Post 73

Stupid, Stupid Courses:
You're Gettin' in the Way of Me An' My Lord, Mon!
(Part Two)

I wonder if I get to use prose this time.

Prose, my old friend!

The deal is this.

If you try to get a sacrament from the Catholic Church, you need a great deal of patience these days. You see, there’s a whole crappy industry covering the Church in a thick blanket. It goes like this.

If you want, say, to get your child baptized, you don’t just go up to the priest and tell him so.

Well, I suppose you could.

But this is what you may be in for:

1. “Father, I want to have my baby baptized.”
2. “Alright, just phone the parish office on Monday; they’ll tell you what to do.”
3. You wait until Monday. You forget. You keep trying to remember. (Newborn baby – well, need I say more?) It’s Thursday; you find a moment to phone.
4. The office has closed. You go online to the parish website; there seem to be certain requirements but you see that phoning is still one of the first steps. You put a big note on your fridge. A big note. Won’t forget tomorrow.
5. Friday comes. You phone again. But you dolt, don’t you realize the parish staff leaves early on Fridays?
6. Wait til next week.
7. The priest is there, on Sunday, greeting the parishioners after Mass. But you don’t speak. You walk by because you know what he’ll say. You admit, you haven’t called. (Though you tried.)
8. (You’ll call this week.)
9. It’s Monday, mon, you take the phone.
10. The office lady boredly tells you to leave a voice mail for the Special Worker (she’s not in.)
11. You wait ’til Wednesday afternoon, now she’s back.
12. Some forms please, you need to fill.
13. Where are these forms now, you want to know.
14. Download them or come pick them up.
15. You go back online. Didn’t see them the first time, no.
16. Print them off.
17. Attach a photograph (as if you have a large selection just sitting there). But choose one first. Print it off. But, oh man, buy more ‘magenta’ first. A trip to the store, husband dear. How could you forget? That cartridge’s dead! What, have you been having sleepless nights with your newborn baby? Oh well. Get the new cartridge, undo the package, set it up, print it off, cut it out. You’re all set now. Only 2.5 hours of your life, mon.
18. They have a wall, see, some design, babies glue-sticked onto grape clusters – some kind of theme. That’s real important, right? Stupid ugly tree painted on the wall.
19. Get some glue-stick, choose a nice pic, it’s craft time! You’re twenty-nine, but you’re in class now. (You finally got yourself enrolled.)
20. Do what they tell you.
21. Newborn baby is with baby-sitter, first time tonight. Used the pump, first time this afternoon. (Stressful.) Well, now we’re here, all dressed up. We speak briefly to other stressed out couples, who’d rather be almost anywhere else. Pass the pencil crayons; I have to draw a picture for my newborn; Special Worker says.
22. Stupid course now, taught by someone you don’t know, or ever want to.
23. Special Worker turns on the music box, standing around now, there’s some rocks, symbol of what?
24. All in a circle please, this means what now? (You don’t want to know.) (It’s something Special Worker recently made up.)
25. State your child’s name and why you chose that one for your child. Please announce to the others ( – strangers, yes, but now this topic you will discuss).
26. “Well, my wife Tammy and I, well, um, we chose the name Louis because we once had a good friend of the family named Louis, and when he passed away – just soon before the birth, actually – we decided to name our child after him.”
27. “Thank you, I see, how lovely. And the next person, you in the green shirt, what name did you choose, for your child?” Says Special Worker with a fake smile.
28. Nowadays what I’d say is, “I really don’t see why I must disclose.”
29. Nowadays what I’d say is, “What does this have to do with the baptism of my own?”
30. Some more koom-ba-ya time and some more colouring.
31. What an embarrassment to the Church.
