Category: christianity

A Broken Lamp Unto My Feet

A Broken Lamp Unto My Feet

I’ve dropped the lamp and broken the glass
Letting the fire come to mass
Leaving the past to be
Etched memory.

Purifying tongues acquire
Jesus Christ. Our Lord’s desire
Brings us more than we require
From the Holy Spirit’s fire.

Walking With the Potter

Walking With the Potter

My friend stands on water
And waves at the waves
Watching water weave with me
Which wetly behaves
As it should in this instance
With fluid resistance
I cry out and call out
And ask for assistance.

His hand clenched my wrist
As my face hit the water
I toss and I twist
but the hands of the potter
have pulled me from slip and surround me.
The world is still turning around me,
Unfocussed until I stop spinning
To stand and embrace this beginning.



On a walking pilgrimage, we washed our clothes by hand
I hurried through the process, but I came to understand
I was cleaning all my clothes so that they didn’t smell,
But I should have cleaned for purity as well.

I wanted to get out the dirt and the grime
Scrubbing away as quickly as I could,
But there was a woman there who would take her time
To clean her clothes the way I knew I should.

Undoubtedly I needed to get the stains out.
That wasn’t questioned in my mind,
The question came when I began to doubt
The cleanliness of clean parts I would find.

The woman cleaned her clothes like I should clean my soul
Letting purity and cleanliness replace
An apathetic nature that spins out of control
choosing “good enough,” instead of gifted grace.

I based this poem on a story Fr. Dave Pivonka told during an episode of Franciscan University Presents.  He writes more on his pilgrimage experience in his book, Hiking the Camino.

Catholic Pickup Lines

Catholic Pickup Lines

Didn’t I see you at World Youth Day?
How about you, me, and a Passion Play?
I always kiss on the lips at the sign of peace.
After shaking hands, we’re supposed to release?

I think the iris’s in your eyes,
Remind me of the little flower.
It only took me 22 tries
Before I found your holy hour.

I need a partner for my marriage prep class,
And since you distract me at mass,
We could get married and stop stalling?
Was my message on your phone your calling?

Wanna call it the March for Wife,
Start a family and be pro-life?
Should I genuflect or stand in line,
‘Cause girl, you look absolutely divine.

Do you have the gift of interpretation?
Or can I whisper sweet nothings in your ear?
Lets start a up a good conversation
Holding theology of your body near.

Was I knocked out by your beauty or slain in the spirit?
I hear you’ve got the gift of tongues, want to share?
I didn’t know my pilgrimage stopped here it’s
Great though to be stuck inside your stare.

We’ll go out after a decade or two
But lets not rush, lets pray this moment lingers.
I forgot my rosary, can I share with you?
You forgot yours? Lets use my fingers.

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Waiting for Signs

Waiting for Signs
(Luke 17:20-25)

Waiting for signs from above
You’re waiting for some dove
To land on your shoulder,
When there’s already a boulder
That’s been moved.
Grooved into history
Making the rest to be

Why do I look for a sign
Waiting for the obvious to be restated,
When the Son already shines
Over an undercomplicated
Heart that I close my eyes to
In hopes that I do
His will and not my own
In the things I’m shown.

“Bring on the lightning
That’s frightening demons!
Bring on the stashes of flashes
You’ve been saving up!”

“Drink My saving cup,”
He point blankly sighs.
The Kingdom’s amidst you
Yet your tongue dries
In waiting
Something you’ve missed
In Eucharist.


I wrote the following poem the weekend before my wife and I started dating.


I smile at the thought of you seeing me
praying poetry
for our relationship to be
led by He
who created both you and me.

I pray that the Spirit’s grace
will lace your thoughts,
trace your skin,
and chill your spine
to intertwine
God alone
with your own
thought’s pace.

Walk towards Him,
and I will walk with you.
Allow His Spirit to wrap you
Clap you in His hands
He understands your need for a blanket,
Thank it,
this warm swarm
in the spirit of prayer
where He traps you, wraps you,
and slaps you
upside the head.

You’re alive.
Rise up from this dead heart of stone
you are not alone.
You’re with God.

You and He are now We,
and I see you two
singing and Dancing together
whether or not you notice me thinking
“So this is your drinking the spirit,”
How beautiful to be near it
that spirit that she sits and emits
by saying yes.

How beautiful it is to be near you.
whether or not you notice the thinking I do,
How beautiful it is to be near you.
hear you singing,
bringing His spirit into my ears
as it nears the time
when I’m
going to say yes again
when the spirit in you
will shine on the spirit in me
so that I can’t even see
anything but the spirit of He
who made both you and me.

From Baby

From Baby

Don’t listen to my voice, ‘cause I can’t speak
I’m in amniotic fluid upside down.
I know that if I kick mom here, she’ll leak
I’ll wait though, till we’re driving through downtown.

Up Against

Up Against

Lord, You sing to me and I do not answer
I listen to everyone but you
So I’m a wallflower, not a dancer
Who wishes to sing too.

I stand off to the side and bob my head
Admiring those who can really dance.
I sing only half of a line before it’s dead
On my tongue as I hold my stance.

The lyrics I do know have become garbled,
Intertwined with lines that remind me
My black and white lyrics are now marbled
And blend silently into the wall behind me.

Tempted by Raining BMWs

Tempted by Raining BMWs

God isn’t worried about Money
Because Heaven doesn’t have a hole.
But what if someone drilled through the sun He
Put there and then stole

A stream of gold from heaven’s street.
And left the hole to show his Feat
So everyone on Earth would know
He stole a part of Heaven’s glow.

What would we do with this guy
Who’s taken our thoughts of Heaven to try
And redirect our attention to buy
Sun-beemers that fell from the sky?

We’d let him sell us all sorts of stuff
That we really don’t need anyway.
‘Cause even with more than enough,
Our Freewill would happily pay.

Mass Interruption and Tradition

I hesitate to give my son attention
But he’s tapping on my arm while we’re at Mass
I quickly think, “what type of intervention
Do I need to do to help this moment pass”.

Surprised I hear my son so softly say
Non-sensicals that slowly whisp away.
He points up to the altar while his speech
Lands in a language slightly out of reach.

My son just chose to share an explanation,
A mimicry of how I’m passing on
The beauty that’s caught up in revelation,
In tradition handed down after we’re gone.

I wonder if he knows what he is saying
As he whispers sounds of nothing in my ear
And though it’s simply one son’s way of playing
I know tradition’s setting in right here.