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Acknowledgments

This book is a collection of Catholic poems. As such, I find myself even more indebted to the Catholic Church, the Church that Jesus Christ Himself built on the undying rock of

St. Peter.

The Church is indeed ever ancient and ever new, and I now draw upon Her abundantly rich treasury of history, culture, literature, and art for use in my own personal devotions,

these Midnight Musings.

Among those servants of the Church that I have found myself most influenced by include G.K. Chesterton and St. Francis of Assisi. My work is filled to the brim with their ideas,

and I am forever grateful to them for their wisdom.

I am also greatly indebted to those of you who have supported me in my writings and works. I cannot thank you all enough; may God bless you!

This text is entirely dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Ave Maria!

The cover image is the work of master painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. Caravaggio’s St. Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy was completed around 1595.

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Table of Contents Midnight Musings…………………………………………………………………………4 A Common Ancestry………………………………………………………………….......5 Until Judgment Day……………………………………………………………………….6 An Upward Fall……………………………………………………………………………7 St. Francis of Assisi……………………………………………………………………….8 On St. Francis and The Cave……………………………………………………………...9 For a Lady………………………………………………………………………………..10 The Little Things…………………………………………………………………………11 In Defense of Leisure…………………………………………………………………….12 Blessed Are You…………………………………………………………………………13 A Ladder to the Heavenly Banquet………………………………………………………14 Dust to Dust……………………………………………………………………………...15 Our Lady of Courage…………………………………………………………………….16 The Barque of St. Peter…………………………………………………………………..17 The Case of Courage……………………………………………………………………..18 There Be Dragons………………………………………………………………………..19

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Midnight Musings I stare at the ceiling and see, like clouds, a collection of living scenes. Stippled and dappled things dance about the page above mine eyes. I lie in bed and dream with eyes wide open, Seeing the ceiling circus dance and sing like winged seraphim. The ceiling is no Sistine Chapel, and I am no Michelangelo. But I now wish I had a long paintbrush or pen To map the heavens above while I rest below.          

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A Common Ancestry I tell a tale of you, a tale of me— A timeworn tale of all humanity. A tale of man and a tale of woman. A tale of Hell and a tale of Heaven. When at once God made our wonderful earth, He found it good and breathed mankind to birth. Thus man was given all things great and small, So long as we obeyed His holy law. Weak as we were, we were charmed by the Snake, We ate of the fruit and found us nake’d. Pride-filled and fallen from that perfect grace, We were all exiled from that lovely place. It is a tale of the Garden Eden; It is a tale of Original Sin.  

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Until Judgment Day A third of all the stars fell from the sky; Angels turned demon, white jewels turned black. Led by the dragon, the prince of all lies, This pride-pinned legion shall never come back. Faced with service to the Divine God and Man, And tasked with service to the human race, The Evil One rebuked the final plan And secured his pride-filled fall from grace. Paralyzed by Truth and torn by Reason Those devils are at war with men today. With dark intent to take souls and seize them Those fallen angels pursue easy prey. If one needs to strike with saintly rod, Echo Michael: “Who is like unto God?”

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An Upward Fall What is it of horse and man That all seem to understand? A noble duo, these two, Dependable through and through. ‘Tis pairing of man and beast That is heroic at least. A symbol of spark’ling life, A symbol of painful strife. Horse and horseman look the part Of a magnanimous art. This image, we all endorse When we call a man a horse. What, then, does it mean to fall From one’s high horse, like St. Paul? What is it to leave that place, But a humble path to grace? A hard fall leads to hard ground Where one begins to be found. Once a fall brought death to Earth; Now a fall brings man’s new birth.

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St. Francis of Assisi To the poor and to the weary people Comes a loving man with a clean, free soul. He succors to every creature and kind, Healing every blemished feature and find. This man! Even nature cannot resist His charmingly charitable tempest. All form of beast and branch both bow and bend Before this man, the universal friend. His tastes take bitter and turn it to sweet. His life makes the madman and the sane meet. He is verily a brother to all; He is like Adam before the Fall. The man is one troubadour of cheer— He is a shining and bright Christ-mirror!

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On St. Francis and The Cave Leaving the cave and leaving its darkness Has changed my footing and feeling and faith. The world had become a fragile star-spark, And I, now a madman made rash and rathe. The world is a topsy-turvy splendor: The sky is made new as a blue lake-glass While green trees and green shrubs quickly render Wonderfully literal leaves of grass. I see that precious, fragile crystal sphere And I know the urgent feeling of dread. If the world were flung and falling, I fear, It would have lost that providential thread. On my hands and head I can plainly see A hanging world of dire dependency.  

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For a Lady A lover that has all in having nothing. A wooer whose way is in woe. A giver who gains all in loss. A treasure that comes at a great cost. Any one can charm her, peasant or king. Though her price is particular: All or nothing. Even two pennies can have more weight than gold. She is simple and beautiful, She is hard to find and easy to lose, She is fruit for the soul She is food for the humble. She gives hunger to those who hunger for it While filling the very same up with delight. Those who seek her counsel do not look for profit. They seek love. She can be hard to see, My dear Lady Poverty.            