32. Here’s a video, a short video, so unmemorable that it will leave you faster than you’ll leave the Church. As if you ain’t got YouTube on your own phone. As if Fr. Larry Richards can’t deliver one hundred million times better. Or Fr. Barron. Man.
33. Here’s a hand-out, so long and dull, you’ll leave it in the car or on the window sill.
34. You don’t even notice then that there are some words there on that blue sheet.
35. Oops.
36. Hey those little words are what you’ll promise in a few week’s time.
37. Small little words see.
38. Something about the devil you will forsake.
39. Something like that.
40. Nobody really made a big deal about that sheet. Not Special Worker nor the Priest (who did stop in, once, for a minute.)
41. It was underneath. Underneath some poem written by someone somewhere that Special Worker thought did inspire (though it didn’t).
42. Oh well, what can you do now, nobody asked you whether any of it made any sense, and Special Worker seems there to stay.
43. She must know what she’s doing. She took some ‘Div’ course – yeah paid some cash once, wrote an essay too. Woo-hoo. If you weren’t so unholy you’d know “Div” means Divinity. Closer to God, see. What’s it this time? Bachelors? Masters? Something like.
44. Yeah man, who cares.
45. Doesn’t mean Special Worker knows what she’s doing.
46. It’s just you and me, hey, we know what she’s doing.
47. She’s makin’ y’all not want to come back! That’s what she’s doing! Can’t blame you.
48. I’m sorry.
49. I’m sorry for the Special Worker you meet at the door. Nobody asked me if she was a good choice. (I’m like you, see, no Div after my name neither, just a spent ol’ LL.B.)
50. But lean here, I’ll whisper to you, “It’s an industry.” This free gift, Jesus wants for your little child, that the Church wants for your child, has been surrounded by puffs of wheat. Puffs of nothing, of red tape, of koom-ba-ya courses left and right, making no sense, just pure nonsense taught by someone who should just be quiet. And hey, it’s the same gang that will come up with activities for you if you want your child to receive First Communion, Reconciliation and Confirmation. Want to get married? Oh my. The courses are enough to make you want to, well, elope.
51. But please don’t. Please wade through it, please come through it, to the other side. The sacrament is worth it. The sacrament is real.
52. Please bring your child to baptism and to First Communion. Please get married in the Church. It’s your church. It doesn’t belong to the Special Worker. She’s not in charge.
53. She’s not the doorkeeper of this great Church. Those stupid courses taught by full-paid workers mostly shouldn’t exist. A big industry of courses delivered ’round the world, by those who wanted a cushy job. Big puffy mess of this form and that. All crap. Or, to be fair, mostly crap.
54. If I had my way, I would, in the first place, encourage parents to attend any relevant courses or whatever prior to the birth of the child! Life won’t get quieter when baby is born, it’ll be fuller, (joyfully fuller) but 8 p.m. on a Tuesday night won’t feel the same as it does before baby arrives.
55. This is what I’d do if I had my say, if I had my way. I’d give you my email. You’d use it. And guess what: you’d get me the very first time. Bull’s Eye. I’d reply. Within hours, maybe minutes, I’d say, “Hello.” We’re on our way.
56. I’d say, “Want your son baptized? Wonderful! Please state his name, give a copy of the birth certificate, let’s make it happen. God’s free gift, mon, (just as Lance P. said.) Here’s one paper, it’s what you’ll say, on Louis’ behalf, this Sunday. Read it carefully, it’s the main thing for you to be prepared. If you want more, I can provide.” Something like that. I’d also say, “I’ll meet you after Mass. A group of two parents or twenty, I don’t need no head count; bring your baby; I’ll bring the donuts. Give me twenty minutes, maybe thirty. I’ll explain the nuts and bolts. We’ll go through those vows. See you then. (Something like that.) You’re on your way.
57. No construction paper, no glue stick, no koom-ba-ya, no poemity poems.
58. Just prose.
59. Ah, prose. Thank you, Lawd.
60. Prose, my old friend! Long time no see, heh heh.

