WILLIE THE WORRIER /  by Joe Castorino

Willie the Worrier woke up in bed,

He was quickly filled with horrible dread;

His main goal in life was to get ahead,

Yet he stumbled and fell behind instead;

Never satisfied with his daily bread,

Now this stressaholic is door-nail dead.

TIME /  by Joe Castorino

When there is a crash on the

Superhighway of sensations,

Time painfully slows down,

And we live in boredom,

Crawling lethargically along,

Bumper to bumper,

In the dreadful dullness

Of the traffic jam of life.

When we are behind schedule

In the crowded city of Chaos,

Time urgently speeds up,

And we live in anxiety,

Racing with our hair on fire,

Chasing and being chased,

In the nail-biting frenzy

Of the rat race of life.

But when there’s surrender,

And we give our lives to Him,

Time dissolves into eternity,

Love smiles upon us —

Then, nothing else matters,

We are attached to the Vine,

And our little branches are full

Of the sweet fruit of the Spirit!

RICKY THE RUSHER /  by Joe Castorino

Ricky rushes madly all the day long,

He’s petrified things will turn out all wrong;

His two nervous eyes seem made of green rock,

That shift like the pendulum of a clock;

Keep up with the Joneses, he must, he must,

Or all of his dreams will turn to grey dust;

His sad sour life is a merry-go-round,

And Fear chases him like a hungry hound;

Tragically, he lives at a breakneck pace,

With worrisome wrinkles on his blank face;

Ricky’s afraid he just might go crazy,

The truth is that his future’s quite hazy;

He needs to run, run, run, and buy, buy, buy,

But he never stops to ask himself why.

PRAYERS OF THANKSGIVING IN THE DARK NIGHT OF UNKNOWING /  by Joe Castorino

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your love.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your joy.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your peace.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your patience.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your kindness.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your generosity.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your faithfulness.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your gentleness.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your self-control.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your divine wisdom.

Thank you, Jesus,

For the gift of your divine mercy.

Amen.

THE DAY TRADER /  by Joe Castorino

Ignoramus Maximus is his name,

And playing the stock market is his game;

With a dark ghoulish smile and fiendish eye,

Greed burns inside him and will never die;

He listens to the experts on TV,

Thinking these people the future can see;

As the stock market climbs to all new highs,

He trades hundreds of stocks of every size;

Thinking of nothing but buying and selling,

His addictive life is very telling;

To the god of riches does he succumb,

So that his sick brain becomes very numb;

But seeing his statement, he starts to choke,

He finally learns he’s totally broke.

BLOWING BUBBLES /  by Joe Castorino

I like to chew bubblegum,

I chew it until my lips are numb;

Even though it makes me cough,

It gives me a chance to show off;

I chew with a great deal of vigor,

To blow my bubbles even bigger;

My jaw churns like a runaway train,

As if I were absolutely going insane;

Then I blow a bubble ever so big,

Almost as big as the face of a pig;

Then it explodes all over my face,

And, humiliated, I am in utter disgrace;

Why do I always have to be the best?

And be such a stupid arrogant pest?

I try way too hard to seem so cool,

But I’m really, honestly, just a big fool.

THE OPERA SINGER /  by Joe Castorino

"Pride goeth before a fall"

 

As the titanic tenor sings a tune,

Pride inflates him like a hot air balloon;

With an arrogant wrinkle of his brow,

He revels in a long slow snooty bow;

The crowd erupts in explosive applause,

And he smiles a plastic smile with his jaws;

But then something unexpected takes place,

A vine-ripened tomato hits his face;

The singer gives the guy a dirty glance,

But then abruptly trips and rips his pants.

THE LITTERBUG /  by Joe Castorino

Ignoramus Incredibilis is his name,

Or call him Litterbug -- it’s just the same;

He wipes his hands on his ketchup-stained shirt,

And drops his wrapper right into the dirt;

A stroll to the trash can is just too far,

So he tosses the bottle from his car;

But here is a fact pondered by the wise,

That Litterbug wears a sneaky disguise;

In truth, he’s very hard for us to see,

He actually looks just like you and me.

OUR LADY'S LITTLE LANTERN /  by Joe Castorino

O Mystical Rose,

Surrounded by the

Dazzling and brilliant Light,

You open your little lantern

And fill it to the brim

With the Light of Love,

Then you humbly and gently

Shine it upon the whole world,

Transfiguring it,

With His glorious goodness,

With His transparent truth,

With His benevolent beauty!

