THE SPIRITUAL BATTLE /  by Joe Castorino

Guardian Angel, please pray for me,

Because the devil tempts us to obsess,

We must evade the evil of worldly idols,

And not dream of what to possess;

Thirsting for things can thicken anxiety,

Which can seem to never cease,

We struggle and tuggle with all our might,

And banished is all our peace.

The diabolical dragon swoops down,

Determined all good to destroy,

With the flaming fire of enslaving greed,

He seeks to kill all devotion and joy;

But as our trustworthy guide from Heaven,

With love you sing a sweet prayer,

And your petitions rise like a happy dove

Higher and higher up into the air.

When the evil one tries to pour words of

Corrosive poison into our innocent ears,

Teach us to think of the Lord Jesus crucified,

So that banished are all our fears;

When we dance with delight with temptation,

Help us the crucifix recall,

For the cross crushes the devil’s teeth,

And into hellish Styx he will fall.

Meditating on the gore of Golgotha,

Our hearts like tearful candles melt,

Knife-like nails puncture his palms,

And blood trickles to where Our Lady knelt;

Then our foolish obsessions are obliterated,

By the power of His holy love,

And we are magnificently made new,

By His grace flowing from above.

Trying to lure us into obsession,

The devil deceptively dangles his bait,

But seeing you push us out of harm’s way

Only fuels his mad fury and hate;

We escape the avalanche of avarice,

That can crush the soul like snow,

You lead us on a path filled with Light,

So that our life in the Spirit will grow.

LITTLE PRAYER TO ST. MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL /  by Joe Castorino

Dear St. Michael,

You are the great warrior angel,

Ready for the spiritual battle,

Always sober, vigilant, and alert,

You wait and watch for the enemy;

Then in the midst of black terror,

You slay the red dragon of fear,

And brandish the sword of the Spirit,

The glorious golden sword of Love;

Teach us to become brave soldiers,

Soldiers of Jesus Christ the Lord,

Nourished by the holy Bread of Life,

Refreshed by His sweet new wine.

Amen.

TO POPE BENEDICT XVI /  by Joe Castorino

As you bashfully smile,

you extend both arms

and wiggle your fingers:

your welcoming wave

is a gentle greeting to

the pilgrims at St. Peter’s.

A prudent theologian,

you write the most

eloquent of encyclicals;

being a classical pianist,

you speak wisely about

true beauty and true art.

In your own quiet way

you shepherd the flock,

for you’re a very holy man;

you’re an obedient son,

a simple man of Love,

a humble genius.

JUBILEE 2000: VIA CRUCIS /  by Joe Castorino

September 2000

Pummeled by Parkinson’s,

he battles through the basilica,

leaning forward, heavily,

hunched over, crushed

under an invisible

wooden cross, laden

with the world’s woes;

from the ocean of onlookers,

a mother mildly lifts up

her little newborn,

and the Polish pope

most tenderly

blesses the babe

with a gentle kiss;

the spectators exhale

a halo as they breathlessly

and solemnly sigh, “O!”

TO ST. JOHN PAUL II /  by Joe Castorino

You have a playful, loving smile

  that was delightfully disarming,

You have pleasant, penetrating eyes

  that looked deep into our souls,

As a humble seminarian you silently

  evaded the nefarious Nazis,

Years later, your heroic words crushed

  the cold-hearted Communists;

Your valiant, victorious voice was

  carried on the wondrous wings

Of the cheerful cherubim, who raced

  round the globe and rained down

On the world God’s heavenly hope

  and wonderful words of wisdom.

 

You are a saint for our century:

  poignant poet, daring dramatist,

Protector of the powerless,

  merciful mystic, pro-life pope,

And stalwart spearhead who ignited

  the fire of the New Evangelization;

Your hideous opponent the devil,

  like a sly, sneaky soccer player,

Tantalizingly tried to kick abortion

  through Holy Church’s doors, but

As the goalie of the Chair of St. Peter,

  you flicked away temptation,

With your rock-solid shepherd’s staff

  gripped in your warrior-like hands.

 

With courage, you relentlessly pursued

  Christ’s love even though

You had to trudge terribly through

  the dreadful, dreary dark night

Of Nazi dictatorship, and you had

  to bear the wicked weight of the

Cruel, crafty Communists in your

  beloved, historic home of Poland;

Through your remarkable writings

  you lifted us ever so high in the air

In a Heaven-bound spiral, far far above

  the murky mist of moral relativism

And into the sublime, sunny splendor

  Of Christ’s truth and freedom.

