Heart of Flesh

Hard-shelled like hard shellack, a hardened short 

Shackle so loosely but firmly surrounding 

This my heart of stone. If I should bemoan 

I don’t feel love, if I should mourn the lack of 

Union with my God, certainly I would 

Appeal to this lead weight, it’s several inches 

Thick, it encapsulates it; it’s wooden-like 

But a deadweight - a weight that suffocates. 

Wouldn’t it be better if it would just fall?

Peel off by layer, or better yet break; 

A barrier I would have severely 

Fashioned, clearly now, with sins of vices: 

Haughtiness and soaring pride; pushing my 

Way, ever my will at every turn! 

Ah the weight of it dear Lady of Montserrat.

I’m trapped, snatch me from this encampment of 

Concupiscence; this encasement of 

Irascibility: a double scourge of 

Kryptonite!  If it takes a whole life, 

From night to day, I’ll wait for this shield to 

Fall; to fall for good and finally reveal,

Dear Lady of Montserrat, 

A real soft beating, loving heart of flesh.

Gary Edward Geraci

Where is Truth?

true, pure Truth does not

need to be coerced it needs

only to be found 

Gary Edward Geraci

How to Lie with Euphemisms

“Reproductive health”

Yet for the baby it’s death 

Your choice: “health” or death

Gary Edward Geraci

Good Friday

Cold, sick in blackness,

In God’s name what have we done?

Left naked, alone.

-Gary Edward Geraci

Soil, Water, and Grass

Shane Hanes trades wares for profit but gifts it all to charity,

While Tom Mot and Dan now own ‘Top Pot Growers of Cannabis.”

Unlike the hooded monks who sell ale but inhale only Kempis,

The friars free grow coffee, hops, and tea in community.

Brothers whom live with vows and with strict austerity,

Where it’s state legal, but a crop of mendicant hemp is

Likely to make enemies of those loyal to Saint Francis

Who was once tasked to rebuild the Church and free her of heresy.

Freedom to choose and too how much to use,

What is pure Passion but to give up excess pleasure?

For to rise I must first die - let us not confuse

The changing tides with that which one alone must peruse.

Formed in Spirit and in His image we hold truth and treasure:

Souls of soil, water, and grass there is that which God did so infuse.

-Gary Edward Geraci

A Sign

the miracle is

there’s still a scratch on my arm

two weeks ago since 

I tried to pray it away

the wound a sign that I live

Gary Edward Geraci

Paradelle Subdivisions

Mary. She presents a mute baby boy to the wearied shepherds.

Mary. She presents a mute baby boy to the wearied shepherds.

A priest hoists a leavened host consecrated to the congregants.

A priest hoists a leavened host consecrated to the congregants.

Mary, she hoists a priest; presents a consecrated, leavened host

To the mute shepherds; a wearied baby boy to the congregants.

Both God, differing only by their accidents, their extensions.

Both God, differing only by their accidents, their extensions.

Every naysayer, doubter; that’s a lot, we have a Saint to count.

Every naysayer, doubter; that’s a lot, we have a Saint to count.

Doubter, naysayer, both by lot have God; count their extensions their

Accidents: we count a lot.  That’s differing to only a Saint.

Rain driven, sun dried, wind blown and grain harvested by human hands.

Rain driven, sun dried, wind blown and grain harvested by human hands.

Work. Work gathering all the pieces to be formed into round bread.

Work. Work gathering all the pieces to be formed into round bread.

Bread to be formed, human work: dried driven hands, harvested pieces.

All sun, rain, and blown wind by Work round grain into the gathering.

Congregants gathering, consecrated to Mary by the priest.

Work a boy to count the shepherds’ hands: the host to be driven ‘round.

A Saint hoists mute, grain harvested leavened bread formed into God! We

Dried naysayer rain; every doubter into pieces, blown and 

Wearied.  A Baby She presents! Their accidents, their extensions,

All that’s a lot to have, differing only by Wind Work; a Sun!

• Gary Edward Geraci