Best Padre Poems
He slept under the No Parking Sign, newspapers for a coat.
The doctors said he was long gone.
I believe that they misspoke.
He wandered to and fro at night for he was scared to death of sun.
They gave him electric shocks few times.
Should have given him a gun.
Never was one for a bath was partial to the drink.
Jacket dirty and made of fur.
He thought it was a mink.
Few times he sung around the fire whenever he had some cash.
They passed the wine back and forth.
Was found beneath some trash.
The funeral wasn't prim or proper, his brother hadn't funds.
The tears were shed by the priest.
His father was his blood.
Categories:
padre, death, faith,
Form:
St. Padre Pio
Through emmense silence amidst the swell of violence
Take Good care of those he loves;
In certain strange ways in curiosity
With human love one can learn to equate
Yet for Padre Pio's case;
He had found a love out of a devine source;
In closed minded attributes some err' to escape/
A game in life can't ever be repeated;
A glaciar peak or some coliseum ever heavy seated
When words are not enough expressed
St. Padre Pio knew what mattered best
In solace he rested like most;
Like a lost seagull flying ever higher off the coast
Chosen vestibules in columns of gold then rolled
St. Padre Pio believed the love of God is inseparable from suffering
The suffering of all things for the sake of God was the way to the soul
His entire appearance looked altered
Through the agony his exposed body felt incapable of living
Suddenly an urge of silence then a stated state of forgiveness
Padre Pio knew the way to live by which to forgive/
With delicate lines being drawn in the sand
Hopefully someday all will understand?
A page has been turned another bridge not to be burned,
To dream amidst the common swell
Barbed wire fences & ancient glow
Shaded scrolls & parchment beds
In delicate images throughout his head
To treasure a red rose that had been plucked a time ago
In certain corridors aware of his presence an offering
Within light of daybreak a swallow would often fly overhead
Shadows bent while shelter lies dormant onto its beckoning call
A pull at the heart will light a spark in time
To greet the great Padre Pio
Categories:
padre, adventure, angst, art, black
Form:
Blank verse
COPLA UNO: This Bad Guy World - in all seriousness
[The entire sequence of 114 coplas: “This Bad Guy World”, dedicated to Jorge MANRIQUE, 1440?-1479. I give here in translation his third “copla à pied quebrado” in Arte Menor metre:
“Coplas a la muerte de su padre” (Coplas on the death of his father) -
Our lives are like rivers
that empty into the sea
……..where we expire:
There the lordly peers
come to their final spree
……..and no more transpire;
There gushing rivers swell
and others less imposing
……..and the rivulets
All arrive at the same sea level
those who toil with hands living
……..and the fortunates
Translated, December 2013, Paris by T. Wignesan
Categories:
padre, bereavement, extended metaphor, grief,
Form:
Elegy
There he stood in the
garden,a gentle fellow
with glowing gown;
radiating glory.
His countenance was
that of an Angel,
The Padre of old St
Anthony.
As I approached him,he
gave me a warm.
Then he told me why he
came to the mission,the
mission in old St Anthony.
We knelt down to pray,I
thanked the Lord for a
man such as this.
Then the chapel bells
the rang,I heard a
voice"child it is time."
I looked,lo saw I a fiery
figure beckoning him to
heaven.
He stood up and looked
at me with tender love in
his eyes.
Then I knew this man
was an Angel,the Padre
of old St Anthony.
With joyous heart,I left
the vicinity of old St
Anthony.
Categories:
padre, allegory, angel, christian, devotion,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I'm holding in my anger
Knowing I'd die to be the strangler
Of his sour-little coward-brittle throat
I'm just mad not literal
But when your dad's a criminal
There's a minimal amount of father hope
It doesn't bother me no,
But it keeps haunting me so
I will keep wandering not knowing where to go
No Padre in my home
What an odd-way to be grown
I guess God made me to be alone.
While you and your dad are sittin fishin
I'm visitin my dad in prison
My only mission is too inform you what you're not missin
Because while your parents are laughing and kissin
I'm starin havin to listen to my dad share his caring "wisdom"
Categories:
padre, father, feelings, hurt, jealousy,
Form:
Rhyme
He engraved her silhouette
Into his memory
Baby Girl
Grasped her tightly
Hands on her shoulder blades
To feel her wings
And he let go.
