Brewed Black Coffee

Slow Rise tone, iPhone alarm, toned out, 

By owl hoots first thing this morning at 6 o’clock, 

And not one minute past.  

Coffee and an old long sleeve pajama 

Shirt with a pocket to 

Carry compartmentalized curative 

Medication to the Kuerig, 

Situated and stitched with a logo 

That used to be cool many years ago, 

Now just good for cool mornings 

While these high, tree dwelling, dueling, sonorous, 

Echoing owl hoots sort of pray in their own, 

Please me way; making rhythmic, non-written-treatises 

Of who, who, ah-who, hoooo would have heard 

A humility prayer in the midst 

Of it for hacks and crooks; hooters and looters too? 

Hoo. Hoo, hoo. Who doesn’t despise all those 

People tooting their own horns nowadays?  

I look up to a picture of Mary 

With a hand gesture to the Lord baby Jesus 

And I feel that all is well, the sound of 

Great horned owls in the morning air; 

Balancing a cup of brewed black coffee 

Back to the command room where another 

Day of waged war against the horned devil 

Will begin with precise assaults and 

Persevering persistence; a loving 

Gift at prayer time from a small, undeveloped 

Wooded area; proof of His affection.

- Gary Edward Geraci

Green Apples

Seen by a few or seen by all

Three online now; answering the call.

The ripples, the rapples, the seed does fall

Forth; soon bearing green apples.

Electric shop-cart shopping on the rise,

Same mission message; what a surprise!

Landscapes have changed but the harvest supplies

More abundant green apples.

- Gary Edward Geraci

That thing that you do with your hands...

                               You’re

                               Never

                               Alone

               Just look into your candle

               Look at the flame. Now be

               Convinced that there are 

                              At least

                            Ten others 

                            Doing the

                               Same.

                 - Gary Edward Geraci

A Poet’s Preces

How might I write that will glorify You today?

I’m praying for four stanzas.

Assemblage of right might; bright light to show them along.

Prodigal not prodigy, the instrument dull:

“Lead the way!”

Plastic coffee cup lids littered from passing cars,

Spin and cartwheel down the street,

Look like many, mini Skil saw blades to avoid.

Pleading; please! To go deep within. Touch, gush forth Love.

The news: scars!

Leaves peppering out of the back of a pickup

Truck look like bullets and mis-

Siles; a volley of them of which I must dodge and

Navigate between if I’m to survive. “God help me -

Take this cup!”

The greatest prayed prayer is “God you are in control!”

A pious poet does pray...

In multitudes of mediums, they’re so varied,

Wise words dull and heal the pain of a world so fallen.

“Save my soul!”

- Gary Edward Geraci

Bas-Relief on Canvas

Paper stains, molds, and rots in plastic bins kept below canvas.

Book binding swelling, sweating; moisture laden under canvas.

Stitching a five finger glove. Love, does it matter what fills it?

Reprobate fish-hands throw baited sea bass onto the canvas.

Raptors; birds of prey – dive-bomb the glass windows, pray twice, while playing a

Base rhythmic beat based on a C bass clef and painting on canvas.

Race with batons now flash drives; gospel missions running on servers.

Digital, underground, superhighways; Paul sailed with sheets of canvas.

Blacklisted whistleblowers barely standing above the rest.

Moral acts of courage; living in tent campers of canvas.

- Gary Edward Geraci