Best Franciscan Poems
Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.
Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.
Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.
Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.
Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.
Categories:
franciscan, allegory, death, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
glory to god in the highest
the godfather was rather tense
today and why shouldn't he be
why to profess the pure dedication
of caring so very deeply for a child
he hadn't fathered
to share ones whole life
completely with another
moral merit surely would suffice
a necessary need I suppose
I studied the godfather's
steadfast emotions
holding the candle
very still utterly guiding
the flames almost
a gentle lantern leading
all my darkest fears into light
while mass was ending
new life had begun
through st Francis solemn prayers
beneath poverty and labor
as I inhaled the words
from a calm Franciscan soul
the wick flickered amen
Categories:
franciscan, faith, life,
Form:
Chant Royal
Jesus Christ is the Catholic’s High Priest
Jesus Christ is the Catholic’s 1st Priest
Jesus Christ is a Priest according to the order of Melchizedeck
Jesus Christ is Father Christ
Father is used for the Franciscan Friar’s or Catholic Priest
Father Christ wants me to propagate “Father Christ”
“I want all people to call me Father Christ, not just you”
It is in the Bible
The Letters to the Hebrews
Please read it, there is an important lesson there
You can try reading other man made religion’s bible
They’re interpreted differently
Universal Church is there from the 2nd century
Universal Church which is now called Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
On 2nd century was when Father Christ established the Universal Church
That is now called Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
Written: 10092021
Time: 4pm
Categories:
franciscan, christian, god, jesus, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
“Apple pie without cheese, is like a kiss without the squeeze”
It is of the traditional Wensleydale cheese made with the milk of a Ewe
Franciscan monks used to keep the little cheese making sheep
They used a culture called rennet to make the finest cheese of mouldy blue
Wensleydale cheese, the palette does please with a taste fresh and light
You’re not likely to find the blue Wensleydale, cos now they only make white
A piece of fruit cake with cheese or an apple, or maybe Christmas cake too
This amazing bacteria culture with milk, what a taste treat is waiting for you.
© 07/01/2013 ~GG~
Contest Entry
Don't shout at me Debbie just my bit of fun for your contest.
Categories:
franciscan, humorous, blue, culture,
Form:
Quatrain
I once thought I could never be like them,
the privileged and rich whose every whim
is catered to by underlings like me--
but then last year I won the lottery!
The family I’d worked for soon went broke.
I hired them to take care of me—no joke!
Now I relax while they do all the work.
Sometimes I can’t suppress a tiny smirk!
To summon them, I ring my golden bell.
Today I ordered, “Meet my needs pell-mell!
Bring snacks and sodas. Then massage my feet.
Fetch me two pillows, and turn down the heat.
Turn on the tv. Bring me the remote.”
They do for me whatever floats my boat!
My six-course meals, prepared as I require,
are brought to me whenever I desire.
My house was once a mess; now it’s so clean!
My flowers are the prettiest I’ve seen.
My yard’s magnificent. It brings me joy
to sit and watch these workers I employ.
Cockaigne, imaginary land of extreme luxury and ease where physical comforts and pleasures are always immediately at hand--and EVERY possible advantage of these pleasures is claimed
The Land of Cockaigne — a 1567 oil painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder
(c. 1525–1569).
Also, a HIGHLY satirical poem theorized to have been written in the early
to mid-fourteenth century by a Franciscan friar
Date: November 14, 2020
entered in Edward Ibeh's poetry contest placed 3rd
Pick-a-Title, vol 25, Rhyme 2 --"In Land of Cockaigne"
Categories:
franciscan, work,
Form:
Rhyme
Surfeit of stalagmites barring, hampering my way
Clouds descending from heavenly heights
Obscuring my outlook in the rarified air
Mount Certes challenged all my senses
Aching muscles, pounding heart, gasping intakes of breath
But for all that I felt elated, ecstatically elated
My soul craved for such a challenge an achievement made
I hesitated pondering whether to rest for sustenance
Or carry on unreservedly whilst still light enough to see
There were mountain caves inhabited by Franciscan monks
Many mystics through the ages marvelled at Certes enlightenment
Mount Certes was inaccessible by the seaward side
Sheer chalk cliffs had disintegrated battered by stormy seas
Atop the mountain was the Pinnacle chapel
Once offerings had been made on the site to the Greek Gods
Recent excavations had uncovered many artifacts
Venerable was whispered by town folk below
Whenever the mystics descended for the yearly penitents offerings
Was I strong enough to reach the Pinnacle?