Post 72

Stupid, Stupid Courses:
You're Gettin' in the Way of Me An' My Lord, Mon!
(Part One)

In this case, I got the title as nearly the first thing.
(I almost always add the title at the end.)

I was laying in bed at the time.
I looked at the Lord (the “Lawd”)
and I said,

“You must be kidding.”
I don’t even know what that is.
What is that? “Rasta”-style?
I can’t maintain that through a whole poem!
You know I can’t!

What’s with this “Mon” stuff?
Why do I hear that in my head?

I checked online.
Yup “Mon” is where I thought.
I looked at a “Jamaican Patois Translator”
and that was definitely matching up

Oh man.
I mean …

But God is merciful.
He’d never do that to me.

I’ve called his bluff.

You know that he does bluff, hey?
All the time.
You know that he’s a card player like no other, hey?

He makes you think he’s going to let that one thing happen, that thing you’ve always dreaded, that you’ve seen happen to other people, that you’re most scared of, that you’ve read of.

He wants to see what you’ll do.

He wants you to see what you do when you think and fear what you do.

Do you panic, and run to the internet, do you panic and run to the doctor, do you panic and talk to your neighbour? Do you start going to every prayer service within a 100 mile radius? Or do you trust in him? Do you look at him? What do you do?

Ah, I think I have a new way.

I say,
O Lawd, you’s too good to do dat t’ me.
I know you is.
I know you is.

And then he just crumbles.
He falls apart.
He says

Ah child,
You knows it.
You got me.

And then he smiles.
Big white perfect smile.
Set against his dark Rasta-perfect skin.

(And now I’m done, so what do I do – just wondering – with my title, which now makes no sense?)

I’ll make a Part Two.
See you soon.

Post 71

Trump Card

I don’t play cards either.

Not poker.
Not bridge.
(Too much math.)

I’d rather think on
dresses and balls.

But I have heard of a trump card.

(It’s yet another example of how many words and sayings in English have come from cards and especially poker. If ever again I teach English to foreigners, I’ll start by learning poker with them. We’ll learn all the moves, we’ll learn all the phrases. They’ll love it and I’ll like it too.)

The trump card is the best card
says the dictionary
(big red one).
Best one in the whole game.

If you play a trump card,
I think
I think it means that you win.

But it’s not that I’d entirely
Exactly know.

In the same way,
I’ve heard of Donald Trump.
A household name now.

Fun to say.
Fun to mock,

But I can’t say I’ve followed any of the stories or the news, no.
Can’t give you a single quotation
From Donald Trump, no.

Nor from the others.
Whoever they are.


Some vague memories of him on
(In those days I had something we used to call a “TV”)
That’s all I know.

And as for learning more,
I wouldn’t know why.
I’m not an American.
Nobody needs me to vote.

Got my own hands full
of everything here.

(Won’t vote for Bryan Anderson
I’ve figured out.)

Canada has more than its share
of problems and woes
Without importing more.

My brain has more than its share
of issues and thoughts
Without importing more.

Don’t need to go looking
For new kinds of games
What’s the difference?

Don’t know how.


They say it’s simple.
Maybe that’s the problem right there.
Seems so dull, never bothered to learn.
Zeros and Ones
Computer talk.

So anyway.

I don’t follow Trump.
My only source of Trump news is someone I know.
My only source is someone I know.

So he says,
“This Trump guy.”

I say,

“This Trump guy!”

I say,

“Oh, this Trump guy!”

I say,

“Well, he’s quite the fellow!”


(I guess now I’m informed?)


“This Trump guy! Oh, you should hear how he talks!”

(Please tell me. You’ve got my attention.)

“Hoo-boy! He says what he thinks!”

(And the problem with that is?)

“Just whatever he thinks.”

(I’m waiting to hear what the problem is.)

“Doesn’t know how to be a politician!”

(Is that a bad thing?)

“He says things like, ‘They’re liars!’”

(Maybe they are.)

“He says things like, ‘If they’re not liars then they’re stupid!’”

(Maybe they are.)

“He says, ‘That guy’s wife dresses really bad.’”

(Maybe she does.)

“He says, ‘I got nothing to apologize for.’”

(Maybe he doesn’t.)

“He calls himself a Christian.”

(Maybe he is.)

“He said the bankruptcies weren’t his own fault.”

(Maybe they weren’t.)

I find it interesting. Why is it the case that this man, this Donald Trump, is so utterly laughable but I don’t know why people are – in fact – laughing? The only thing I’ve heard so far that I’ve questioned is this notion of building a wall between Mexico and the United States. I’m not sure what the purpose of that would be. To keep the Americans from tainting the Mexican soil? Hmm. Oh I understand. That might not be such a bad idea. How gracious of Mr. Trump to keep his spoiled children in check! He’ll rein them in – very good then! (Yes, please do keep them in, Mr. Trump; they sound rather out-of-control.)

