Best Francis Poems
Oh Saintly friend
I feel your pain
The world you left us, now
Racked and strained
As patron
Of our Eden land
Destruction here
At human hand
So Francis,
From your lofty view
Come teach us, Spirit
Help us renew
This blue jeweled orb
That we call home
I fear we cannot
Do this alone
So perfectly
Your tender touch
Shaped lives, helped people
Created much
You gave away
Things you acquired
Opposite of where
Our hearts are mired
If there is hope
For nature's calm
We need the touch
Of Heaven's palm
So hear our prayers
As we pray yours
To open wide
Those pearly doors
Cascading colour
Once again
May selfish humans
From selves refrain
Pope Francis's belief in the Almighty
has been brought to serious question,
when, on his speech on Origins,
the Bible received nary a mention -
save for a passing glance at Genesis.
His credibility has dwindled rather perilous
it seems - considering, of course, Catholicism's
typical rep of condemning holy writ to ostracism.
The acolytes "explode" with his
acceptance of Naturalism,
Evolution and Bigbangerism.
In a pinch he waved his magician's wand
and pronounced all prior blasphemies - gone!
God - he stated - has no such pointy stick
of which to create all, with a simple flick
of his wrist. The Almighty has limits
and shall conform to Francis's rigid
interpretation, thereof. He tips his hat
in one last show of priestly decorum:
I wish you all a most bless-ed
novus ordo seclorum.
NOTE: The term "novus ordo seclorum" is Latin for "New World Order". If you ever forget how to say it, or spell it, just pick up any American federal reserve note - it'll be right under the pyramid with the all-seeing eye.
Playing bowls, Sir Francis Drake
on Plymouth Hoe did ages take
for the game proved that much harder
than beating the Armada
For competition 'Cleri-who?' ,sponsored by Kim Merriman
The rottenness of it all is no less foul for having been bleached white. This is the conclusion I come to. I walk with a scarf covering my mouth through the dimly lit catacombs of the faithful. The arched ceiling holds a dangling string of incandescent bulbs which cast a sickly yellow glow on my shoes and the cavities full of thighbones. “Why are all the bones the same,” I ask. The guide smiles. “Tens of thousands of heaven seekers wish to be buried here. There’s only so much room,” he said. “Even today people pay for holy ground.” Ghostly, armless, rib-less, headless, specters seem to rise un-braced, oh the indignity of it all. I picture them searching for the missing parts of themselves. I sneeze through my paisley scarf, stumble back; back, following the arrows in reverse, seeking the way out; just as frantically as they had sought the way in. The rest of the group trudges on; after all, they had paid their coin to Charon.
First Published in Inwood Indiana January 2014
His sister said to Johnny
“You’re going to go to war
The draft board called your number
They’ll be knocking on your door”
Johnny said “I don’t like marching
And I’ve never loved the sea
That only leaves one option
It’s the Army Air Corps for me”
So he dropped out of his college
And joined the Army Air Corps
He learned to be a pilot
And then he went to war
He was not a fighter pilot
He didn’t fly a jet
He piloted the transports
The biggest you could get
He was flying in the South Seas
When he met an Army nurse
Then something clicked inside him
It was love right from the first
They had to wait the war out
Till the Army nurse went home
They married in her hometown
Then the Air Corps made them roam
In October then of forty-six
They had themselves a daughter
In the Panama Canal Zone
Then he’s flying off over water
Then they lived in Puerto Rico
Where they had themselves a son
September then of forty-eight
They were proud of what they’d done
When they moved to Massachusetts
Johnny’s hometown state
He transferred to the Reserves
Still flying that airfreight
They had another daughter
January – Nineteen-fifty
They were settled into a quiet life
Till Korea got too shifty
Johnny said “I am a pilot
And I was born to fly
I’m going back to full time service
I belong up in the sky”
So he’s back up in his transports
In missions he did live
He said “I’ll do what I must do
And I’ll give all I can give”
In July of nineteen-fifty-one
Another daughter’s born
Then Johnny’s off and flying
His heartstrings all but torn
Then October of that same year
On a quiet home bound flight
Out among the Azores
His plane dropped out of sight
No activity in the area
No SOS last call
He said “I see the Azores”
That was it – that’s all
Despite a massive air search
The biggest one to date
Not a piece of plane or personnel
Nothing known yet of their fate
They searched the sea for weeks and weeks
The airwaves – this and that
He left behind a loving wife
Four kids, a dog, a cat.
Captain John Francis Dailey, Jr. USAF (1918-1951)
It was 60 years ago this October that we lost our Dad. We never really got to know him but miss him just the same.
Mdailey 10/15/11
Father
Francis
fried
five
fishes
for
four
favoured
Flamboyant
families
from
far
Favela
farms.
10-26-2019
Contest:Tautogram poems sponsored by Eve Roper.
In 1588 Sir Francis Drake,
over a game of bowls, his time he did take.
Saying I’ll play my game before England’s fate.
So the Spanish will just have to wait!
There once was a young sailor named Drake,
who some thought was a bit of a flake.
On Plymouth Hoe he stood
while playing with his wood
not knowing that history he'd make.
Drake was from the Elizabethan era
finishing his game as Spain drew nearer.
A stubborn man and quite contrary
until he died of dysentery!
Oh thou tattered robe.
Lying folded neatly by the cross.
Thou dost cry and yearn for loss
of thy master.
He is no more.
Immortalized, canonized in rapture.
Doves so love his likeness, the cold statue
calls and they answer.
Cooing and preening their feathers in vain contradiction
to his teachings.
Attaining solace by placing their nests
within the cold likeness of St. Francis.
As thou pass him to the rose garden,
before the chapel,
See him in thy minds eye.
