Holy Mother Church

SHE IS THE SHIP

She is the ship
That I must sail
Past rainbow sunsets
Washed-out, pale.

She is the house
Where I must dwell
Before the final
Tolling bell.

She is the ark
I must maintain
'Gainst forty years
Of modern reign.

She is the Mother
I the child,
Wild and weak
She so mild.

She is the bride
Apostolic one
Holy Catholic
Wed to Son.

She is the virgin,
Ever womb,
Imparting Life
That we consume.

Her pulsing cord
Of anchored might
Preserves His Blood
To bleed us white.

She is the ship
Who stays the course
Toward purple sunset’s…
Majestic Force!

walk to morning Mass

SIFTING
SNOW

The snow
The snow
The snow
It falls

The city
Stops
The city
Crawls

The snow
The snow
The snow
Drifts deep

But dawn’s
Early Mass
Will lure
The sheep

The snow
The snow
The snow
Dripping cold

Heavy
Wet wool
As they plough through
So bold

The snow
The snow
The snow
In warmth kneel

Facing the
East
Their wool
Shrinks to steel

The snow
The snow
The snow
Again faced

Outside
Steel-wooled
Inside…
Drenched-graced.

an Eye for an Eye

AN

AYE

FOR

NOAH

When an English

Man doth speak

Opinions on "their" Shoah

They'll never turn the

Other cheek

But debase him like "their" Noah!

St. Valentine's Day

THE BEATE

The fifteenth of August,
Warmth ends with a start,
The Assumption of Mary
To His Sacred Heart.

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.

November's chilled damp,
Souls wait in the dark,
For prayers from the priest
And a blue votive spark.

Then souls from the dark,
No longer the least,
Rejoice in December...
The garland decked Feast.

White, wintry, snows,
Banquet-hall, earth,
In January celebrating,
Still, His great birth.

February sleeting.
February ices.
St. Valentine teaches
That His love suffices.

Raw-winds of March.
Can we stand it all now?
But we start the long Lent
Which teaches us how.

In cruel April, showers,
Each Station tugs tears.
Then lilies...He rose!
To allay all our fears.

And May calls us out.
And May calls us dance.
And May is all Mary's,
The Queen of Romance.

June, city sidewalks,
Symbols in dust,
Corpus Christi processions
For the King Who is Just.

His Most Precious Blood,
Springs up in July,
In picnic-red checks
Reminding us why,

We're all in His rhythm,
He gives us all reasons,
To incite and delight...
The beate of all seasons.

SSPX Winona, MN Deo Gratias!!

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!!!

CANDLEMAS DAY

The legend relates that Mary, the Mother of God of the “Blessed Thunder Candle” (Matka Boska Gromniczna), watches over the people on cold February nights. With her thunder candle she wards off the ravenous pack and protects the peasants from all harm.
According to an old tradition, candles are blessed in Catholic churches on February 2, the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord in the Temple. Many people keep the blessed candles (Gromnica) in their homes and light them during storms or other danger. In Poland, dying persons are given the Gromnica to light their way to eternity.

THE
BEES
SACRED PURPOSE

For centuries beeswax,
In the sanctuary reigned.
Our sacred purpose
From the first ordained.

Producing honeycombs,
All that, we handle --
Though our sacred purpose?
The Holy Mass candle.

But at the last council
Of the great Church bee
Man turned to man
Birthed sterility.

Graces for fruits,
Crops and offspring,
Schools, churches shut --
Can’t pollinate a thing,

Until man again
On His altars lets towers --
Candles of beeswax,
Sacred purpose…
…all ours!