LIFE IS WORTH LIVING /  by Joe Castorino

In stature the bishop was rather short,

But spoke with power like a judge in court;

Sometimes his sharp eyes were piercing swords,

Other times his smile was warm, like the Lord’s;

His divine sense of humor won us all,

Yes, “Uncle Fultie” always had a ball;

His Shakespearean drama shook the soul,

Yet leading us to Heaven was his goal.

TO SAN PADRE PIO /  by Joe Castorino

When we, your stubborn spiritual children,

Don’t listen to you in holy confession,

You slap the Spirit into our sleepy souls,

As you make prayerful intercession.

When we plan to drop the blitzkrieg bombs

Of mortal sin into our desperate heart,

You bilocate and bravely speak the truth,

And the holy fear of God to us impart.

When the evil one stealthily attacks us,

Aggressively seeking victims to devour,

As a warrior, you heroically hunt him down,

And lasso the beast with Rosary power.

A PROFILE OF COURAGE /  by Joe Castorino

Eugenio Pacelli is consecrated a bishop,

  In Italy’s historic city of Rome,

But he is flung like a javelin into Germany,

  And Munich is now his home;

Egelhofer sends Commander Seiler

  On a mission filled with human hate,

The truth is Mr. E. thirsts for blood,

  And Pacelli he wishes to assassinate;

Commander Seiler and his gang selfishly strut

  To the bishop’s place of residence,

They’re planning a brash bold attack,

  Plotting his murder with confidence;

They threaten the servant with weapons,

  So she reluctantly lets them in,

Now they await the bishop’s return,

  Thinking victory they will win.

 

Seiler stands ready at the door,

  With his thugs in a semicircle around,

Armed with loaded guns and grenades,

  Their faces are rather frowned;

When the bishop opens the door,

  Seiler points a pistol at his pectoral cross,

Yet Pacelli fearlessly stands his ground,

  And shows him who is boss;

The holy bishop speaks as soft as an abbot,

  Or even a most prayerful friar,

But his courageous words rip into them,

  Like relentless machine gun fire;

The bishop’s eyes are two spear tips,

  That pierce right through their souls,

And in a daze they gape back at him,

  As motionless as telephone poles.

 

With empty hands the would-be assassins

  Return to Egelhofer the Extreme,

To his surprise, Pacelli still lives,

  And in the Munich diocese reigns supreme;

The bishop bravely swatted their plans,

  As if they were harmless flies,

Never before had they looked at a priest

  With such powerful paralyzing eyes;

During the Second World War,

  He saved countless lives from Nazi extermination,

And many Jewish people commended him,

  For his covert operation;

This lean, stately figure ran the Church,

  Though he never sought out fame,

He is better known as Pope Pius,

  The Twelfth who has held that name.

TO ST. FAUSTINA /  by Joe Castorino

You, the mystical    

missionary of mercy,        

are honored as        

the first saint        

of the Great Jubilee,        

the first saint        

of the new millennium;    

you serenely smile        

as the blessed blood        

and the blessed water        

kiss and mingle    

in the infinite ocean        

of Divine Mercy;    

you see the barque    

of St. Peter as it    

faithfully floats on     

the beautiful waves,        

protected from the    

storm winds of worry,    

free from all fear;    

like the warm welcoming    

arms of the Bernini Colonnade

at St. Peter’s Square,        

Divine Mercy is ready to    

earnestly embrace every    

hardened sinner who            

hungers for healing and    

thirsts for generous love:    

Jezu ufam Tobie!

THE MIRACLE OF THE SUN /  by Joe Castorino

Like Rosary beads dipped in holy water,

  Raindrops are falling from the sky,

Seventy thousand people in the roaring rain

  Who would really rather be dry;

The valley of the Cova da Iria is a black

  Blanket of umbrellas and hats,

And the drenched, dripping crowd is like

  A muddy mob of very curious cats;

Three children kneel before an outdoor altar

  As they await the promised sign,

And non-believers mockingly joke that

  The children are just tipsy with wine;

The riotous rain finally stops at noon,

  As the weather is forced to succumb,

But noon passes, and Heaven is late,

  So perhaps no miracle will come.

 

But then a marvelous, mystical stillness and quiet

  Come over this blessed place,

All laughter subsides and totally vanishes,

  Without even the slightest trace;

Our Lady appears to all the three children,

  Wearing garments dazzlingly white,

Her shape is graceful and delicate,

  And her clothing is brighter than light;

Her eyes are like sparkling jewels,

  And her sweet voice makes their hearts sing,

Her face is most exquisitely beautiful,

  And she is a treasure of the great King;

But after hours and hours of waiting,

  The crowd sees nothing at all,

If a Heavenly sign they don’t get,

  Then perhaps the children they’ll maul.

