Rusty’s Comminutor

Rusty runs the comminutor,

A kid who grew up with no tutor.

Thrilled with the scatological:

“God uses it ALL - that’s all too logical!”

Chuckle and loosen your belt buckle,

He’s wealthier now than your rich uncle.

Between errands and jobs - his first: 

The solid waste must be dispersed.

“Hey Rusty,” his radio cracks,

“You’re needed up front: check the grate racks.”

From the seat of his stool he springs,

Tools to loosen the clog he brings.

It’s a steady job the world over; paid

Regular pay plus overtime, it’s made

Rusty realize the importance 

Of work done well - an inheritance

To partake in the noble and great:

“Ora et labora” from eight until eight.

It’s true he’s not the most learned,

But believes to be the most blessed.

Working for the Lord’s glory; next the boss;

He’s never doubted who’s carried the bigger Cross.

Gary Edward Geraci

The Civility of Uncivil Speech

Is political

Correctness civility?

Nazi Germany!

- Gary Edward Geraci

These Names of Two (Barzelletta)

    (In gratitude to Dr. A Joseph Armstrong and Mary Maxwell Armstrong)

By Barrett-Browning, Baylor U.

Now houses works in Waco T.

Both raised in England, poetry

Would elevate these names of two.  

For first they’d found in wedded glee,

To health and child till death does part.

Love lit, flight, whisked to Italy,

New name, new fame, real risks to start.

One son, heir, “Pen” to pen and chart,

Keeps right, but writes no will. Who knew?  

Both raised in England, poetry

Would elevate these names of two.  

And blessed be the buying spree,

The move, the building, now the art

In faith serves Christianity.

Where guided tours, flipped housing starts,

By Chip and Jo; their gifts their smarts,

Brings thousands to this city new.  

By Barrett-Browning, Baylor U.

Now houses works in Waco T.  

- Gary Edward Geraci

The Politics of Peace

“What was he thinking?” 

Peace starts with an encounter.

Both open to Grace.

Gary Edward Geraci

Admitting to Mystery

it’s ok

not everything

is to be explained 

away

our brains

better than beasts’

but still 

finite

limits to 

what can be known

still exist

the infinite

not quite fitting 

into the space 

we have

created for it

- Gary Edward Geraci

Gallant Men

We have come here from the fringes,

Mixed lineages: some less, some great;

Our Father wants the best for us;

One accord, pact - congratulate!

Each one counted among the best,

Regardless his status or caste;

Our Father wants the best for us;

Royalty, concord to amass!

Children wrought all over again,

Schooled in manners and chivalry.

Men, manly and with charity,

Taught to treat others cheerfully!

Trained knights; a noble retinue,

Take nights to rest and days to play;

Our Father wants the best for us;

Born, bred to show others the Way!

“Music for the Royal Fireworks”

Handel did in chamber and court;

Our life’s work to so inspire

Mother Mary our Queen Consort!

Our battle array not lacking;

Saint Michael’s mass and legions;

Unrivaled blistering brawn,

These Christians among religions!

Our Father wants the best for us,

Makes new and knows all arrangements,

Known before we knew our mother’s womb;

Christ, the gift of our engagements!

-Gary Edward Geraci

Miss Stockholm

Barren trees loom along these highway pastures,

Curled and knurled, knots of fruitless branch mass,

Laid to waste in open fields of grass and prickly cactus;

Entangled plastic, decaying bags blowing apart, caught.

Twisting and insisting for thirty years.

Your form was the ideal, the idol, the standard.

Yet one that one couldn’t quite come to grasp.

“Miss Stockholm” both a syndrome and a sin

Whom could do no wrong even as she did

Every kind of wrong. Yet I idolized, one after the other;

Many pretty faces funneled into 

Pools of turbid, muddy water; merely a poor

Reflection of that which I could only hope

To possess in the infinite eternity of heaven.

Lord show me! Lord help me! Lord lead me!

You! The author of authentic Love; take me to something

Crystal clear and pure; more than the myriad 

Counterfeit phantasms; feint illusions now laying arid 

This empty wasteland where furrowed and fertile fields 

Were meant to multiply and stretch skyward; watered in Love.

-Gary Edward Geraci