2nd Sunday after EPIPHANY

COUNTENANCE

Is not the moon

The same moon?

Is not the sun

The same sun?

Are not all men

From Eden till now,

Under them both

When day is done?

Is not the earth

The same earth?

Is not the sky

The same sky?

But not all men

From Eden till now,

Countenance clear clues...

And are afraid to die.

CRE M ATION

O, diddley,
Diddley, diddley, whack.
They threw you in
The Meremac.

O, diddley,
Diddley, diddley, hey.
They washed your burned
Black ash away.

O, diddley,
Diddley, diddley, gust.
There is no wind
To rest your dust.

O, diddley,
Diddley, diddley, thud.
No dust to dust...
Just river mud.

Winona

WINONA’S WOMB

Up the raging Mississip,
And at the St. Paul’s source,
South, below the ragged cliffs,
There is a fiercer force.

A force which surges
Human blood between her banks each June,
Then tears and rents herself for all,
She is…Winona’s womb!

And like the raging Mississip,
Her channels open wide,
And birth the men who are the priests,
The source of Mother’s pride.

And from that raging Mississip,
And at that St. Paul’s source,
South, below the ragged cliffs,
Push priests from land of Norse.

Who ride the river, far and wide,
For souls from shore to shore,
And bring them home to Mother’s side,
To leave Her never more.

And up where current’s all the rage,
And sin is sorrow’s source,
Still south, below the ragged cliffs,
Winona stays the course!

day after Epiphany

AN
IRISH
CHRISTMAS
DAWN

A heavy, ledge
Hung from the sky,
Dark, clouds
Above the dawn.

Where streaks of pink,
Enticed
My eye,
And to the glow was drawn.

Atop the frosty,
Frozen, brown,
The warm dawn
Stayed in place,

To wait and see
What God
Had planned,
In this peculiar space.

Dark pushed on Rose,
Down to brown, ground,
She cracked, the dawn
Seemed done...

But with God's might,
Some Irish fight,
She became,
The Christmas sun!!!

The Roman Catholic Priesthood

The

Black

Sails


The power of the cassock

Is to lure

Like fishermen

To nets secure.



The power of the cassock,

Ebony shine,

A hull of hues

On deck Divine.



The power of the cassock

Anchors the man,

Dead to the world

In his sea-span.



The power of the cassock,

Weighted strength,

Before the mast

It's linen length.



The power of the cassock

Sails your soul

To greater depths

From shallow shoal.



The power of the cassock,

Captains' pure.

The fishermen,

Our land-locked cure.

Daily prayer

THE
PILOT
LIGHT

So hard, so cold,
So silent, so bold,
January the third
The day.

So gray, so dim,
The frost on limb,
The trees in the wind
Creak and sway.

From stacks on roof
There is the proof
Where suspended
Smoke columns do freeze.

But deep inside,
Warm souls abide,
For graced-pilots
Lit daily on knees.

Navidad!!

NAVIDAD

To all my friends
A Christmas nod.

And in the words
Of my son,

“Police Navidad!!”

Merry Choice!

THE
CHRISTMAS
CHOICE

Momentous miracle
Ever made,
Revealed in a stable
Where the Baby laid.

Glorious gold
Beyond all worth,
Revealed to poor shepherds
Right after the birth.

Superior-silvered
Touched by God’s fingers,
Revealed only once
But in humble souls, lingers.

Then only a Man
On one cross from one tree,
Revealed choice to the universe
To choose sin or to choose Me.

Holiday Party

IN

AND OF

I was in.

But never of.

Choosing right

When pushed to shove.

Always pure.

Always chaste.

Moulded clay

Of modest taste.

Rarely used

A cussing word.

Rarely spoke

What I had heard.

Rarely wanting

All I spied.

Only needing

Grace inside.

Then one night

A dinner in.

I was not -

Of all their sin.

A forward couple

In reverse,

With philanderer

My tongue was terse.

I turned my head

Away from lips.

Pretty, painted

Gossiping drips.

Then the feast,

Our drinks were poured.

I - not of -

Must thank Our Lord.

"God immortal

Be adored" -

I didn't deny!!

I just...

ignored.