Halloween

ALL HALLOW'S EVE

On All Hallow's Eve,

Doth blow the leave,

Bare branches

Bend down to the ground.

Children believe,

And simply conceive,

There's evil

And it's all around.

So pumpkins all lit,

Trick or treat just a bit,

All costumed they

Go through the town.

They face with much wit,

Tell jokes that do fit,

For fun,

It's really quite sound.

And then it's November

Until cold December,

Times, black,

That we all must pass.

But Catholics remember,

All Saints' Day, each member,

Dark's contrast...

Gold Light of the Mass!

the shroud

THE
SHROUD

Drop, drop, drip.
The limbs lose their grip.
On golden possessions,
Their leaves.

Drip, drip, drop.
The loss they cannot stop.
The wood stiffens up
Like it grieves.

Now glitter and gold
Are pretty to hold,
As jewels on trinkets
And lockets.

But when the leaves fall,
It’s time to recall…
At death –
The shroud has no pockets.

Halloween and Shakespeare

SHAKESPEARE'S
SPIDER

Angels...of grace
Defend... while we sleep -
On bed, a spider,
So up I leap.

Something is rotten...
In Denmark and hairy.
Out, out damned spot
'Cause it looks quite scary –

Though in His Image
All men He sired -
But Frailty, thy name is woman,
I'm tired

So I smash the spider
To death with my sandal...
That's what the Bard meant
By out, out brief candle!

Gardens

THE OLD GARDEN

With my children,
Planted seeds,
To grow a garden
For our needs.

Dropped the kernels
In a row.
Each took turns
To dig and hoe.

Then we watched
And checked each day,
Rotting moss
Helped soften clay.

Dewy, sprouts
With mist drop,
Warmed in beams
To make a crop.

Truth? In time,
Is old grows new.
Ancient, earth
Brings that in view.

Unkempt gardens,
Browned, untame,
Green still bursts
From what looks lame.

Relic, rain,
Senile, sun,
Cultivate
'Till growing's done.

Crumbling, dirt,
What's it's worth?
Forests, flowers,
Fare of earth!

Children laughing,
Garden grown,
Cabbage-greens,
Yellows, roan.

I speak, "Hush,
Say a prayer.
Learn the secrets
Gardens bear.

Ancient, crumbling,
Is short strife,
In old, old, gardens
Grows gold, gold, life!"

miracles

BEETHOVEN'S
EAR

Bloomed a rose,

Stalk dead

The whole length,

Enticing the eye,

With delicate

Strength.

Music from men,

Who can't hear

A word,

Compose

Ninth Symphonies,

God's miracles heard!

poor man's steak

ODE
TO
PEANUT BUTTER
&
JELLY

You can have
Your local deli,
I have peanut butter
And jelly.

You can take
Your Kaiser roll,
I eat white bread
Sandwich, whole.

You can tofu
Sandwich make,
I’ll take P.B.
Poor-man’s steak.

You can roughage
Green your grains,
P.B.J.’s
For children reigns

And puts a smile
Upon their face,
While green-grains to
The bathroom race!

for us

THE
ZINNIAS

Zinnias grow
In dirty earth.
Crumbly, wormy,
Soil of worth.

Not only zinnias,
Apple trees,
And dirt dams up
Our open seas.

Earth's dirt
Keeps us firmly anchored
When even wars,
Her surface, cankered.

But joyful, souls,
Who trust, stay meek,
From earth's dirt see...
The zinnias peak!

eternal love

THE WHISPER

I sent a whisper

O'er the moon,

Through clouds

In wispy gowns.

I sent a whisper,

Bounced on fog,

Blanketing little

Towns.

I sent a whisper

To the sea

And shore

Where sea-shells found,

For sea-shells

Hold the whisperer's breath…

That God's love

Knows no bounds!

at home

THE KITCHEN

Tucked in a corner of Shrewsbury
At St. Michael's Lane and Lansdowne,
Every home had a mother and kitchen,
Where good smells did abound.

When called in for our suppers
Our mothers knew where we'd been,
They could detect the neighbors kitchens
Emanating from our skin.

We never, ever fooled them
As they were rolling up their sleeves,
"So, you were playing with the Tabash kids."
Sniffing lamb wrapped in grape leaves.

Each family had a special scent
Behind their kitchen door,
Where bodies, minds and souls were first,
Not the latest home decor.

a Missouri rain

STEEL-SCREEN
RAIN

Hot, sticky, steamy, sultry,
What I have
To some
Seems paltry.