So many of these Americans are so eager to condemn this man, but it sounds more like sneers and jeers than actual argument.

What policy does he suggest which is so wrong?
What notions does he have which are misguided, and why?

Isn’t that the main thing?

Not sure that it matters whether he’s on wife number five.
Or four.
Or three.
(I honestly wouldn’t know.)

Does it?

Can he govern?
Would he be capable?
Is he a better choice than his opponents?

Things like that
Seem more to the point.

Instead, I hear hyperbole about “this guy,” this shocking, outrageous, can-you-believe-what-he-just-said guy. I hear about some Americans who threaten to plan to rush across the border, north, to Canada, they’re so disgusted at the thought of him as President of the United States.

They’ll flee, they say.

They’ll flee to Canada if ‘that guy’ gets in.


Well guess what?

Who says we want you?

And since when do you decide where you will step?
You bully.
Since when does the whole entire world
Start keepin’ your hands (and your feet) to yourself.

(Just askin’.

Hey Mr. Trump, if you get in, just wonderin’.
Could you build a wall,
100 feet high?

Separate Canada from your land,
Keep those brats in.
Those whiny brats.

If they don’t want you,
Not sure I want ’em either.

May the best man win, Mr. Trump.

May the best man win.
whoever that is.


I don’t play cards nope.

Not poker.
Not bridge.
(Too much math.)

I’d rather think on
dresses and balls.

I only know one game.
(I know: “I know only one game.”
Grammatical flaws
Sometimes on purpose

Whichever wherever whomever
What fun!

That one’s serious.
So is that.

But anyway.

I know only one game.

My dad taught me


Of course I remember!
How can I forget?

Rooks, queens, kings, pawns.

I remember.

Bishops and Knights.

Ah yes.




Ah yes.

I remember.

Love you lots
Post 70

News? “News”? Ha ha ha!

I don’t watch the news.
I don’t really understand why anybody would.
It keeps changing.

I’d rather read
(What he said 100 years ago
is even more true today.)

I’m always up-to-date.

Catechism of the Catholic Church.
Another great choice.
Always up-to-date.

Doesn’t go out of style.
Because it never was in.

Post 69

Mass Time: In Defence of the Latecomer

Not right, Father,
For you to scold them


You gave a speech
‘Fore Mass started.

You told us
You’d speak again
When they arrived.

You said you thought
The main perpetrators
Of parking crimes
From that group,

Those violators!
That nameless, faceless group
called Latecomers.

‘Twas what you said.

I was there.

I was on time.
‘Though one of ‘them.’

You could call me ‘a spy.’
(But please don’t.
‘Twouldn’t be fair.
‘Twouldn’t be right.)

Ah – instead –

Call me a lawyer
“For the defence.”

Allow me to defend
That group
That group you did malign
When they had not yet
Even arrived.


Mass began
Some came in
(Defamation in the label.)
Brothers? Sisters?
(There, now that’s better.)

True, yes,
I concede
I agree
One minute late
Five minutes late
Ten minutes late
Fifteen minutes late!
(Brave souls, them!
Brave souls, we!)

Do you remember
How it was, Father?
Do you remember
Gray-haired Father,
What it meant,
To be late for Sunday Mass?
Do you remember,
How it felt?

Well then,
let me remind.
Let me tell.

It feels yucky.

Fifty eyes.

As you try to decide,
Where to sit.

A hundred eyes,
As you try
(Good luck!)
Try to slip

Into this big group
This ‘good group’

Of those on time.

‘Tisn’t quite so easy
In your church,
I must say.

Big Basilica
Good Basilica


Pews at the back,

Pews on the side,

No, at this church
The ‘custom’ is

Those who walk in late
Go to the top!
The very top!
Up in front!
Near the priest!


(Dare you
Come to the Basilica,
Good Basilica,
If you’re late?)

Climb the steps
With your children
All in tow.

Those children!
How does that mother
about her young group?
A nameless, faceless group?

Those Latecomers!
(As if the children actually
had a choice!)

