Poem - Poems?

[Bruno]

Here is a poem I made up and put into my NOTES From Ignatian Retreats:

Only Saints Get Into Heaven!

"I'm no Saint!"  Many proudly yell.
But only Saints go to Heaven! We know so well.
"So live like a Saint!" - A life we must sell. :-)
The only alternative hurts like Hell! :-(
Think about it!

[AgnusDei1989]

Splendid, you guys! Tornpage, your sonnet is so lovely! And Bruno, wow - way to sum it all up in four lines. And I like the Night Before Christmas parody.

So I guess I can try again. Here's one

To St. Michael the Archangel

Saint Michael, Angel strong,
Leader of Heaven's host,
General of the choirs
And every Angel's boast,
Guard us against the foe
That ever hard besets;
Place us beneath your shield,
Safe from his deadly threats.

Saint Michael, Angel great,
Let the flame-sword you wield
Be every soul's defence
On the world's battlefield;
Let all embattled souls
Rally round at thy word,
Quis ut Deus their cry,
The holy Cross, their sword!

Archangel Michael dear,
Lord of the Angels bright,
Grant your protection sweet
And aid us in the fight.
Angel of Strength, we pray,
Defend us from the might
Of Satan, that someday
We may gain Heaven's light!

[Bruno]

I first started reading Trad stuff in 1977 and like many others passed things on to those who may or may not have been interested. Here is a poem I  attached to it:

Here is some stuff for you to read.
About our Church and Her Great Need.

I tried to think of an appropriate rhyme.
To lessen tension - but did not have time.

For it may make you think, or mad, or yawn:
Never-the-less, when you'r finished, will you please pass it on?
:-)

[Bruno]

Written in May of 1980:

CHRIST'S CHURCH IS LIKE A BIG Ol' TREE

Christ's Church is like a big ol' Tree.
Once lush - then infected by Apathy.

Its weakened branches succumbed to the Modernist's Lie,
Some broke from the trunk of Tradition, only to wither and die!

Some partially hang on - some not very tight.
Oh! This poor Ol' Tree is a sorrowful sight!

But look!  Right there - we still have a Branch!
Firmly on that Ol' Trunk - An Archbishop from France!

From this Limb there are many Branches springing,
Free from The Disease, full of Fervor, and singing:

"Glory to God in The Hightest" - These plucky new Shoots,
Are spreading the Teachings of Christ as found in Their Roots!
 
To nourish Laity Leaves, to enrich our Souls
To bring us THE MASS, are some of Their Goals.

God's Grace still flows in His Big Ol' Tree.
The Life is still there for those that will see!

[Bruno]

OK, you got me started. This poem was written in May of 1979. The month that the SSPX brought the TLM to Mid-Missouri.

WHERE ARE OUR SHEPHERDS!

Where have all our Shepherds gone?
Have they all fallen? .... Every one?!!!
Who will protect us from Kung and Nietzche!
Who will say THE MASS? Who? We beseech Thee!

Seems like yesterday, many hours were spent,
By our Shepherds, teaching the wisdom of the Council of Trent.
Fulfilling an Oath they took when anointed.
Defending TRADITION wherever appointed.

But now we are told,
By Clerics so bold,
That our Scriptures are fables!
Change the Altars to tables!

Dissatisfied with all in the Temple of GOD,
The most radical of changes are given a nod.
Even the words Jesus used for the Consecration,
Have been changed, and changed all over the Nation!

To receive Holy Communion, we need not kneel!
No matter, no matter how the Parishioners feel.
We also will have Communion in hand,
Some even replaced Holy Water with sand!

My GOD! My GOD! How could this happen!
Where is our Mass? Where is our Latin?
Where are our Shepherds, so brave and so True,
To help us, and guide us, to Heaven and YOU?

Oh Joy! I have found them! In my eye there's a tear.
The Shepherds are coming, and THE MASS will be HERE!
Find an Altar, buy linen, we must not tarry.
Hang the Crucifix, bring out the statues of Jesus and Mary!

Say a prayer for those who are scared and confused.
Those securarized "Christians", who are just being used.
Open their eyes Dear Lord, leave them not in a lurch.
Bring them back, one and all, back to Your Church!

[Bruno]

One more.  In 1983 we "Catholics in the pews" were exposed to much bickering between our Priests, whom we love so much.  Archbishop Lefebvre had to bravely dismiss nine of our Priests (whom we needed so much) because he found out that they were Sedevacantists. Among these nine were Priests that were bringing us THE MASS! What were we to think! Who should we follow? For us the choice was easy - we will stick with our "St. Athanatius" - our beloved Archbishop. Here is a poem on this event written in May of 1983.

OUR SHEPHERDS ARE FIGHTING! WHAT ARE WE TO DO!

We care about our Priests, and Pray often for them too.
When they disagree, what are we to do?

We ponder day and night, these questions of the Day.
Using up the time, when better that we Pray.

All these weighty issues, are not for us to decide.
To even think to do so, would be an act of Pride!

Questions on The Sacraments, and on the Liturgy.
My mind is numb and I am dumb! Where's my Rosary!

How would the Saints react, amid all of this ado?
They would probably be Humble, and Obedient too.

Obedient to all, that is not an outright sin,
Let the Archbishop choose the path, upon which we'll win.

Particularly in areas Theologically gray,
Would they insist that they have their way?

For I believe with all my heart,
That GOD is on our side.
And if our plans fall all apart,
At least He'll know that we tried.

[Walty]

Not Catholic, but I think I'll have this one read at my funeral anyway.
 
 
"Good-bye"   by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home:
Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I’m going home.

Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth’s averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud would! I’m going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone—
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird’s roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet?

[AgnusDei1989]

That one's lovely, Walty!

[PsychoMonkey]

Its not Catholic necessarily, but its poetry.

Something (Why We Cry)

*from within the closet of the great beyond, a woman lay sleeping
*the soft pedals of a red rose, fell from the wings of a dove
*to envelope her in a bright light
*and from that light, came a thought
*and from that thought came what is and what was
*beyond breeds between
*and somewhere between beyond and the end, certainty was lost
*the woman felt around in the dark of the light
*searching to find the warmth of the cold
*but she was blind
*she was blessed
*the woman found the cold and was burned by realization
*her eyes were opened to the truth that was in her
*with this sudden shock, her body fell to the ground
*she lay motionless, drowned in a pool of smiles

http://www.poetry.com/Publications/display.asp?ID=P3112275&BN=999&PN=1

[PsychoMonkey]

Anchored

*with a likeness unto forever came the tide
*with its endless "what may's" did it come
*as it passed, so came the consequences
*so overwhelming were they, that I fell into oblivion
and realized I was back where I started
*but a journey does not begin with the first step, but
with the first thought
*with this, I look around to find many who were moving
but not thinking
*they were damned, they were lost, they where made to
wonder
*many were talking without speaking
*many were afraid to peer into the waters of the mind
for fear they would be suffocated by the truth
*what a fate worse than death the truth is
*it empowers some, it drives others to insanity
*could I take what is inside me, I thought
*with a sudden realization of being, the stoplight
turned green

http://poetry.com/Publications/display.asp?ID=W9215969&BN=999&PN=1