Tag: catholic

Catholic Pickup Lines

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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

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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
Unsatisfactory.

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
Underrating
Something you’ve missed
In Eucharist.

(Breathe)

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

(Breathe)

I smile at the thought of you seeing me
praying poetry
for our relationship to be
gracefully
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.


http://www.bonjourpoetry.com

Up Against

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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.

Mass Interruption and Tradition

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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.

http://www.bonjourpoetry.com

Jesus and Cornflakes

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My son was eating cornflakes
And I took a flake or two.
This random act of playful theft,
Led contemplation through

A chain of thoughts that circumvent
My normal cornflake thinking
My thought pattern might represent
A drunkard ‘midst his drinking.

My tongue curled inside my mouth
Scraped the caverns of my bones
Starting North and heading south
To flick for food in pearly stones.

Then pressed against the molar
In the back most leftest corner
Sweeping Closest to the solar
Where Christ remains adorner

The food bits flick on out
With Creator from a crater
To the front of my closed mouth
Was my Lord I’d saved for later.

Heaven-Scent Steubenville

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Undoubtedly, there’s something in the air.
The scent of which was sent to twitch your nose
Old factories there have olfactory flair
So that must be the stench, you suppose.

Now let me reveal the truth of the deal,
The stink and why we live near it.
Once you know, there’s much more appeal
Since the smell is the Holy Spirit.

Of all the scents that God perused
For His person without body
This strange new smell leaves us confused
‘till wisdom make us oddly

Okay with the stink in the morning.
With understanding, we realize
His morning breath’s adorning
Our Steubenville’s sun rise.

An Early Morning Hour

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My mind’s wandering too much
I blink slowly and squinch my eyes
The air is wet upon the touch
The pew feels humid, I realize

My mind is wandering again,
Did you have something to say?
I had things on my mind when
I stopped to talk today.

Imagining Manna

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I imagine bread falling from the sky.
Oh Manna, that would be awesome.
Reaching out to raining rye
As angels simply toss ‘em

Out of the giant bread boxes up there.
What if it drizzled soda bread or Naan?
Maybe sticky buns would fill the air
As humidity, until the grain was gone.

The light of the moon’s on a crescent roll
That falls down with bagels and yet
I’ll venture out for a midnight stroll,
Dodging croutons and sliced baguette.

Every time that it’s graining outside
We’d see bread putting on a show.
But what if we solely relied
On flakes of bread falling like snow.

Elevation

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Weathered hands held a white circle of bread,
A papery wafery piece of this world,
But there through transubstantiation was instead
The flashpoint of eternity unfurled.

This form He chose is humble and plain,
Bringing me a moment’s circumspection.
How can this qualitatively contain
The suffering, death and resurrection?

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