Long Franciscan Poems
Long Franciscan Poems. Below are the most popular long Franciscan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Franciscan poems by poem length and keyword.
The Orphan
At a time a young mother and her secrets knew,
that a infant boy in her life where counted days in few.
A priest helped her to put the child into an orphanage he knew,
a Saint Franciscan home with facilities for boys to learn and grow.
The little boy and his energy got quick the nickname Rumpelstiltskin,
stumping the ground and crying the anger to bitter tears on chin.
The school had a soccer team and the ball became his workout,
given his young years the challenges to control about.
He became the captain of the team and learning was easy picking,
his shores in kitchen duty kept another talent clock ticking.
At the age of 15 they put him into a chef apprentice,
giving his energy level room for the heat ascendants.
He felt that the alchemy of food is the element of his magic,
still playing soccer to keep in touch with that static.
The years went by from kitchen to kitchen in many lands,
hoping to take that good of knowledge into own business hands.
The temperature for the natural nourisher in perfect sense,
created underlying purposes not quiet applicable hence.
The spirit fire raised its procedure to be of service on a different plane,
and provided projection of people and philosophies the same.
Years in seclusion of studies turned the frustration into meanings,
giving the spiritual fire the poetic nourishing leaning.
Today his cauldron provides those foods for thoughts,
where past lives tragedies become the clarity of deep talks.
O Blessed Virgin Mary, our Lord's servant-- so humble
Hearing your Seven Sorrows makes my heart almost crumble
I wish to imitate your loving prayers (and not mumble)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Virgin Mary, humble servant of the Lord, was
open to His every word and call. She was embraced by
Francis with indescribable love and declared the
protectress and advocate of his family. The Secular
Franciscans should express their ardent love for her by
imitating her complete self-giving and by praying
earnestly and confidently. "
(THE RULE OF THE SECULAR FRANCISCAN ORDER, #9)
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
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
It was a crisp day October 27th 1942
that's when my pop set out for WW11
right after my grandmother Nona
gave birth to my dad orders arrived
his job assignment was to protect the
priest arch bishops and future Pope's
being captured and killed for their
religious belief safety guarded in
Saint Sebastian church in Rome
the actual sight where Saint Sebastian
was arrowed to death I adore my military
family my husband saved Pow's during Vietnam
two uncles served and now my granddaughter
the history of thee armed forces within my
family is quite a treasure my pop protected
Pope Benedict and stood side by side
Pope Saint John XX111 1944 during
the Victory after liberating Italy he would
often shed tears about the mafia in America
with Al Capone how they actually portrayed
all Italians as criminals left a sore spot for my
own great grandmother born Mason Vicentino
all of pop's letter from war read somewhere
in Italy Apo New York my Pop died at 97 years
old clutching this photo of Arch bishop Pope
Saint John XX111 he made me swore on his
death bed to protect it from the mafia hoodlums
so it would stay in the hands of the Vatican
sadly Mafia hoods broke into my home trying
to retrieve the photo without success I'd copied
it several times sharing with the Knights of Columbus
the Abby of Monks the Franciscan sisters Arch Bishop
most Reverend Cardinal Francis George of Chicago
of course storing the original for safe keeping
and Honor for the sake of his sorrowful passion
over Saint Peters Square Di Vatican in Rome
my Roman heritage Somewhere in Rome I'm home
"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
You founded the Franciscan Order.
I was with you.
You gave up wealth.
You stood naked before the world.
You called God your Father.
You could have been rich.
Instead, you chose poverty.
You begged for food.
You rebuilt broken churches.
You followed the voice of Heaven.
O Pope Leo XIV,
what have you learned from him?
He was once a soldier.
He fell ill.
He changed forever.
He sold all he had.
He walked with the poor.
He taught us that wisdom
is born in poverty.
We still hear your voice, Francis:
"Make me an instrument of your peace..."
Your prayer travels across the world.
It reaches Gaza.
It cries in Ukraine.
It whispers in Congo, Libya, and Sudan.
You asked for love where there is hate.
For hope where there is despair.
For light where there is darkness.
For joy where there is sorrow.
You lived humility.
You loved creation.
You forgave your enemies.
You carried peace like a cross.
Even now,
your spirit moves through time.
It sits upon our hearts.
It shows us the way.
Teach us again, O Saint,
how to be human.
Evening settles along San Antonio’s River Walk
where the river has carried centuries~
Payaya canoes gliding through reeds,
Franciscan friars mapping water to mission,
stone masons shaping banks
that would one day cradle a city.
The water moves with its old patience,
green and unhurried,
bearing the memory of every hand
that once depended on its flow.
Cypress roots clutch the earth
the way they did long before
the first chapel bells rang.
Bridges replace where footpaths once wound.
Boats slip past,
their lights shimmering like stories
recalling river foraging,
and irrigation lifelines
I feel how the river gathers every era~
Indigenous footsteps,
mission bells, and
modern dusk~
The place seems almost sacred,
not through grandeur,
but through the
quiet and faithful way
it keeps passing moments
in the curve of its water.
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"
she's more
angora since
she sheared off
her locks but since
i've lost the key and so
certain doors must remain
closed as if off season for reasons
that only monthly disagree so i seem
to see but by the blood of christ i drink
and of the host
the body I barely
eat enough of a piece
of wafer to taste the holy
ghost let alone feel him moving
me to do anything filled with apathy
of the meaningless meant for minions
forgiving their forgiveness to be blessed
may i suggest since thinking one day to be a
Franciscan monk
that one must speak
the unspeakable mind
and then maybe then you
may find the talkative and so
provocative words whispered in
your ear's mind that seem to be unkind
but everytime you pass a blooming rose take
the time and do not pass without smelling the Goddess
Form: