Saturday, October 19, 2019

a day on the beach with my wife...



Pelicans dive, hovering over red flag surges, 
the surf surges, and breeze speeding pelicans 
searching, search then dive, one flailing and falling 
in and out of the murky green wave that closes 
in on it, while closer to shore a huddle 
of (gray, white, and black) seagulls sense from afar, 
surveying the sand for, a crumb of the salty Saltine 
cracker to fall from that person’s lips, screaming 
and prattling for even second chances to secure 
such a morsel, smithereens of a snack, 

while stiff, cooler winds propel the sunlit 
kites of nearby kite surfers, a smattering 
of souls laughing, smiling, and waist deep swimming, 
trying to train their boards, long depth rudder equipped, 
into the waves, while drifts of dried sand spray along 
the sandy wetted beach surfaces with fine 
powdery plumes and lines of swift smokey trails 
and a sand castle artist buckets and waters his grains, 
seeding God’s ideas with his own creations, 
forming shapes, his three daughters on Styrofoam 

surfboards, every now and then fetching buckets 
of water for this, his emerging work, proving 
to be too windy for the kite surfers, 
they pack up and go home, while the pelicans 
keep working the surf just beyond the realm 
of human activity and an electric sand 
scooter like skateboard swifts by, while a lone 
man sets up a lawn chair and a bait bucket 
and tries throwing a baited line with a gloved hand 
into the same surf that the pelicans are actively 

fishing, while some others dig holes with shovels 
to the delight of small children whom are fascinated 
with the filling of one hole each time a wave breaks across it, 
while still others scrape the sand for shells, filling 
flitting plastic grocery sacks, and a yellow butterfly 
darts by seemingly swept into this, a continuous 
current of sweeping wind, its direction, a who-knows-where wind, 
and the fisherman hangs it up shortly after 
starting and the pelicans, whom seem to have finally 
been satisfied with the day’s catch, call it quits.

Gary Edward Geraci

Friday, October 11, 2019

“Saint of Unbelievers”

(Celebrating the October 13, 2019 canonization of St. John Henry Newman) 

A break in the sky above, blueness among gray, 
Succeeding, disbelievers now literate. 
A life far removed from the Galilean’s day, 
Like mine. your accomplishments accentuate
Sanctity, a daily life well lived, order. 
Thinking sensible thoughts, full of faith, I could follow. 
In clean streams of insight I could pass them on. your 
Intercession proven, doubts aside, your stead now 


Secured in Heaven, your state, your fate alongside 
The King of Kings.  a new friend of mine, catapulting 
Me heavenwards. i’m minuscule but schooled in stride, 
Expounding, expanding proximities, soon emerging 
Into a choir’s choral chant greeted by melody sung, 
Hurrahing hosts, angelic beings, and saints forever young. 

Gary Edward Geraci

Wednesday, October 9, 2019

Saturday, October 5, 2019

Piqued and Pruned



One continuous struggle 
to maneuver around 
this constant conniver:
a conniving woman,
my piety her target; 

her inquiry: to 
prove my unholiness,
the secularity 
of my ministry: that 
of a “mangy donkey!”

(True.) Contempt for bearded 
masculinity too; she 
embellishes the emotional, 
embroiders the fake;
my human defects, foibles, 

and frailties magnified
she cherishes and prizes,
critical of the means: 
His Cross, His Gospel. So
forgive her Lord for she knows

not what she is doing.
Today I eat spoiled food:
active mortification
for those whom have no choice
and yet I still consume You,

hiding behind the accidents
of bread and wine, in the 
same way anyone else
in the world can do whom,
piqued and pruned, still believe.

Gary Edward Geraci

“And all who want to live piously in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution.” 2 Timothy 3:12-13

Free Speech

“Speech Locked Up
Without Trial!”
The headline

Blares; Banned! One’s
Social posts
Pulled. Content

Not found. Blocked!
Shut out, you’ve
Been confined.

Gary Edward Geraci