THE TWILIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

Whoever says he is in the light,

Yet hates his brother or sister,

Is still in the darkness --

But beware of The Twilight,

Neither fully in the light,

Nor fully in the darkness,

The Land of the Lukewarm,

Like the Laodiceans of old,

Who are neither hot nor cold,

Who will be spit out like

Salt that has lost its flavor,

Like vines that have no fruit,

They will be thrown out

And they will wither,

Ever so slowly wither,

Into the black earth.

THE DARKNESS OF DOOM /  by Joe Castorino

Act I

There was midnight madness

in the heart of darkness,

where lustful lovers caroused

and burned with wild passion,

and although they were

warned by pilgrims who

were on their way to Rome,

they lived the philosophy

of carpe diem:

they could always repent

tomorrow;

but early in the morning

on the very next day,

an event took place

that forever changed

the world of Pompeii:

it was August 24, 79 AD, and

proud Pompeii was bathed

in warm peaceful sunshine

when the earth began to quake

to the awakening heartbeat

that began to stir deep inside of

the voluptuous Vesuvius,

and here and there the roof tiles

of the stately city of Pompeii

undulated in a rhythmic motion,

up and down, and up and down,

before resting quietly

and slumbering again,

as Vesuvius silently and stealthily

yawned a slow stream of

thin white smoke into the

clear blue sky.

 

Act II

By the afternoon,

there was a light veil

of white smoke that now

draped Vesuvius’ verdant body,

but when she suddenly and

violently erupted in anger,

belching coal-colored smoke

from her crater’s trembling lips

and spewing it high into

the pale blue sky,

it was only a matter of seconds

before flaming black rocks,

like Mephistophelian meteorites,

revengefully rained down

from the swiftly darkening sky,

smashing the roof tiles and

crushing the marble statues

above the villas’ courtyards;

meanwhile, the stunned citizens

scrambled and stumbled around

as the vigorous heartbeat

of the vain Vesuvius

pounded powerfully,

and a cataclysmic earthquake

ripped through Pompeii:

the sleeping giant

was now fully awake;

as the terrified men and women

raised their wild eyes

to the sullen sky,

they screamed like savages

and cursed their pagan gods

for punishing them,

and they spat in the air

at their pathetic gods.

 

Act III

Several hours later,

above the hellish rubble

of this humbled city,

the black sun approached the

black horizon and ominous clouds

suffocated the helpless sky:

Pompeii wailed in pain

and writhed woefully

under the victorious Vesuvius,

who was bathed in the seductive

red glow of liquid lava;

electric bolts of

volcanic lightning danced

like convulsive demons

and lit up the murky sky

as ashen rain fell feebly

to the flaming ruins below;

maimed dogs howled in horror

at the shockingly surreal and

apocalyptic spectacle,

while the lonely human survivors,

their psyches severely shattered,

huddled together for cover

under the crumbling columns

that were sinking in a sea of

charcoal-gray ashes.

 

Act IV

As the sun slowly rose

the next morning,

the new day dawned with

a deep deafening silence,

and the sickly sun shuddered

as it peered through the

broken black clouds,

lamenting the loss of the

once grand city of Pompeii;

as the scattered survivors

clutched ever so tightly to

their shredded sliver of hope,

it appeared that perhaps the

volcanic storm had finally

exhausted itself,

and the remaining citizens,

with empty expressions

on their blank faces,

slowly and weakly

began the process of

putting the splintered pieces

of their lives back together again;

but in the distance

they suddenly heard a

thunderous roar that

rapidly and frighteningly

crescendoed as it drew nearer,

sounding very much like

a stampede of the gods;

with great trepidation,

the people lifted their

bloodshot eyes and they saw a

massive wall of

whirling gray clouds --

as tall as Vesuvius herself --

rushing madly along the

surface of the ground and

coming right towards them;

it paused momentarily,

as if trying to catch its breath,

before making one last

diabolical attack upon its enemy;

then in a twinkle of time,

the voracious cloud of hot ash

charged through and hungrily devoured

the crumpled carcass

of pitiful Pompeii.

 

Act V

As Time drearily dragged the

morning into afternoon,

the poor Pompeians

were forever frozen

and cemented into history,

buried alive under a twelve-foot

blizzard of blazing ashes;

the solitary sun looked down

sadly upon the waveless

gray ocean of volcanic ash,

and Pompeii was nothing more

than a desolate wasteland --

even the powerful Vesuvius

was left seriously crippled,

with her cone blown off

by the explosiveness of her fury;

when the news of this event finally

reached the imperial city of Rome,

Pope Cletus gathered for mass

with his flock and, together,

they fervently prayed for

the souls of the victims who perished

in the very dark tragedy of

the doomed city of Pompeii.