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The Little Things The forest is a kingdom. The emerald leaves part for a sapphire firmament. The pattern is pierced by golden light, Creating a stained-glass sky. Fruits bejewel the ceilings, And spiders fashion silken silver tapestries That collect the water-crystal alms of the morning dew. Moss-made carpets grace the floors. Yet amidst this pomp, amidst this sea of nature’s luxury, The littlest flower had captured me.    

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In Defense of Leisure Smoking is a sure delight. What more need I say? Of sweet smoke-rings and their flight, And of their iridescent decay. One cannot forget the trance Of divine flavor-fine tobacco, That light and gentle air-dance Of smoke-screen clouds to-and-fro. Few things compare to the art Of the pipe and the cigar. Once one sits and lights to start The mind and body will go far.

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Blessed are You I have been tired time and time again, And the world seems to burn me like a fire. This place tastes of smoke of a vile blend, Leaving me prone to choke and expire. I have been broken like a frail old thing. I have been forgotten like a dead man. The world removes me of my robe and ring, Simply because it has power and can. The world thrusts itself against my weak back; I silently assume the bloody yoke. Every inch is spent, every bone now cracked— Yet this light burden I cannot revoke. Indeed, blessed are the poor in spirit, For the kingdom of heaven they inherit!  

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A Ladder to the Heavenly Banquet Of world and wonder, there is but one sign! —An image of ever-crossed beams of wood. Two lengths, a load, like leaden weights now could Bear us down, down, down—yet up so divine. I shudder to shoulder a thing so fine! For I trip and trod where once God so stood! This cross, they mutter, would be of no good. But only with it can one truly dine.

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Dust to Dust Sunrise and sunset look on And paint that gold horizon. Leaves fall and follow that star Seeming to fall very far. Yet the leaves live and leave fast Like seasons next now long past. I am the leaf falling now Knowing my end—but not how. In my fixed falling I fly. As I bow to earth I rise. My dying colors are bright— --o! How lovely is this light! All these things shall pass away Yielding to the endless day. I, too, shall be at Death’s door, Seeking rest forevermore.        

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Our Lady of Courage Ave Maria! Hear these words, Mother! Be tempted by those sweet words of Gab’riel. Commend me to thy Son; give me a brother. Magnify the Lord and His Heart reveal. Your fiat is the song of the whole world: Let it be done according to your word. Thus the banner of providence unfurled While your heart was pierced by sorrowful sword. Teach us how to love thy Son perfectly. O Refuge of Sinners, hold us in peace. Lead us to thy Son, o Star of the Sea! May I decrease while thy Son increase. My beloved Queen, lead me by the hand That the trials of the world I might withstand.    

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The Barque of St. Peter Aboard that ancient Barque of St. Peter I search far and wide for treasures untold. The seas swell, and the black night moves nearer Yet the mighty vessel still does not fold. Some men fall to a lovely siren song And plunge into that suffocating sea. All the while many good men stand strong For grace of eternal prosperity. The darkness is cut by the Morning Star; The Way before us begins to unfurl. Though we have suffered much and traveled far The crew has at last claimed the pricey Pearl. It is finished just like the word and plan --At last, we have the Everlasting Man!          

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The Case of Courage

inspired by G.K. Chesterton The man who waits for death is despairing. The man who runs to death is mostly mad. Both of these men are in utter erring, For to live and die is surely both/and. He that gives his life, the same shall save it. So the one who clung to life is coward; The other, a suicidal dimwit. Here, the middleman is most empowered. For the paradox is our paradigm— We must drink our life like sweet water And we must drink our death like sweet wine! Living ready with the burial myrrh. Indeed, this is what I mean to imply: Some die to live, and some die to die.      

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There Be Dragons Beastly things with beastly wings advance upon me with every passing hour. Yes, those flying serpents flock to me—a flock of lambs led to the slaughter! Those black-scaled behemoths fling rings of fire my way, And I raise my shield to halt that wicked hellfire. In that struggle, what became of the world? Of blue skies and innocent flowers? Dragons came and conquered, The blue skies now rain ash and the beauties of the field are but brimstone. Yet in that blackened haze of ash and soot, In that red hell of blinding heat and flame, I stand, alive and well, sword in hand! The clash and cling of each sword swing fells many a foe! In this war-torn world, another man might curse God. In this bleak hour, another man might cast down his sword and welcome Death. Another man might see the fading sun and forget the crashing daybreak that is so soon upon us! And another man might see the Dragons—and that is all that he sees. But what of it!? Are the skies any less beautiful due to the creatures that dwell below them? Are the lilies of the field any less pure due to the taint of man? Not so, not so! Indeed, simply because dragons exist does not make the world a foul place! I know well that I will be fighting these Dragons until death. But it is an adventure that I will pursue, a fight that I will cherish to the last breath. The Romance of the fight is reward enough; I know well that I will die a happy man.