My unswerving faith would ensure
Though my unfit body would be a daunting problem
Recently I had decided to reassess my whole lifestyle
I wanted to be reborn in my values and jaundiced outlook on life
Washed clean, inviolate new goals and to be strengthened spiritually
God would surely forgive my introspective selfish ways
Confess and your sins shall be forgive you
Professed to have been spoken about by the disciple Peter
coming directly from the lips of Jesus himself
I was a sinner, still am, until I reach the Pinnacle of perfection.
Categories:
franciscan, blessing, mountains, spiritual, uplifting,
Form:
Narrative
Raymund Kolbe 1894-1941
Joined the Franciscan
Helped Nazi including Jews
Sent to Auschwitz was executed
St. Maximilian Kolbe
Written: 8142018
Poetry Form: Cinquain
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Categories:
franciscan, christian, devotion, faith, god,
Form:
Cinquain
Looking down, I am pleased to see
Youthful pilgrims from St. Joseph’s and Francis of Assisi
In this Year of Faith
Making a journey toward many a sacred place
Mother is happy
As they proclaim a decade at each Holy Place
Giving Glory to her multi-ethnic face
She fills them each with her grace
It is glorifying to hear their wonder and awe
As they enter each prayer room and chapel, to their knees they fall
Complete with Apostles and Saints, each portrayed through time
Carved in stone, pieced in mosaic and painted detail, so fine
Blessings, I shall provide these
Pilgrims worshipping at the Immaculate Shrine
Our Lady of LaVang, Saint Tekawitha and Mary Queen of Ireland
Grant to them their heavenly presence divine
My life in replica at the Franciscan Monastery
Of the Holy Land
They glare at the cave of my son’s birth
Till death, where his cross did stand
They Kiss the spot where he lay, before interment to the earth
Grateful they are to Father Mark White
Carrying them on Spiritual wings
Like one of my Angel’s in Flight
And worshipping in a new comfort zone
Sounds of the Holy Spirit erupt, as they journey home
Categories:
franciscan, angel, christian, god, ireland,
Form:
Rhyme
In A Mood of Confession
Turbulence
Terror
Of the throbbing rainy clouds.
But , they were mine too.The red-hot arrow
Pierced tenderness beneath ribs
Fell near my window.
In a full moon, midnight
A withering Franciscan priest,
Bent forward, with salt-pepper beard
Frightened to the core.
It was you,your pale smile fading.
Your stamped, ditched adolescence
Stars disappearing beyond the sky
We entwined them like noodles
White cranes flying across cumulus clouds.
I had been keeping you in my chest
All these years,
You wept shamelessly,
Baptized in a pool of tears
Stepped out as an ascetic.
We drove slowly on the deserted road
We passed a hospital, then a cemetery
Leaving behind rainy clouds
Nocturnal birds flapping wings
light and shade of life
Like one possessed
You levitated,in a missed beat.
Smiling over fear, distrust and love
I get the taste of you.
You broke the abode of peace
Balance of thought
Hunter and the hunted
'Time heals, memories fade,
An ultimate transfiguration,'you said
Tears on brim, you looked, furtive
The same old',Death Wish'
Burnt tin-foils,blackened spoons
Syringe thrown to the corner
Oh ! ,Lord, the thud I hear
Was my pulsating fear
You kept mum.
Your mom sees all
A photograph on wall.
Oh ! my boy,
My blood.
Categories:
franciscan, fear,
Form:
Blank verse
Duns Scotus was an enormously important theologian
He significantly influenced Catholic theology, early on,
A brilliant man of considerable influence in Scotland
Doctrines we take for granted were from him drawn.
A thirteenth century Franciscan, he was very erudite
Strange the idea of the dunce cap comes from his name
Though never pictured wearing a pointy-head funnel
His scholarship and philosophy contribute to his fame
Theories he believed came down through the tunnel
He opposed ideas of the Renaissance and Reformation
He would not give up his orthodoxy without a fight,
As far as we know, he was conservative in formation.