Categories:
padre, father, life,
Form:
Free verse
"Padre Mio"
by Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto
My father: all he wanted was a little,
Just a little, peace & quiet.
The War, that so-called "Good War,"
Had given him neither. And afterwards,
The peace & quiet he sought
Was mainly for his turbulent, disquiet mind.
No longer blowing up bridges, or killing Nazis,
He spent his post-war years in the building trades,
Employed by The Brothers Levitt—
Shrewd, Semitic Kings of Suburbia--
Leading the single-family housing boom.
He earned our daily bread
Hammering nails & sawing two-by-fours,
The Construction Site: far from quiet dawn to dusk,
Creating daily new acoustic trauma,
Canceling out all hope of either peace or quiet.
Given the cutthroat competition for jobs,
He learned a new kind of stress, as more &
More vets--soldiers & survivors like him--
Coming home, anxious to get on with the
Business of life, scrambled for paychecks.
He also learned sarcasm, his cynicism
Masking a failure to cope with Cold War hysteria.
And then out of nowhere came labor saving,
Electric tools, like the Skill saw, LORD OF CACOPHONY.
Decibels: whining, screeching & shrill.
No Quiet. No Peace.
Categories:
padre, angst,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Anon! The shadow chilled, mimikri and frosted with domineering dogma.
Thou wast trying escape and melt with thy magna carta.
The shadow was asking thee about crossroad and miniatur epic.
Who always doth fighting versus tyrannical peasant of lingua sacra?
Nay! The shadow given the souls and was sparkling in purgatory, but the light is so poor.
Accepted the unfathomable ferocity,
yearning all the while as patriacal era?
Aberrant behavior is chalked forth to tradition by robbed some of its faith, aroint thee!
Canonized the triumphant for dram of science or saint paramilitia?
Neither of these seems as blurring and ambigu answer.
Why should not members of the holy
suffering paranoia?
The shadow already blended patriach rebels, prithee!
His eyes twinkled criptically as luminated magenta and elegia.
The shadow built antedates canonization and say, "God-den Padre, gramercy!"
He goes through on his hurlyburly journey and ever reflected pareidolia.
Five beldams ate many doits, flying in the dunnest sky.
The shadow was striking tabor, unyoke, hasta la vista!
Categories:
padre, character, imagery,
Form:
Qasida
A father sees his son, and feels
New heart of fire and eyes of steel.
Blossoming boy looks to the man,
Begins to take life in his hands.
Once soft young lad, quest now begin,
Away from hearth and to the Sun.
Blistering Sun hardens pale skin,
Taut sinews of the man begun.
To guide, to lead, to elevate,
The man helps form the young boy’s fate.
To survive, thrive, and to provide,
And build a home with warmth inside.
Emerging man he must help mold,
Yet delicate a soul he holds.
All is not fire and tempering;
The young man’s heart should learn to sing.
There must be some of eagle and dove
To pass along fatherly love.
A father who can reach inside
Can embrace this with love and pride.
3/12/16
Categories:
padre, father son, growing up,
Form:
Quatrain
He just laid there, ignoring us all
Hibernating like a “lost Boy”
Colorless, like the breath that used to be
He looks like no one I’ve seen
Eyes on him, judging, mocking, loving
Mine were in disbelief, cold, numb
I quit on the greatest show of all
Pup tents in my heart
Not for me, so my sibling wasn’t alone
Tear ducts, barren and dry
I love her, I loved him
We’re products of my father’s demise
Glanced over at the human shell
Realizing my father left two days ago
His soul gone to who knows
I was looking at my reflection
Categories:
padre, death
Form:
Free verse
Mary Six Pack Pistols staggers through time portals drunk
Pretending to be a priest but she is not a mister or a sister
To the old west saloon through double doors she glides
Drunker than a nun on steroids swinging rosaries from her side
Into a smoke filled room in rusty spurs and fake mustache
Presenting herself as a monsignor from another time and place
Cowboy boots caked in mud with love she blesses them
Introducing her two guns from underneath a long black dress
It is a curtain, a robe, a nun inside a habit for blasting baddies
There must be a shower outside which indicates a storm
The spittoon in the corner of the room needs emptying
She feels the weight of outlaws in her midst
From here to there the crowd looks innocent
But Padre knows better so shoots them all to death
To kingdom come and back again through the chest
Through time corridors we suspect they must be dust
Mary Six Pack says a prayer and drinks some holy water
From a whiskey bottle in another time dimension soaking wet
Then returns from there to here less sober and less blessed
Charged with a misdemeanor for impersonating a monsignor
Categories:
padre, conflict, death, murder, sin,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
The boy, the padre and the abbess.