Does mother smile
As they take a while
As they make a fuss
Way up on top
Way at the front?

Or does she sigh?
Does she hope
That they don’t cry
That they don’t squeak?
(Not one peep, please.)

Think well on that,
Think well on that.

What does it mean?
Family planning…family size…those eyes..
Those eyes at church.
(Honey, let’s stop at three.)

Already on display
Now please, child,
Let’s not be heard

Hush baby, hush.
Don’t make a fuss.
Here’s a toy,

Oh dear.

Please don’t say it!
Oh no oh no!
Please don’t say it!

Cold sweat now.
How can we go?
How can we not go?
He needs to go,

How many steps
From here to there?

How many eyes

How many eyes
Will despise

While we walk by
Slowly by
(Excuse me, sorry)

Now we proceed.
Child, take my hand.

Yes, look all, yes!
Feast your eyes on

Going downstairs.

Don’t mind

Do you know
What that feels like

Do you know
what it feels like
To be a

Be merciful now
To the mother
To the father

You know not how
They came to be late

You know not where
They ultimately could park

Maybe they circled the block
Maybe they parked really far
Maybe they walked some
From their old beaten-down car
(Wheels not paid for by the church.)
Dad carried little one
Heavier-by-the-minute son
How do you know?

You don’t.

So please don’t say –
Please don’t place the blame –

Let me roar:

Your general word
To those that heard
About that bad bunch
Called Latecomers

Was misplaced.
Very misplaced.

[And ‘by the way,’ Father – as they say,
Your timing – oh me oh my
You said it again during Mass!
The very Mass
was a little obscured,
by your words,

More scolding before the final blessing –
Host just consumed
Some scolding, explaining, some anecdote –
Who said what about some cars
Make it stop!
Some story about some license plates –
Shoot me now,
Some lady called the parish and she said such-and-such –
Shoot me now,
I can’t listen.
Not during the Mass,
not to this.
What bad timing!

Please not again, Father.
Not during Mass,

Tell me,
What is worse?
A car in the wrong zone
(whoopie stink)
such words during the Mass?
(let me think, hmmm)

Both may be out of place
But which one is worse?
I’d rather ‘offend’ the city officials
(poor things)
And fill the city coffers
(another ticket, another dollar, for them!)
Than the Word
Who made the Mass.]

What your parish needs, please
Is a new view
About those late few
Who still come in

Huffing and puffing
But willing to come still
Willing to be ashamed,
Because it’s the best
The best that
They could give


Those who arrive just as you like
Nice and neat and all on time


What they do

Have you seen?

Spread out their coats
Purse way over there
What do they care?

They were there first!
Is what they think

(Self-satisfied, some.)

(Many’ll leave early though.
Going where? Can’t say I know.
But I bet they’ll be on time.)

Running on time but
Taking two seats
Right on the pew’s end
Who can get by?
(Not the Latecomer –
he’s much too shy now.)

The parking spots
They claim the best ones
‘Though they could’ve walked some
And been none the worse for wear.

It’s all upside down
It’s all mixed up

Make a new rule
At least a suggestion
“If you come early
How about this –
Make some room
in your pew
(and in your heart)
for your tardy
brother and sister”

[Anybody want
These seats up top here?
A nice view,
a change of scene here,
you could say.

You could promote it
As another way
One can be kind.

Call them ‘the bleachers’
Call them the ‘nose bleeds’
They’ll think you’re funny.

Take my joke
Take the credit
I don’t care
I don’t need it

I’m in the dug-out
Nobody you need know.
At least not for now,

You’d say,
“As for your brother
Your sister too,
Fellow children of God

They’re coming soon
They’re delayed
They’re on their way”

You’d say,
“Save some rear pews please
For those who’d rather

Save the pew ends please
For those who’d rather

of caring not
the Holy Mass.”

Usher’d say,
“Squeeze in a little bit more
Let’s all shuffle down some
Like a sold-out show down at the Fringe.
Like a sold-out show, some sorry stand-up act.”