 

After speaking to the three young children,

  Our Lady casts a glance up above,

She gently points upwards to Heaven,

  With a heart filled with mercy and love;

Then Lucia quickly points at the sky,

  And tells everyone to look at the sun,

They only see a thick cloudy darkness,

  So their expectations are little or none;

But through the clouds the sun is slicing,

  And it’s spinning like a circular saw,

At this very strange and unnatural sight,

  The crowd’s nerves really feel raw;

The sun is like a gyrating sparkler,

  With sizzling sparks flitting about,

It is held by God’s invisible hand,

  He is mighty -- of this there is no doubt.

 

Then the fickle sun changes colors,

  And the many spectators reflect its glow,

The chamelionic sun lights up sky and land,

  Putting on an impressive show;

First the sun turns a stunning silver,

  And this is followed by a brilliant blue,

Then it turns a glorious, gleaming gold,

  Followed by a most radiant red hue;

Every so often there are stellar explosions,

  With blinding bursts of light,

The people are starting to tremble,

  And are wondering if they should take flight;

They stare at the sun for a very long time,

  Yet none of them hurt their eyes,

The whole crowd gapes in surreal wonder,

  Observing this sign in the skies.

 

But suddenly unbolted from the wall of clouds,

  The sun moves about in the sky,

It looks like it’s riding on a roller coaster,

  On invisible tracks way up high;

The blazing orb dances in a fiery frenzy,

  Although there’s not a lot of wind,

And glacial hearts are melting below,

  Of those who have seriously sinned;

But now, like a menacing molten meteor,

  The sun falls down towards the Earth,

Thousands of people cry out in terror,

  Not experiencing any kind of mirth;

Alarmed atheists pray Our Fathers,

  As their hearts’ flag of surrender is unfurled,

And agnostics stagger and stumble for cover,

  Fearing it’s the end of the world.

 

Approaching at a frightful velocity,

  The sun gradually drinks the dark sky,

As the speeding star draws ever nearer,

  The people are preparing to die;

The red giant now fills the heavens,

  And the situation is exceedingly dire,

The surface of the sun is a seething solar ocean

  Of fantastical flaming fire;

But all this time the three good children

  Have visions from the Heavenly realm,

They experience ecstatic joy and peace,

  Since the good God is at the helm;

Then, in the twinkling of an eye,

  The crowd looks up through happy tears,

They’re stunned because their nightmarish vision

  Very suddenly disappears.

 

Just ten minutes earlier, the spectators in the

  Cova were standing in the mire,

But now, in a flash, it is completely dry --

  Faster than anyone could ever desire;

Ten miraculous minutes…

  Have forever softened many thousands of souls,

Their lives are totally transformed,

  And they no longer seek secular goals;

October 13, 1917…

  Will be remembered throughout all of history,

Though for skeptics who read of Fatima,

  This day may always be a mystery;

Many atheists and agnostics saw a miracle

  That made them turn quite pale,

So know that this story happened,

  And it is not some silly fairy tale.

TO SAINT THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX /  by Joe Castorino

My sweet Little Flower,   

your humble acts of charity   

are like tiny mustard seeds,    

yet when they’re poured out    

upon the fruitful fields of Heaven    

by the Father’s faithful fingers,    

they form a mountain of love    

that would gracefully tower    

over the mighty Everest;    

you stand in great strength,    

as the missionary of missionaries,    

in the gentle presence of    

the Virgin of virgins,    

the Mystical Rose    

of incomparable beauty,    

and your precious seeds of prayer    

are cultivated with care by the    

ever patient Divine Gardener,    

nourished by His living water,    

producing a bountiful harvest of    

salvation in our suffering world;    

above the clouds of worry,    

your cheerful sky is always blue --    

help me to follow your example    

so that my soul too may sing    

those heartfelt words of wisdom:    

“My vocation is love!”

THE SAINTLY COUPLE /  by Joe Castorino

Behold the Little Flower’s mom and dad,

They pray for parents about to go mad.

The Martin family had five sweet girls,

So their devout home was filled with French curls;

Louis and Zelie were full of great love,

They taught their daughters the path of The Dove;

With their “little queen” they had lots of fun,

And each of their girls became a young nun;

When Louis and Zelie finally died,

Heaven’s beautiful doors opened real wide.

