Man of the Cloth

 

Don’t have to do anything:

Try to create it;

Try to fabricate it;

Try to feel it.

Distractions, like startled quail in the bush,

Fly out of nowhere but

The reality still exists.

Like the wetness of a rain shower,

Regardless the fabric of an umbrella, 

What an ordained 

Man of the cloth elevates

Is Emmanuel, God with us;

Now among us 

In body, soul, 

And divinity;

Now glorified.

A real, actual presence 

On our altars,

In our patens 

And chalices;

Body and blood:

Commanded to be taken and eaten.

Gary Edward Geraci

The Bride

 

pant cuffs wet from an extended walk through the cold slush, the odor of struggle and hard times emanated from His person. perhaps, if perceiving 

correctly, this was the type of persona that made you want to secure your things close to your own person. a stranger, i had seen Him only a few times before. 

now He  occupied the pew furthest from the candle that glows for Your Holy Presence, slightly hunched over in the warmth of the church. He stood, He 

sat, and He kneeled to Your Holy Cadence but when it came time to receive You, He remained kneeling seemingly on pained knees while the rest of us walked 

toward the altar. when the Friday celebration concluded we collected our coats and our keys and started for the door when suddenly He yelled “aren’t you 

going to stay for the Stations of the Cross?”, looking directly at us. not recognizing the Bride, consumed with our own plans, i replied “no” and the priest, 

sensing our discomfort, replied “oh yes, the Stations of the Cross, but not tonight.” and we went on our way. as we pulled out of the parking lot i saw the Bride walking 

alone in the cold, shoulders slumped over and my heart ached for missing the cue to spend a few more minutes with Him. and so went the Bride, the Bride of Christ.

Gary Edward Geraci

63 Hours without Power

 

A clay pot heater,

All I’ve got with no power:

The will to survive.

Gary Edward Geraci

Bowled Over

 

Bowled over and bent by progress,

What aches and pains the milieu,

Is ever offered, more and more,

It awards itself a golden statue.

True, flesh chemistry is robbed,

Secondary causes like greed,

Pollution, lack of Love, leave one 

Disconnected and in need.

Yet in all Its simplicity,

Proffered all around the world,

Is Happiness - at Its Root -

For the humbled and curled.

Abandon the menagerie,

That self-sufficient pride,

Let one focus on their telos,

By God is it supplied.

Gary Edward Geraci

He Remembers that We are Dust

(Psalm 103:14)

So soon to shun the illicit?

The sooner the better!

Sins like stones burden hearts,

Sinking depths, places of 

Stark bleakness, unaware 

Of the power to 

Cast away - not mine but His.

Ah, those who’ve never asked, 

Who wouldn’t hope! 

A whole life lived,

Weighted down, sluggish, 

Playing the same loop 

Over and over in the head: 

He never rose,

He never rose,

He never rose.

Gary Edward Geraci