You’d say,
“Save the best parking spots
For the last ones
Who might arrive

Who did decide

They loved the Mass more
Than how they appeared
To the rest –

To that good group,
That so-on-time group –

To the priest
(reserved parking)
To the usher
To the parish office full-time full-paid worker
(reserved parking)”

God bless
the Latecomer

Blessed Latecomer


[A portion of the first reading for that Mass was as follows, and in your homily you made reference, Father, to Nathan’s confrontation with King David. I wonder how Nathan felt about addressing God’s anointed.]

As Jesse and his sons came to the sacrifice,
Samuel looked at Eliab and thought,
“Surely the LORD’s anointed is here before him.”
But the LORD said to Samuel:
“Do not judge from his appearance or from his lofty stature,
because I have rejected him.
Not as man sees does God see,
because man sees the appearance
but the LORD looks into the heart.”

In the same way Jesse presented seven sons before Samuel,
but Samuel said to Jesse,
“The LORD has not chosen any one of these.”
Then Samuel asked Jesse,
“Are these all the sons you have?”
Jesse replied,
“There is still the youngest, who is tending the sheep.”
Samuel said to Jesse,
“Send for him;
we will not begin the sacrificial banquet until he arrives here.”
Jesse sent and had the young man brought to them

1 Samuel, Ch. 16 (the “Latecomer”).
(First Reading for March 6, 2016
during Mass with Scrutiny = 4th Sunday of Lent – Year A)

Post 68


Have you ever tried to make a smoothie
And you find that the pieces of frozen fruit
From the freezer
Have fused together?

A solid block
Solid brick of?

The other day it was mango
Yellow-orange mango
Melded together

Here we go!
Here goes nothing
Into the yogurt
(Add some raw honey)

Flick it on

Jet engine
in a kitchen

Can’t remember
(But hats off to the designers!)


It’s really loud.

I watched the mango spin around.
(Watched the man-go, ha ha!)
I thought “Hey, that’s me.
I’m like the Vitamix!™”

Makes perfect sense

God drops things in
And then I stir
And I chop
Break apart
What’s frozen together
Then it’s good.

That’s me.


What job did you get in God’s kitchen?
Something nice?
Something quiet?

Trust me,
I wasn’t looking to be this noisy appliance,

Thought of myself as something else
Truth be told.
How about
Backstage somewhere?
Dark quiet corner someplace?
Behind some cardboard props
Some old Styrofoam™?
I’ll stand alone,
Thank you, sir
And madam.

You go on “Facebook”
I’ll stay here.
You go on “LinkedIn”
I’ll stay here.
You go on “Yahoo!”
I’ll stay here.
You go on “Twitter”
I’ll stay here.

Tweet all you like, partner.
(I don’t have anything to tell ’em.)

Got my corner.
Got my drawer.
I’ll be snuggled in here.
Hey, roll over, rolling pin!
Let me squeeze in.
I think I’ll fit.

And really,
Not my style

Believe me.

There were times
Stomach in knots
Couldn’t eat that
Hot dog.

Oh man.
What fax has arrived
From the other side?
Oh bleck.

(“Abridge the time for service.”
That Iaian!)

That’s for lawyers
That’s for litigation
And in fact
That’s why some leave
That “profession”
They don’t like
All the time
They don’t want to
Take that home

I’m not actually looking for trouble.
I’m just sitting here.
I don’t choose what gets dropped in.
I just stay here.

I never know what’s coming my way.
Don’t know what I’ll say

My blades are where God wants them.
And they’re pretty sharp.

He sure made me noisy.


I used to be quiet.
Relatively speaking, that is.
Relative to what I could have said, that is.
Relative to what I thought, that is.

As for now,
Well –
Someone’s plugged me in!
Whoa, horsey!

What kind of
Horse power
Is this?!

But don’t think I’m agitated
Because I agitate.
And I mix.
Don’t think I’m upset.
(Doing fine)

Look at the blades
They rest by themselves
At the bottom
Locked in place
– still –
Of that machine.

Truth is
I’m largely indifferent.
I just do my job.
He puts it in,
I’ll mix it up.
Chop as needed,
Until things are smooth

It’s just –
If you give me
A solid block of
A solid brick of
I’ll process it.
(Give me a minute.)

I’ll do what needs to be done
Stop when it’s ready.
Stop when you’re good.