So parents that want to pull out their hair

Should ask them for help, for they really care.

THE BRAVE KNIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

As you gently

And skillfully

Craft the wood,

You are in no hurry,

For you know

That everything comes

in God’s time;

Therefore,

When the angel

Commands you

To take Mary

As your wife,

Without rushing,

You patiently accept

And trust in God;

And when the angel

Commands you

To go to Egypt,

You move swiftly,

But you do so wisely

And with great faith,

Not at breakneck speed;

We, too, must learn from you,

Good St. Joseph,

Because when worry whirls,

And when anxiety agitates,

We must follow your example,

With calm and great patience,

Trusting wholeheartedly

In the Babe of Divine Mercy.

TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES /  by Joe Castorino

Your merciful and majestic eyes

   are dazzlingly modest,

Sparkling like radiant jewels

   of kindness and compassion;

Your serene smile swiftly

   steals my humble heart,

As you point me towards the

   path that leads to Jesus;

Your majestic mantle and sky-blue

   sash dance joyfully in the breeze,

Reflecting the mildness and the

   gentleness of the good God;

Your ladylike lips whisper    

   words of wisdom

That split the air like

   loving lightning;

Your sweet, saintly actions

   ripple through the universe,

Like warm, welcoming waves

   of heavenly peace.

TO ST. BERNADETTE OF LOURDES /  by Joe Castorino

Your magnificent story I will tell:

The wondrous Miracle of Massabielle;

Our Lady came in breathtaking beauty,

And she knew that you would do your duty;

You came before her as God’s little child,

And looking down on you, she warmly smiled;

She gently asked you to dig in the ground,

And there spring waters were suddenly found;

Cripples bathed in the stream with salty tears,

And walked away whole without any fears;

Then hardened hearts started to melt,

And before the good God they humbly knelt.

ST. MOTHER TERESA'S MEDITATION ON LOVE /  by Joe Castorino

From the Writings of St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta

“Just begin

one at a time.

One, one, one.

If I had not picked up

that first person

dying on the street,

I would not

have picked up

the thousands

of others

later on.”

“What are these

drops of oil

in our lamps?

They are the little things

of everyday life:

fidelity, punctuality,

little words of kindness,

just a little thought

for others;

those little acts

of silence,

of look, and of thought,

of word, and of deed.

These are the very

drops of love

that make our life burn

with so much light.”

“God does not look

for big things --

he looks for

how much love

we put in the giving.”

TO ST. JOHN VIANNEY /  by Joe Castorino

As a soldier you were really quite inept,

  And as a student too you weren’t much,

Although the seminary gave you a chance,

  It seemed holy orders you’d never touch;

But when the good God takes charge,

  There’s nothing that He cannot do,

So through the intercession of St. Philomena,

  Grace most bountifully fell on you.

 

Sent to a corrupt village named Ars,

  You woke it up with fiery preaching,

People were flabbergasted by your words

  And threatened by your priestly teaching;

Yet in the little box of the confessional,

  You won a victory over selfish hearts,

Though the devil anxiously pursued you,

   God extinguished all his flaming darts.

 

So many made pilgrimages to see you,

  And confession lines were terribly long,

But through God’s grace you read their souls,

  Bringing hope to many in the throng;

Thus the devil grew angrier and angrier,

  That’s why the beast ranted and raved,

Still you won over many many souls,

  In God’s mercy they were finally saved.

TO SAN PADRE JUNIPERO SERRA /  by Joe Castorino

Why do some seek to erase

You from history’s chalkboard?

Why do they wish to cancel out

Your love for Native Americans?

In these deeply distressing times,

The Franciscan Way must lead:

Love must conquer all hatred,

Pardon must heal all injuries,

Faith must replace all doubt,

Hope must cast out all despair,

When Light scatters the darkness,

It is then that freedom rings.

BINGO NIGHT /  by Joe Castorino

Circa 1970 

It was Thanksgiving evening, and the lamps

  Glowed cheerfully in the cozy house;

Though the clean little home was modest,

  It was filled with the sweet scent of love.

 

We were all stuffed with good food, and

  Ready for some post-meal entertainment;

So the time had come for everyone in the

  Family to engage in some competitive fun.

 

Our very alert ears quickly snatched the

  Numbers out of the air, one by one;

Then our fingers excitedly placed the

  Small black discs on the bingo cards.

 

Aunt Therese felt sorry for me, a young boy,

  Because I was terribly saddened by losing;

So winking with a smiling old eye, she

  Pushed her stack of pennies into mine.