New Poems
-
The stone was rolled but not by handsNor Roman might nor weeping friendBut by the weight of Glory’s breathThe crushing of death’s own end What fullness speaks from emptinessWhat voice resounds from vacant spaceYet here within this hollowed graveEternity unveils its face The linen folds no body’s weightYet every wound is sanctifiedThe marks remain but… Read more
-
Not the thorn,twisted cruelly into brow,nor the lash,ripping skin from bone,nor the jeering mouths,spitting scorn at Love Incarnate. Not the timber’s weight,splitting the shoulders of Innocence,nor the hammer’s pounding,sealing wrists to splintered wood,nor the blood, thickening the earth,unrecognized by the ones it would ransom. The good is deeper and more powerful,buried beneath agony,seeded in sorrow.… Read more
-
The Fourteenth Station, Jesus is laid in the Tomb The stone is rolled, and silence reigns,a hush of grief, a weight of pain.The hands that healed, the feet that walked,now still—no breath, no voice to talk. The ones who loved, who stood, who wept,press trembling hands where He once stepped.A mother’s touch, a mourner’s sigh,a… Read more
-
There once was an isle emerald-bright,Where faith shone like stars in the night.With Patrick’s great call,God’s love reached them all,And bathed them in heavenly light! May this day bring joy and blessings to you. Amen Read more
-
The dust is real beneath my feet,soft, silent, and easily stirred,as fleeting as the breath I breathe,as weightless as a spoken word. Yet in this dust, He calls me home,returning so to be found.A voice of mercy, strong and low,bids me kneel upon this ground. Remember, child, you are but dust,yet dust infused with love… Read more
-
There is so much I do not know,the weight of stars, the measure of time,the whispering roots beneath the earth,the unspoken thoughts in another’s mind. I long to know, to understand,to gather truth like scattered light,but what is wisdom if it does not burnto draw me closer to Your sight? If knowledge swells but love… Read more
-
Is it hidden in cathedral walls,where light bends through stained glass prayers,or in the hush of whispered psalms,echoing off marble bones of saints? Is it folded in the hands of the poor,wrinkled palms lifted in silent need,or in the mother’s weary touch,brushing sleep across her child’s brow? Does it linger in the river’s hush,where stones… Read more
-
I do not wear rose-colored glass,Nor eyes of steel that judge too fast.My lens is shaped by love and grace,A gift from God, my truest place. My faith’s the sky, both vast and bright,A morning sun, a guiding light.It whispers truth in winds that call,And lifts me up when doubts befall. My family’s earth, so… Read more
-
*image generated with AI, 2025 It was hardly more than a speck,cupped in the rough palm of the sower,a mustard seed, dust-small,tossed into the loosened earthwithout an official decree,without a ceremonial trumpet call. The rain came, soft and steady,the sun with its patient fingerscoaxed green from the dark. Then, one morning, there it was—a slender… Read more
-
O Lord, who fashioned love itself,teach us to love as Your martyr loved,not in fleeting sentiment,nor in words untested by sacrifice,but in the fire of surrender,where self is poured out like oil for the lamp. St. Valentine bore Your name in chains,his love not bound by fear,but made bold in the face of cruelty,a whisper… Read more
Prayerfully Poetic 