The Cult of the Old

Like that peculiar taste of tap water from

the drink out of a motel room drinking glass

after tearing off the waxed paper wrapper -

I’d likely never see this room or this place

again said my mother to me but being

just a small boy, I felt no sadness -

I’d yet to face the loss or abandonment

of someone or something I really loved -

room keys used to be metal and there was

always a Gideon Bible in the drawer.

- Gary Edward Geraci

Floating on Air

Billowing bright down comforter fluffed and brilliant beam 

Of color rich cleanliness all trace of stain soaked 

And washed away. Crisp and fresh from an outside clothes 

Line like a modern day man who’s just stood up from 

Kneeling before Christ in the confessional. Bleached 

Brite cloud like (white) manes of long linen fuzz fibers

Cotton and woolen (strings) caked no longer in filth 

And putrid things. Is there a greater elation? 

Quite clean, my soul exposed to the forces of power washing nuns and scrubbing friars, 

Now dropping down from a Hercules C-130 flying at 16,000 feet,

Floating back to diseased trees, shriveled shrubs, and infested landscapes with four soldiers,

One on every corner. Beauty is not of the flesh which will be consumed in the 

Grave but of the sweetest soul; (scented), lighter than Downy Dryer sheets; kneeling on

Bench seats before bounding out like wooly dandelion seeds; done like Donne’s conceits.

- Gary Edward Geraci 

Inferno Cafe

Plastic spoons she’s dipping into
Gerber baby Lucas soft food jars; she’s dipping into.

A life of tithing ten percent,
Soaring spiritual reserves succeeding; he’s dipping into.

Parochial school kids playing
Drip-pity drip drop games of “duck, duck, goose;” while dipping into.

Family, do not be afraid;
A fervent studied faith with actions goes dipping into.

By our prayr’ful quiet witness,
Modern nation’s hard, hurt, frightful souls we’re dipping into.

Beards grown out like the Church Fathers,
Anointing balms and scented oils, we too are dipping into.

Silent sit-ins, society sees:
Scissors, suctions, squirming innocents while dipping into.

Breaking the ground and burying vice,
Heavy metal excavators, toothed buckets dipping into.

Deep Jordan, wet, salt water bowls,
Fonts, creeks, and hotel swimming pools the bless’d are dipping into.

The monstrosity of sin, drained,
Christ’s Body and blood, changed, mystically now all dipping into.

Time spent before the Bless’d Monstrance;
Supernaturally touching the time He is dipping into.

Off to Gary’s “Inferno Cafe”
Where the hard, chile con queso isn’t worth dipping into.

- Gary Edward Geraci

“To Speak of Joy That Is in Marriage”

Dedicated to the memory of Mr. & Mrs. Ernest H. Motloch Sr. and their seventy years of marriage.

“Grace, a stile to style a climb over miles of barbed wire

Fence. A small child’s smile for a stable safe home envir’

Ment. A Sacrament meant to bind for life

One man, one woman; a husband and wife;

The root nuclear cell of society.

‘Tis true, red blooded priests dwell in chastity,

‘Cause Christ first loved the Church, a splendid bride.

With tongue, a tungsten vow now ratified,

Ephesians five, the guild and guide: to live,

To love, abide; one flesh, a gift to give.

Break Satan’s attacks and attempts to tempt,

Seventy years later the pope has sent

God’s blessings, parchment plaques - long love lived well,

Demons and devils, damned, destined to hell.”

- Gary Edward Geraci 

Social Media Platforms for the Abstract and Beautiful

Does a poem ever impose?

Or does it simply just propose,

The abstract and beautiful, not just prose.

Like tweets and texts; save me from the throes

Of death; free verse itself – joy outflows.

- Gary Edward Geraci

Raised

I take the Food to feed your flock,

A servant serves beyond the Mass.

In love You move as by a clock,

By motor, plastic, steel, and glass.

To drive my Lord to those bound home,

A round pyx bound around my neck.

A picture map on my smart phone,

A small black book for me to check.

I find your Face shines in the sick,

My hands and feet fix such a feat!

Am I a star that you did pick?

To raise the Body they will eat!

Our Lord, ALL OF YOU, I do bring,

The Second Council has since raised:

A priest, a profit, and a king!

Your greatest glory to be praised!

- Gary Edward Geraci

Dying

This age is dying
The age of reason: seven
The age of hope: now

The Call

Don’t you hear My call?

Where are all the young people?

My grace is for all!