Along the Wooded Edge

 

Conventual, clusters of purple, 

Curvilinear pointed fang pairs;

Communal, petals joining with back 

And front sides differing but in color 

And pattern: variegated faces - round 

Dots, splotchy blotches and striated 

Lines with solid backsides white, white laced 

Rims, one projecting nostril apiece, 

Flared ears and gazing out the glazed glass:

A symphonic round of robins blacken

Tree branches, the rising Sun behind;

A silhouette watching celebration, 

The orchids orchestrate a cheerful 

Contentment known to souls lost in prayer.

Gary Edward Geraci

Work Done Well

 

Purest infant born to

Mary; mother dressed you,

Carried, taught; you blessed her

From a humble manger.

Human growing, loving

Godhead here for saving

Mankind caught in sinful

Acts set through prideful

Habits. Joseph’s workshop

Kept him busy, backdrop

For your constant, mission.

Working, praying, hands on

Helping father earn a 

Noble living, each day,

Building greater virtue.

Knowledge shared by you two

Blessed this household’s family.

Kindness for our Lady

Keeping house and marriage

Holy, poor, but privileged.

Traveled to the Temple,

Mixed with crowds of people,

Asking lots of questions,

Learned, Rabbi sessions.

Lost to parents, three days

Hectic searching; new ways:

Finding Jesus through works:

Student, sweep, and shop clerk.

Honest work is holy,

Slowly done but wholly.

Better part of life foiled?

Nonsense, Son of God toiled!

Gary Edward Geraci

New Bells of San Blas

 

 (For the soul of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) 

If these bells could tell a tale

They’d ring for vessels set to sail

To the sandy shores of California

With stalwart crews of mission men

Led at the helm once again

By the Franciscan, Saint Serra.

A formed conscience must admit

The verity found in the statistic

Revealing to it. Revel!

These bells would tell a tale of brave,

Spanish friars kind to save

Friends; souls sought by the devil.

Truth and Light the elixir

But bitter bells for him or her

To see or hear or find

In modern times: so lost in sin;

Found wanting from within;

Too proud to be of One mind

Much like past times, long gone.

But bigots begone, a new dawn

Begun by priest and lay alike:

Nuns and monks broadcasting far

And wide now heard from afar,

Christ proclaimed in the mic!

While buildings still fall and close

Our Mother, sweet as a rose,

Rises above the din and dust

And builds upon the backs of saints;

With the blood of martyrs she paints

New bells that never rust.

“Her Son is the same today

As when Christ began the Way”

They say, “Kept by the Spirit

And preserved in the Scriptures,

Taught to children with pictures,

And Tradition learned with merit!

“Our voices now amplified,

We ring strong and dignified

And recorded for the airwaves

We sound on multi-media,

Waking souls from acedia,

Freeing sinners and slaves.

“Because of Mother Angelica

Our rings are heard in Africa,

Fewer churches are fighting us,

Many now are joining;

Baptism through anointing,

The Sacraments are a plus!

“Yet Christ still longs for souls

And prayers like smoke from incense bowls;

We’ll toll and tang to attract

And appeal to the appeal to love;

One symbol, the Holy Dove:

Father and Son, bound and wrapt!

“Through the power of transmission

We’ve been given a new mission;

Ringing in new languages,

Reaching ears for the first time;

To their delight, the sublime:

God’s true Church never languishes!”

Enlightenment was just a guise,

It was “Daybreak” in disguise;

That wise men brought a present

(“The Bells of San Blas” but a blur):

Gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh:

Thank Christ, risen and present!

Gary Edward Geraci

Ashli Babbitt

 A hand written sign and a few flowers no 24 hour coverage wrong place wrong time only time will tell just ahead of the tsunami of censorship you took a bullet for your country no parade of lawyers or loud family members domestic terrorism in your crosshairs you advanced for your cause without weapons just your resolve your small frame filled the frame and the officer fired you fell back and you breathed your last pronoun madness a violent abrading of the truth and assault on telos too attacks against the family and natural law you continued to serve country in spite of all its faults and flaws as you lay there dripping in blood your body draped in red white and blue Ashli Babbitt you did what you felt was faithful and true. 

Gary Edward Geraci

Throne

 It seems certain: 

by love; 

by acts; 

by deeds; 

by fruit; 

one’s faith is indeed, 

at least the size of a mustard seed.

It can be disheartening 

when mountains don’t move or 

hillocks or tussocks or molehills.

Petitions: “Lord, let this medicine, this cure, be the one!” do not obtain, 

and I think, it is precisely here, 

among the throng of those full of 

mockery and scorn, we may 

hear His gentle, reassuring voice: 

to resign one’s self; 

to become humble; 

to lie down and exalt 

ourselves on the throne 

of the sick bed; and to know, 

without doubt, it is 

here, in solidarity 

with all of the befallen:

we begin to move mountains.

Gary Edward Geraci

Secondary Causes

 

The prime rib morsels sliced for a thick sandwich 

(To be paired with a slice of Swiss cheese and pickles)

Plummet to the floor where they are trodden 

Under a flip-flopped foot; a few pieces 

Resting along the kitchen baseboard moulding 

Where a generous amount of insecticide 

Had been sprayed just a few months earlier.

The possibility of contamination 

Too real to be ignored, the food no longer 

Fit for human consumption, now food for

The dogs, fodder, or better yet, refuse 

For the receptacle, finds its way into the

Hands of a homeless man who has prayed for

Something to satisfy his rapacious hunger.

Gary Edward Geraci