WHO WAS JUDAS ISCARIOT? /  by Joe Castorino

Was he actually

humble?

Or did his pride

puff

like swollen eyelids and make him

stumble?

 

Was he possibly

kind?

Or did silent envy

creep

like a serpent into his

mind?

 

Did he patiently

wait?

Or did his simmering anger

boil

as he smelled that costly nard with

hate?

 

Did he have

zeal?

Or was his faith

sluggish

like at his last supper

meal?

 

Did he perchance

share?

Or did his fingers

clutch

the silver coins to keep in his

lair?

 

Did his temperance avoid every

snag?

Or was he a glutton who

gobbled

all the leftover loaves from the

bag?

 

Did he have self-

control?

Or did he pant and burn for

power

since killing the Romans was his

goal?

 

Did he ultimately

repent?

Or did his faithless soul

fall

through the noose like

cement?

BLOWING BUBBLES /  by Joe Castorino

I like to chew bubblegum,

I chew it until my lips are numb;

Even though it makes me cough,

It gives me a chance to show off;

I chew with a great deal of vigor,

To blow my bubbles even bigger;

My jaw churns like a runaway train,

As if I were absolutely going insane;

Then I blow a bubble ever so big,

Almost as big as the face of a pig;

Then it explodes all over my face,

And, humiliated, I am in utter disgrace;

Why do I always have to be the best?

And be such a stupid arrogant pest?

I try way too hard to seem so cool,

But I’m really, honestly, just a big fool.

MR. LECHEROUS LOVERBOY /  by Joe Castorino

Lecherous Loverboy is his true name,

Pornography is his heart-thumping game;

Peeking at pics of sexy Doll Tearsheet,

He meanly treats her like a hunk of white meat;

The more he looks at his sensual pets,

The more his eyes swell, and larger they gets;

Like the wooden nose of Pinocchio,

Each one of his eyeballs just grow and grow;

Loverboy’s lewd obsession never stops,

Then like a balloon each eye loudly pops;

He listens to Emotion’s lustful lies,

So that’s why Loverboy suddenly dies.

MR. HERROD WACKFORD /  by Joe Castorino

When a student doesn’t 

   answer him right,

He growls real loud 

   as if ready to bite;

His anger explodes 

   and his mustache curls,

And, glaring, his cold eyes 

   look like black pearls;

He treats his students 

   like runaway slaves,

Then they all get F’s -- 

   except for his faves;

Why doesn’t he show 

   heartfelt compassion?

It must be intellectually 

   out of fashion.

O DEAREST LADY OF LOURDES /  by Joe Castorino

As I gently finger the beads of the rosary,

  I touch your warm soft hands,

I gaze into your merciful, majestic eyes,

  And I contemplate your loveliness;

Together our precious prayers mingle,

  And rise up like sweet incense,

Its scent perfumes the halls of Heaven,

  And delights the Lord of Light.

SILENT KNIGHT, HOLY KNIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

St. Joseph the Silent Knight,

Holy man of common sense,

You preached the gospel,

Though often without words,

If you had the knowledge,

You answered your neighbor,

If not, then through divine wisdom

You put your hand over your mouth;

Teach me how to hold my tongue,

To follow the Spirit’s lead,

Instead of getting in trouble

By rashly running ahead of Him;

It’s pleasant to converse,

But it’s far better to be prudent.

A FATHER'S PRAYER TO ST. JOSEPH /  by Joe Castorino

O St. Joseph, the humble one,

Unite your prayers to Our Lord Jesus

With those of the Holy Virgin,

And implore Him to give each of us

What you gave to the Holy Family:

Strength to lead,

Love to inspire,

Wisdom to guide.

Amen.

THE KNIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

Christmas,

The night of Christ,

The breathtaking eve when the

Babe of the Incarnation

Heroically came to save us.

St. Joseph,

The Knight of Christ,

The brave, holy man that the

Babe of the Incarnation

Trusted wholeheartedly.

THE HOLY KNIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

You protected the Babe of Light,

In Bethlehem’s most Holy Night.

The magi in their wise hands hold

Both sweet frankincense and gold,

But your strong courageous arms

Save Baby Jesus from all harms.

You are the knight of the Dove,

And on that Holy Night met Love.

Hellishly bloody Herod the Hater

Fears that he’s not the greater,

But you, oh most humble father,

With vainglory don’t even bother.

You protected the Babe of Light,

In Bethlehem’s most Holy Night.