Some pondered ways
to pep-up the pulpit and pew,
but disinterest and ennui won the day.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thunder and sleet
cracked stone, spire, and gable;
neglect, and the cold winds of time
nibbled at arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and mildew weathered to a moldy rot.
Where once the hems of cassocks swept
now mice and spiders rest or nest,
and baby bats roost in the rectory.
There In a dusty belfry
owls hoot and solemnly perch.
Walls crumbling to niche and cranny.
Amid all this spacy ruin
jackdaws lay their speckled eggs,
while in the misty moonlight
homeless angels fan dance
upon feather-light, slinky legs.
Some pondered ways
to pep-up the pulpit and pew,
but disinterest and ennui won the day.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thunder and sleet
cracked stone, spire, and gable;
neglect, and the cold winds of time
nibbled at arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and mildew weathered to a moldy rot.
Where once the hems of cassocks swept
now mice and spiders rest or nest,
and baby bats roost in the rectory.
There In a dusty belfry
owls hoot and solemnly perch.
Walls crumbling to niche and cranny.
Amid all this spacy ruin
jackdaws lay their speckled eggs,
while in the misty moonlight
homeless angels dance
upon feather-light, slinky legs.
Ways to pep up the pulpit and pew,
gave way to ennui.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thundering sky's cracked
stone, spire, and gable;
neglect and cold winds
nibbled at sculptured arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and tree-bones reach.
Where once cassocks swept
mice now nest
while above, priestly owls perch.
Eventually, walls crumbled
into niche and cranny.
Amid the spacy ruin
Jackdaws laid their speckled eggs -
angels fan danced by moonlight.
In the river Jordan
you baptized the people,
some were brood of vipers:
pharisees, sadducees -
hey sanna hosanna,
king Herod you opposed.
You were his prisoner -
his servants cut your head.
In spirit you survived,
bashing black pharisees
even in red cassocks.
White cassock will not save
the one with black soul
and be it the vengeance,
hey sanna hosanna -
just punishment of God.
Football
Football, football what are you in this world?
A piece of bull- hide inflated with hot air
Be not proud, you are inflated with hot lies
Tortured for the pleasure of the powerful
Temples are erected and named in your honor
Millions worship you without any holy book
Fanatics quarrel and break bones in your name
For amusement, humans die as they laugh at you
Football, football an idol of this modern age
Your worshipers wear cassocks and carry chalice
They take oath to almighty FIFA to kick you well
As millions are collected for your condolence fees
Football, football your bishop presides over your pain
Penalizing those who don’t kick you painfully enough
Your agonies are means of happiness for the world
A mere skin full of air, no judge can deliver you justice
Lacy tablecloths
Sweet music
Red ornamental vestments
Gold tapers flickering
Red bound book
A sip of wine
White cowl on red
Bowed heads, folded hands
Ruby wine sipped from chalice
Folded white linen napkin
Genuflecting nodding heads
In pious agreement
Brown robbed friars faces
Cynosure of white ribbed
Black cassocks
Little circle of bread
Piously put on tongues
Again and again
Row upon row to receive
Gold richly decorated tabernacle
The body and blood of our Savior
Needs to be kept
Under lock and key.
There was a warmth in the snow at Christmas time
Earlier we had finished our last class
Steve asked if we were serving during the holidays
I told him I’d see him at Midnight Mass
About a half-hour walk from my house to the church
On a bitter cold Christmas Eve night
Snow was falling kind of heavy
All the streets were white
We were laughing and sliding going down the hill
The road as slick as glass
Steve fell and broke his glasses
Better not be late for Midnight Mass
We put our cassocks on and got ready
Wait for the choir to sing
The lens was in Steve’s pocket
He couldn’t see a thing
Steve went to the altar
Where his candle was to be put
When he went to set it down
He missed the altar by a foot
We finished up the service
About one thirty in the morn
And headed home to celebrate
The day that Christ was born
We were only kids then
How quickly the years do pass
I revive the memory each Christmas
While attending Midnight Mass.