Rib-less corduroy,
Faded blue,
Used recliner
I sit into.

Sun takes nap
Under clouds,
A comforter covering…
All light it crowds.

Then a damp
Humid breeze,
I open my book
Balanced on knees.

“But I’m so tired,”
Noon time refrain -
Then I smell
The steel-screen rain.

I close my book,
I close my eyes,
Reclined in faded
Bluish dyes.

The tunnel echoes
Whistling train -
While I breathe in
Steel-screen rain.

I see the moon

THE
KANSAS
CITY
MOON

Wide western sky,
Slate of gray
Dwarfs
Missouri plains.

Miles out straight
I stretch my eyes
On twilight’s
Crystal grains.

I sit between
The guests and glass,
Ignoring hotel’s
Bustle.

Staring at
The worn-out sun,
For whom
Day, night, do hustle.


But Lady day,
She always bids
The sleepy sun
To follow,

As Mistress night
Accepts her plight,
In darkness
She must wallow.

In gown, silk-black,
Waved hair, pulled back
To let her
Diamonds show,

So I can see
Her flirting glee…
With moon,
Her midnight beau.

I'm okay, you're not.

CAIN’S
ENABLERS

“…is it for me to keep watch over my brother?” (Genesis - Ch. 4 - vs. 9)

So as long as
YOU have –
It’s okay?

The others
Don’t know
We’ll just all pray.

But you are
Blessed,
You’re on your way.

Then what
Will you say
On Judgement Day?

To Christ
The King,
Who died so many

Might all be
Saved –
Your thoughts for a penny…

For that’s
Their worth,
Your thoughts, one cent,

You,
The attached
Of the traditional bent,

You,
Under indulgenced
Silent tent,

You,
Practicing piety
Who will not vent

Of the
Rotten fruits
For the Sacrifice spent

As long as
YOU’RE able –

- God will know what Cain meant.

Starkenburg, Missouri

AND THE BLACK
ANGUS BOWED


A joyful field -
Up above, a spread,
A blanket of trees
Quilted rust, orange and red.

Before...a winding,
Country road,
Your typical setting,
Then a change of mode.

An Angus, black,
Grazed on grass clumps,
Cocked his head,
Startled by thumps

Of a band of brothers,
Marching as one,
The Dame's flag flying
To honor her Son.

"Viva!" They cried.
They cried without cease,
"Sancte Pie Decime...
Ora pro nobis!"

These few good men,
Their faith was not feigned,
Led by the Marines
Of the priesthood, ordained.

And the Angus stood still,
At the "Viva!" from the proud,
And that was the day
The black Angus head bowed.

Memories

MEMENTO

ME

Rose petals pink.
But roses do wither.
Words stay alive.
Words do not dither.

Words for remembrance
Wherever one goes.
That’s why there’s rosemary,
Soon dies the rose.

Words sing of love.
Words can bring hate.
Words can forever
On your soul, stamp a date.

But I will admit,
One thing words can’t do…
Seduce with a scent
My memories of you.

Sept./Oct.

MICHAELMAS DAY

Michaelmas Day,
September skies cue,
To hearken the zinnias
To tone down their hue.

Dusky October,
With Angels and all...
They help us pick apples
And pumpkins in Fall.

the creek

SILVER CREEK

I took a
Walk,
To the
Creek.

It’s silver
Silence
I did
Seek.

It’s shoulders
Wrapped
In winter
White,

A stole
Of snow
From left
To right.

And in
Between,
The sparkling
Ice,

Babbling,
Glistening,
Streams
Entice…

Us all
To hear
It’s silver,
Sounds

In silver
Silence
God
Abounds.

Giving Thanks

I’LL GIVE YOU THANKS

Thank you for
The swing set.
Thank you for
The sky.

Thank you for
The bushes
They played in
By and by.

Thank you for
The hammock.
Thank you for
The tree.

Thank you for
The piles and piles
Of stubborn stained
Laundry.

Thank you for
Ten children.
Horrific, birthing
Pain.

Thank you for
The people,
Who said
I was insane.

Thank you for
The doctor.
Thank you for
The nurse.

Thank you for
My mother dear
Who put on
Me a curse!

Thank you for
My life,
Though I’m no
Who of Who’s…

But Lord
Don’t ya think,
It’s time
I get a cruise?!

My Heroes!!

ALL GOD'S
CREATURES

My house,

It has some termites.