I’m not the wooden spoon.
I’m not the bowl.

I’m not the garlic press.
Nor the whisk.
I’m the Vitamix™
I guess.

Full power, full blast.
Turn it up to 10
What can I say?
(Turns out,
A lot!)

One day a cowboy
Another a trucker
One day a rock star
Another a lover

Who knows
What’s coming now?
I don’t!

As for today, for example,
Today I identify with

Some European-made
$400 CDN
kitchen appliance!


Smoothie, anyone?

Post 67

Unforeseen Dots:
Connections Between Posts 65 and 64

Little did I realize!

(But now I do.)

Thus I added

a dedication

to Post 64.

Now it says,

“To His Holiness, Pope Francis.”

You see,

I suddenly realized,

that Pope Francis too is driving a rocket

his is called

the Catholic Church.

He’s in the pilot’s seat now.

God’s put him in charge,


Not you,

Not me.

This means,


We must be careful

What we say against him,

What we insinuate.

Can we back it up?

Can we really, really, back it up?

Or do we guess? Is it a rumour, what we pass on?

Do we know

His very thoughts?

Do we know

His very mind?

What if

Pope Francis has the gift now

A sudden gift now

of reading souls?

Wouldn’t you be

Quite surprised?

Reading souls see,

Isn’t quite like

You might expect.

You’d be surprised

You would find

That those who do everything ‘right’
That those who sing the right (pro-life) ‘song’
Are often wrong,
Deep in their hearts.

You would find,

That those who’ve done so much ‘wrong’
Are not always
half so bad
As you might think.

Harder to tell than you’d expect,
Was Jesus’ point,
When he did divide
the Pharisee
Who did all right
From the prostitute
Who did all wrong.

Perhaps Pope Francis knows more than some do think.

Someone has put him in charge
For good reason
And this Someone knows


Almighty God

Has put Pope Francis
Dear Pope Francis
In charge
of his
Rocket Ship

Be careful when you question
Be careful when you challenge him,
LifeSite “News”
Don’t touch his rearview mirror
Don’t lean into the dials
Quite so far

Because behind the Pope
There’s another One

The Pope is the rock.
Tell me,
If you’re Catholic,
Who stands on it?

Pope has a rocket
And a Friend
Like no other

Don’t cut so close
With your scissors
Mr Editor
How do you know whether they’re still sharp?
How do you know whether they cut so well?

You’re cutting the cloth
Mr Editor
Man of the cloth

Be careful Mr Editor

Jagged lines?
Wayward scissors?

Watch out
Mr Westen

Many readers
and more online
to you

Watch out

Speak carefully
I’ve read those threats
In your magazine
To the Pope
You claim to speak
on behalf of many
in the Church
A very great many

Watch out

What you say

When you speak of
the little fellow
in the driver’s seat

of that rocket ship


Post 66

The Break-Up: Two Scripts


SHE: So, Dogbert, I’ve been thinking.
HE: Hm.
SHE: I’ve been thinking, you know.
HE: Hm.
SHE: About things.
HE: Hm.
SHE: About, you know, like, us.
HE: Hm.
SHE: I kind of feel,
HE: (silence)
SHE: I kind of feel,
HE: (silence)
SHE: like, it’s maybe not really working out.
HE: (internal alarm going off – ding, ding, ding RED ALERT DANGER! Ding DING DING) What do you mean?
SHE: Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry oh Dogbert, don’t be upset, it’s not you, honestly (Pah! You see how she lies?) Honestly, I’m totally not saying you’ve done anything wrong (More lies – she thinks he’s done a lot wrong.)
HE: (confusion) But –
SHE: Oh Dogbert, it’s just –
HE: (confusion)
SHE: Dogbert, I do love you I do, it’s just that, well, you know, it’s been stressful lately, with my mother and everything, you understand, and these days, well, you know how I’ve been wanting to be alone more, you know, contemplate life and so on
HE: (confusion, “ ‘contemplate’ life, you? Since when?”)
SHE: Oh are you upset?
HE: (thinking, “Hell, yes, what do you expect?”) (Silence.)
SHE: Oh I’m so sorry, it’s really nothing you’ve done you’re just such an amazing person I think the world of you really I do. I mean, you’re just so, so, um, strong, and brave, and you’re so direct, and you’re so smart and you’re handsome and athletic and big and strong and um, brave.
HE: (thinking: “True, what she says is true” — but now more confused than ever)
SHE: It’s just that, you know, at a time in my life like this, well, I think I just really need some more time to myself. Just to think things through you know.
HE: (silence.)
SHE: I just need some time alone, you know?
HE: (silence.)
SHE: Dogbert, are you okay? I still totally love you, you know. And you’re just such a wonderful person.
HE: (silence.)
SHE: It’s just I can’t do this anymore. We need to take a break, you know.
HE: (pause) So you’re saying —
SHE: Yeah, we really need to just take a break for a while.
HE: But you said —
SHE: I know, I know, but honestly, it’s nothing you said, nothing you did, it’s totally and I mean totally not your fault, it’s me, it’s just the way I’m feeling right now. It’s not you, it’s me.
HE: uh –
SHE: Yeah, I hope you understand
HE: (Thinking, “Uh, nope, can’t say I do.”)
SHE: Thank you, thank you for being so understanding I’ll just grab my purse and oh (ha ha) my phone. Bye-bye!