Fleeing from temptation, ordering redemption,
cast himself, naked amongst the rose.
The martyrs blood flowing red, and warm,
which forever removed their thorn.
For Brian’s Ekphrasis contest
You have seen me in all my woes.
And yet you forgive.
You know me not personally,
But you have seen me on the Streets.
You care that I am a casted-off human-being.
And yet you take me in.
How wonderful you are,
for this is not a sin.
I am grateful to you.
Where you lead, others follow.
You are a Fisher of Mankind.
I am grateful to you.
Somewhere over the rainbow, perhaps her own heart's
Once upon a note ? Baby, I did not know Norma Jeane afore
Vagabond time ushered another of this world's orphaned beauty
Away but I be a child whom was aware, as there; these fragmented bits
Catching your glimpse until one day, your beauty, also spread her wings to fly
Beyound the gray churning cyclones in truth's black and white; unto colourful's gold....
Yellowbrick road while we became his Tin Man yet she, this lover of love looking at you, Baby.
Dear St. Francis,
In a recent dialogue with a close friend, I became aware during the conversation that I made a statement that was misunderstood. I allowed it to remain that way, not pursuing a path of correction. The tone and subject matter was such that it was best to leave it that way. In the process, I felt fine for taking that route, and my friend never knew.
However, I discovered something about myself that compelled me to write to you. During the conversation, I was reminded of one of your familiar and blessed prayers. So I went to Wikipedia and found the prayer, "Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace". The line that best relates to my self-discovery reads, "O Master, let me seek not so much to be ....... understood as to understand".
In the conversation, I was feeling sad and bewildered that I was being misunderstood. There was a very defined moment that I felt the sting of being misunderstood, and your prayer became ever so fresh and real to me. As a result, I am greatly assisted by those words in your prayer.
Sir, I have known of your prayer for many years, but never have I found it more applicable. Hence forth sir, your prayer shall also be mine. For this, I am grateful to God.
Respectfully,
Cubajo
04072017 FB PS (An imaginary letter, but a true experience)
Open Poetry Contest 2, Sharlotte Jade Puddifoot
oh, Madam Francis, I stand flabbergasted!,
when I glance upon your shadow, gray,
I thought beauty for sure ever lasted,
but now I'm enveloped with dismay.
The ocean waves would shamelessly recede,
an ardent attempt at flattery, I suppose,
man after man would attempt to succeed,
but now look at you, a sad, wilted rose.
Kings would transform into commoners,
just to see you pace along Martin's Lane,
beggars and hobos would transfigure,
just to receive a smile from this lovely dame.
But look at you now, a disgruntled old maid,
a dissatisfied hag, the chaff of grain,
did a single soul not run to your aid?
did a hapless finagler leave you insane?
whilst venturing in such reproachful thoughts,
I suddenly notice a man walk past,
Madam Francis, no longer distraught
with a sigh of relief, chants "Finally, at last!"
oh, Madam Francis, I stand flabbergasted!,
when I glance upon your shadow, gray,
I thought beauty for sure ever lasted,
but now I'm sure, it will always stay.
Saint Francis of Assisi, (name at birth was Giovanni)
had a way with mother nature that to all seemed quite uncanny.
His voice alone would bring the birds to settle at his feet
and listen to his sermons, in the forest, which was sweet.
Within the town of Gubbio, a Wolf preyed on the folk
until our hero cornered it and to it gently spoke
wherein it lay before him and then followed him to town
and the townsfolk fed him daily, thus the body count went down.
This kind Monk's caring nature is a lesson for us all
mankind must act responsibly, reaffirmed by Pope John Paul.
My tenet since my baptism has always been to care
for all of God's creation (except slugs, which I can't bear)
So, since Lord, you're all seeing and all hearing, which is good
I have a question for you, please now tell me, if you would,
Lord, answer this, strengthen my faith and cast away my doubt
Why I keep finding pigeon poo on the laundry I've hung out?
POPE FRANCIS
My,
Pope, nothing,
Interest me most then,
The way thou matches
Like American army,
I idolize thee,
When will I be like thee?
Thy shoes are like the Italian shoes,
While thy stockings are like,
The white horse,
When will I match like thou?
Thy legs are as pure as peter,
While thy eyes are like mine.
Cardinal Arinze,
Tell Rev.
Father Ejike Mbaka that,
It’s the time to put-on the,
Red cap.
Tell his subordinates,
That they should not forget,
Their cross,
My pope,
When will I put-on thy white garment.
Tell,
The reverend Fathers and the,
Sisters that it’s time to,
Remember the epistle of,
St. John.
Tell,
Cornel Ojukwu,
That it’s the time to remember,
The Biafra’s once more.
But,
Do not hesitate to intimate,
Nnamdi Azikewe,
Tell,
The American government that,
The war is over,
But remember to intimate British,
Government and,
Nigerians soldiers.
My pope,
I will love thee now and forever more.
THEMES
1. Unity
2. Visitation
3. Peace
4. Love
5. Love and unity
6. Holiness and Imitation
The voice of death tho a whisper still
If exercised is loud and shrill
A couple of coins & sign the line
May just buy you a little time
Library’s filled with ancient tomes
A lot of stories of the unknown
On going tales of lore
Their to impress the present whore
Two bits to cover the eyes
A few roses to deodorize
A Constant rattle to the soul
can create more havoc than you know
With A few scriptures recited well
Place a dollar bet and you’re out of hell
From our minds the hero’s rise
Revealing how we lived our lives
Speaking in circles nipping our tails
Creating enough wind to billow a sail
The flag of glory is beyond repair
Yet plainly visible to all who dared
This is to Francis& Keith &
The Captains of thrift ANSWERS TO ANXIETY