My house

It is their feast.

My house,

God gave

Them termites,

He really likes them beast!

But just like me,

Them termites,

Were made by

God,

Creator.

And, God, His

Greatest work?

The termite

Exterminator!

Last Rites

MY PILOT

My furthest.

My nearest.

My supernal.

My eternal.

My pilot.

My adored.

My prompter.

My Lord.

My shore.

My sea.

My higher.

My sire.

My lender.

My breath.

My adventurer.

My death.

My all then.

My all now.

My all vast.

My all past.

My all heaven.

My all goal.

I confess.

Take my soul.

The Son

MOTHER'S SON

Deformed
Love
Is applauded

Misguided
Sentiment
The rage.

Child-like
Innocence
Marauded

Mother's rape
Has weakened
Her gauge.

But somewhere
There are
Fields of clover,

Hearth fires
Glow...glassed
In red

And cliffs
Where souls
Climb over and over

Still reach
The hill
Where Mother's Son bled.

Sunday Dinners

THE
ROAST BEEF
HOUR

Cloth of cream,
China plate,
Crystal vases
Decorate.

Blossoms, orange,
Mums of yellow,
Autumn eve,
A Sunday, mellow.

Sterling silver,
Piney vapor,
Scents the air
From brass held taper.

Dad and mom
Sipping wine,
Roasting beef,
Upon, we’ll dine.

Chilly, children,
Crunch on leaves,
Runny noses
Wiped on sleeves.

Whipped potatoes,
In glass bowl,
Salad, broccoli,
Dinner roll!

Children sit,
Carving begins,
Under the table
They kick their shins.

Dinner music,
Harpsichord,
Say the grace
To thank Our Lord.

Acorn scented
Breezes, tame,
Swirl around
The candle flame.

Soon to yield
To winter’s power.
But we’ll stay warm
In the roast beef hour!

Pray

THE
HOLY CARD

Five a.m., my coffee,
Rosary in my hands,
All upon my lap-desk,
My soul inhales, expands.

And then I spy the HOLY card,
Upon my desk it lay.
A relic, token, keepsake,
Memento for the day,

From those who’ve gone before us,
We hope decked out in grace,
And yet, so often, leave their cards,
Sometimes in strangest place.

One side…their names and dates,
The other, Christ or Saint,
Prayers to persevere for them,
Make sacrifice, don’t faint.

So when you spot such HOLY cards,
Behind it is a story,
That you’ve been chosen, asked to help,
Free souls from Purgatory!

the Power of Color

BLACK
HOLES

Disco-decayed
They cancelled all color
Sanctuaries stripped
First Communions were duller.

No crinoline whites
Pale hues they stressed
Only pearled-Pharisees
Are ever so dressed.

Roses, carnations,
Flowers, all manners
Left just to wither
‘Gainst assertives’ beige banners.

Pillars of marble
Corinthian styles
They decided to paint
Like pink bathroom tiles.

Cassocks of red
Habits blue, white,
Robes of distinction
Extinct over night.

Missals with pages
Embossed in gloss-gold
Latin in tint
English-black, opposite bold.

Even the ribbons
To mark scriptural prayers
Were of green, yellow, silvers
So to keep us from errors.

The soft votive flames
The red opaque glass
Gave an aura of stillness
Like time could not pass.

Yet time it passed,
Vividness drained
And populations with out color
Cannot be sustained.

So those underground
With red blood in blue veins
Birthed knowledge, the arts
Great virtues they gained.

They did not decay
God’s colors, kept green
For the day up above
Once again to be seen.

Except for those beige
Banner-like-blind
Gray fertility fades
In their black open minds.

The Gossips

GOSSSSSIP

A word was whispered,
Bright one morn,
About a girl, so young,

And the whisper spread
Through out the town
On woman’s wagging tongue.

The wagging tongues
Turned into snakes
With shark-like serpent’s tooth.

That slithered round
And under rocks
For it knew where to find the truth.

But slithering
Whispers under rocks
Never seem to satisfy,

So the whispered word
Was boldly spoke,
Out loud, to passers-by.

But the woman
Knew it
All along…

“It wasn’t a surprise.” Said she.
“And I’m sure that’s why,
That carpenter, Joseph,

Took her away
On that old
Donkey!”

eternal

SEA WHISPERS

I sent a whisper

O'er the moon,

Through clouds

In wispy gowns.

I sent a whisper,

Bounced on fog,

Blanketing little

Towns.