Because so little is known of him, much apprehension
He died young, perhaps without a full-rounded life
And since it was true then as in the modern priesthood
We know he never knew the joys of a faithful wife.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written March 3, 2022
For the “John Duns Scotus” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joe Maverick
Categories:
franciscan, religion,
Form:
Rhyme
ON THE DEATH OF GINSBERG
Rain-damp street outside my window voices
punctuate early morning street dogs
bark car engines cough start
someone’s day
lie in half-light thinking of you Allen Ginsberg
what demons drove you Naomi there driving you to work in her madness
your madness walking Manhattan climbing San Franciscan hills bearded prophet with your schoolgirl crushes on skinny genius song-poet
boy disciples hear your teaching head in the vale of your breast
sing to guru heart beats
fearless harmonium playing
your song-chant hurting without tears over
boy love-spurning
walking death in your ears
holding hands with Mr Death always
speaking words in your ear
Mr Death your final lover faithful polygamous lover
Forever everyone’s lover
And this morning I see you in Linthorpe
damp street prelude of daily madness not your crazy wisdom
the madness of not seeing your crazy rant
my ramblings these ramblings my heart madness approaching
break break break break break into
a million pieces
prophet man bearded raging at people deaf in Linthorpe
blind in Linthorpe not hearing you
not ever seeing you there in their midst
Its grey its damp outside my window
smell of last night’s loving lingers she
my crazy lover you’d love her crazy wisdom
even if your ***** head makes think you don’t think
she’s there
Read again your poems
again hear your disembodied
voice give hope in life in dying
teaching always
speaking in death life raging
forever
Categories:
franciscan, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse
Flatbush . . . Bedford Stuyvesant . . . Saint Jerome's . . .
Our Lady of Good Counsel School . . . The Sisters of Mercy . . . The Franciscan Brothers.
Double features at the Farragut movie on Saturday A.M.:
The Mummy's Curse and Abbot & Costello Meet Frankenstein.
Lotsa shorts, cartoons and Nyoka, the Jungle Girl,
Or maybe Dick Tracy or Superman if we were lucky.
Jangling trollies, "Hoodlums" Ma called em, pulling electric sprockets off
The aerial line as the trolly rounded Rogers Avenue.
Paul Chilcott, Roger Scott, Gerard Meyers.
Did I do my homework for tomorrow?
The stinking barn on East 28th Street where we pulled
Drags on Chesterfields and played Caught-Caught Ringaleveo and punchball
On the dirt side of the old barn.
Eggies no halvsies and aggies and yo-yo's and 'territory'
With a big fat pen knife.
Flipping cards in the afternoon: Ralph Branca, Gil Hodges, Pee-Wee Reese.
Vic Rachi was hard to get -- even though a Yankee.
Pop taking Billy and me to Prospect Park Zoo. Always the seals first.
Had to be back by Four. Sunday dinner was always at Four.
"Pass the bread, Jerry." I threw a loaf to my brother.
Grandma, all eighty pounds of her, quivering in her raspy Sicilian voice,
"Don'ta throw God."
Categories:
franciscan, change, childhood, culture, growing
Form:
Free verse
"Engraved on his tomb in Latin:
Scotland brought me forth.
England sustained me.
France taught me.
Cologne holds me."
Blessed John Duns Scotus
1265 - 1308
_______________
Blessed
theologian, philosopher, logician, realist, professor
entered the Franciscan order at 12 years old
became a catholic priest and Franciscan friar
received a good education at Oxford
known for his metaphysical arguments on God
and his univocity of being and so much more
John, died unexpectedly young at 43 years old
beautified by Pope John Paul II in 1993 to Sainthood
he has left many books and papers still debated today
John Duns Scotus
________________________
March 26, 2022
Poetry/Bio/Blessed John Duns Scotus
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1443-449-26
All Right Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, John Duns Scotus
sponsor, Joe Maverick, Judged 03/28/2022
Fourth Place
Categories:
franciscan, history,
Form:
Bio
In the Franciscan Church,
These bells have rung,
As we speak in tongues
Tonight, we sing
To this ivory moon
Categories:
franciscan, imagination
Form:
Free verse
She lived the kind of life she always wanted to
like a lion out of cage fierce and always good
full of laughter, she was an arrow built straight
and like the ocean she poured out salty water
but, made you fast belong
She was never afraid to love you with both arms
detesting lies and cheaters, she said it like it was
her Faith was bigger then a mustard seed and God?
always first on her list it was written in her bible creed
yes , she was fair and strong
She was born on Christmas Eve beneath Franciscan sky
lived to be a ripe old age until he claimed her as his own
This Christmas the church bells won't be ringing loud,
she's nestled in His stable wrapped safely in His shroud
RIP mom, you are my song.
Dedicated to my mom who past away in August of this year.
December 14, 2018
Sponsor: John Lawless
Contest : Let'er RIP
Categories:
franciscan, mom,
Form:
Free verse