The padre hung in the bell fry the boy didn’t know
at the time, the padre was his father; this once proud man
reduced to a pathetic shadow of himself.
The old woman, he didn’t call her mother, told him before
she died of a tragic love story.
When the abbess was young, she was swiftly sent away
when returning, she was pale and drawn and spent her life
in prayers and meditation, asking God’s forgiveness.
She had sinned, but the truth had to be a hidden mystery.
With the help of her God, her sin was seen as an apparition
A dream she once had.
For the padre who had lost his faith, it was cumbersome
he was a man of flesh and blood and with nothing
to hold on to took to drank, sitting in his sacristy drinking
late in the night towards dawn.
He used to go and watch the boy play in the garden
and thought of taking the boy away drive to another
town get a job; looking at his white hands, asked
who wants to employ a former priest, and anyway
he lacked the strength of resolve.
He stopped walking past where the boy lived
the old woman stopped him, thought people might
see and draw the wrong conclusion.
When the boy knew this, he was 19 years old with
a dead father and a mother hid in the holy
spirit of the catholic faith, he sold the old woman’s
house, left the town to seek the meaning of his life.
Categories:
padre, absence, birth, break up,
Form:
Free verse
The Loss of Faith
Fated priest when he walks in front of a funeral
procession his gait is often wobbly, says it is stiff
joints; smells of aftershave lotion and brandy.
Lost his faith years ago, in the night his prayer
echoes in the village church.
Thinks it his fault that god has left him in a vacuum
of disbelief a penance for not having a total godly
deference. In his dreams he meets god who speaks
in a language he doesn´t understand; he wakes up
bedroom bleak, and the voice of god has gone.
He says as Jesus once did, why have you forsaken me?
Has a brandy goes back to a restless sleep.
And there is no peace as sexual needs takes over,
actions he will not abide. Morning and he is thankful.
Routines of the day someone has died, funeral service,
and a woman who wants confess her banal sins,
he murmurs prayers, waits for god to answer why he
has lost his faith, but there is only silence.
Categories:
padre, confusion, depression, devotion, faith,
Form:
Blank verse
The boy, the padre, and the abbess.
The padre hung in the bell fry the boy didn’t know
at the time, the padre was his father; this once proud man
reduced to a pathetic shadow of himself.
The old woman, he didn’t call her mother, told him before
she died of a tragic love story.
When the abbess was young, swiftly sent away
when returning, she was pale and drawn and spent her life
in prayers and meditation, asking God’s forgiveness.
She had sinned, but the truth had to be a hidden mystery.
With the help of her God, her si, seen as an apparition
A dream she once had.
For the padre who had lost his faith, it was cumbersome
he was a man of flesh and blood and with nothing
to hold on to take, drank, sitting in his sacristy,
drinking late in the night towards dawn.
He used to go and watch the boy play in the garden
and thought of taking the boy away and to another
town get a job; looking at his white hands, asked
who wants to employ a former priest, and anyway
he lacked the strength of resolve.
He stopped walking past where the boy lived
the old woman stopped him, thinking people might
see and draw the wrong conclusion.
When the boy knew this, he was 19 years old, with
a dead father and a mother hid in the holy
spirit of the catholic faith, he sold the old woman’s
house, left the town to seek the meaning of his life.
Categories:
padre, 8th grade, angst, animal,
Form:
ABC
Father I am here
As I have never in my exsistence have left your sight
You have tood there to my eyes unseen
And I have forgotten about You
The love You have for us all, I amaze at for it is Great
As I have been walking around with open eyes, I went on blind
Yet the reason I fell not, was because Your love kept me from death
The tide rises just like dreams and all are forgotten just like the little things in the world
Love isn't what it was once
Today reflects more in yesturday
And tomorrow is nothing but fear
I stand strong to my feet
The future comeswith or without me
But my life ends with me
In Your hands I put my espiritu
Padre mio
Amen
Categories:
padre, love,
Form:
Free verse