I sent a whisper

To the sea
And shore
Where sea-shells found,

For sea-shells

Hold the whisperer's breath…

That God's love

Knows no bounds!

October the 13th

Procession into the Fatima Shrine for the Act of Reparation.The hideous new modernist basilica is seen under construction in the background.

<Delegates attending the Vatican and United Nations (UN) inspired
annual interfaith congress "The Future of God">>

SEA AT HER SHRINE

"The Future of God"?
O, man, how dare!
Your days are numbered,
You drop like hair.

Before you were knit
In woman's womb,
He saw your unraveling
Towards, this, your doom.

So sent the others
To intercede.
Sacerdos.
They bleed the Creed.

But you reject,
"Themselves, they hang."
Then Tridentine
Intensed birth-pang.

Where ev'ry Host
At elevation,
Contracts our sons
Towards priest formation.

Who’ll, daily, offer
Red, un-blood,
So devils of delegates
Drown in the flood

Of Catholic faithful’s
Sea at her shrine,
Where past, present, future
Is all His, Divine!

Someone should write Rome!! Ya think?!

THE
PETITIONERS

They cock their pens
And write their pappy,
Spill their ink
On trees once sappy.

They do not fight
With soul and might,
They'd rather sit
And letter write,

Oh, these, our lords,
Approved patricians,
Who give their lives
For bloody petitions.

Minnesota Vacation

ENDLESS
DREAMS

I’d like to take a trip
Up the mighty Mississip
To the land-o-lakes
In frosty Minnesota,

Pile the kids and all their friends
Up the river round her bends
In a brand-new wooden
Leak-free house-a-boat-a.

When we reached a river dock,
Anytime upon the clock,
We’d sit upon her banks
And drink some soda,

Roast some hot dogs, drop a line,
Catch some fish to boil then dine
And before our bedtime feast on
Fruit compote-a.

Then the night we’d sleep a way,
No high hotel bills we’d pay,
The boat would gently rock
And we would float-a.

But takes money for a trip
Up the mighty Mississip,
So I’ll dream rich dreams God sends,
An endless quota!

to church

ANCHORS AWEIGH!!

Shale-gray morn,
Lace in purse,
Thin-paged Missal,
Scriptural verse.

Rosary rattles,
Scooped from table,
Will pray ‘fore Mass
If I am able.

Quiet, still,
Children sleeping,
One more coffee
For my keeping.

Back porch view,
Conscience-clear,
Trees stand guard
There’s naught to fear.

For like the tree
With anchored root,
When heresy-hales
I can dispute…

Hold holy ground
White-surpliced birch,
“Anchors aweigh!”
I sail to Church.

Starkenburg, Missouri (Pilgrimage Oct. 20, 2007)

STARKENBURG

The Holy Mass that cannot die,

Was said amidst the oaks

While pin-oak leaves came floating down

Around the simple folks

Who knelt upon the acorn floor

All dotted nutty brown

The acorns cracked and old knees snapped

Yet still there was no sound...

But the tinkling of the golden bells

As the White Host Son rose high,

On priestly limbs like mighty oaks

They branched up to the sky.

And in that wood I laughed with joy

Amongst the souls bowed down

For the mighty oak was once a nut

That merely held its ground.

So Christian souls like acorn nuts

Must burrow all around

And be the seed that sprouts new oaks

On consecrated ground...

Where the Holy Mass that cannot die

Is said around the oaks,

While pin-oak leaves come floating down

Amidst a mighty folk!

Fightin' Irish

THE
IRISH
KNEELERS

We are St. Joan,
Philomena, Campion.
The Faith in its whole
Is what we do champion.

We are St. Margaret,
Pearl of York,
Where the bowels of the Faith
They tried to torque.

We are Sir More,
That's Thomas, the Saint,
Whose reputation
They could not taint.

We are vocations,
In Ireland, kneeling,
Adoring His presence,
It's not just a feeling.

We are descendents
Of Irish and beggin'
To stop all the men
Who are turning us pagan!

We are the poor,
Uneducated ones,
But in faith, well-informed,
The heretic shuns.

And when we are told,
"Don't kneel anymore."
Since we don't hold doctorates...
We kneel and IGNORE!!

Feast of the Holy Rosary

BLUE
BEADS

On blue-lined paper
Lie blue glass beads
My blue-penned words
Blue ink it bleeds.

Between blue, white,
Between, gray-chained,
Between blue words
Blood blooms, peace gained.