the Old English mōna.

Poor delusional me, a poet in my perception

But an absent-minded Quixote in others.

Caritas

Money profits nothing.

Material possessions deceive in their promise to finally fulfill.

After becoming profiteers of this world's gold and silver,

What would you do? What would you ever do?

After the last piece of gold is spent, and all money has been squandered,

The world having deceived us and robbed us of peace,

Only God and men will remain. Charity will remain forever

Tell me the way you write poetry

Tell me the way you write poetry, and I will enter into your sentences, your words, your very letters,

And I will endeavour to tell you what lurks deep within the heart of your thoughts.

Invite me into your worldview, my friend, though I may not assent to your every opinion, for I have my own,

Show me your world and I will show you mine. I am no psychologist or philosopher to assess you or pass judgement upon you, my friend,

I am but a fellow wayfarer on the journey, a transient passerby, a flitting, fluttering, butterfly, here upon this earth for but a fleeting moment,

In short, consider me your friend for I ardently see you as mine, my brother Man and sister Woman from this family of humankind, living within the homely confines of our pleasant family home called earth,

Let me hear you speak, let me read what you write, let me listen to the rhythym of your thoughts, which I imagine cannot be anything but beautiful, flowing as they do from a soul created in imago Dei,

Let me listen to you for a thousand years, for I know myself and have heard my own thoughts echoing painfully, endlessly, within the Cathedral of my heart, and I know what I think and say and do and think,

Long, long enough have I been the center of my universe, let me learn who you are, my friend, my brother, my sister, my companion, com panis, you with whom I break my daily bread, my daily bread of the air, the water, and the love of God, upon God's good earth.

Show me your world, and I will show you mine. Invite me to your worldview, and I will say unto you, Tauchen Sie ein in meine Weltanschauung, and welcome you into my mind, my world, my worldview,

Where I desire that you hear of the love of God, of God, of the good, good God...