CORRECT SCRIPT (if you think you have to do it in person) FOR GIRLFRIEND

SHE: Dogbert, I have to break up with you.
HE: What?
SHE: Yeah, I won’t see you after today.
HE: What?
SHE: Once I walk out the door, you won’t see me anymore.
HE: What? What’s going on?
SHE: Well, it’s not working out for me. I’m looking for Mr. Right and, well, you’re not him.
HE: What? What do you mean, “Mr. Right”?
SHE: You’ve never heard the phrase?
HE: Well, I mean, seriously, please, “Mr. Right” Who’s perfect?
SHE: Well, not you, that much I know.
HE: Excuse me? What?! So you’re looking for — like, “Mr. Prince Charming?” You’re looking for Prince Charming?!
SHE: Yeah, basically.
HE: You’ve got to be kidding. Have you lost your mind?
SHE: No.
HE: Since when are you looking for a prince? Who do you think you are, some kind of princess?
SHE: Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I am. Some kind of. [All women are daughters of God, deserving of genuine care and kindness. Similarly, all men are called to be his noble and honourable sons.]
HE: Since when? Alrighty, “Princess.” So what, I’m supposed to start calling you “Your Highness.”?
SHE: Well, no, you won’t be calling me at all.
HE: And why the hell not?
SHE: In the first place, it’s because you phone me to talk about nothing when I’ve asked you not to, and in the second place, it’s because I’m breaking up with you, remember?
HE: And, why’s that? Something wrong with me all ‘a sudden?
SHE: Yes, as a matter of fact, many things, but not all of a sudden.
HE: Like what? Name one thing.
SHE: Dogbert, I already have named one thing, but I don’t have the time, the obligation nor the desire to list any of my reasons. I’m done; I’m through. I’m going to try to find someone who cares more for me, who treats me with kindness.
HE: Alrighty, whatever.
SHE: Yeah, but I’ll say one thing.
HE: And what’s that?
SHE: It’s not me, man, it’s you! Man, it’s you! Goodbye, Dogbert. Goodbye.

Post 65

Salad, Betrayal on the Side

I used to subscribe
to Life Site News

I even used to donate

When the magazine
Came out

“Faithful Insight”

I subscribed

I liked to scroll through
Take a stroll through
Their website

That’s what I did

Until I read
A certain story

It was gory, this story,
Worse than, in its way, those about Planned Parenthood
I’ll tell you why
Foss had a lie
Buried deep
Deep within it
It stole God’s glory

It said
You mothers
You silly mothers
You homeschooling mothers
Go ahead
Go try to do your job
Go and good luck
But God might not be with you
Maybe not
He’ll turn his head
Leave you crying
On the ground
Leave you dying

In a ball
Curled up and all

You were dead

You were dead

I wrote to LifeSiteNews
Right to the top

John-Henry Westen
Wrote to him


Hey, don’t defeat those mothers
Those very good mothers
They support you
They swim upstream
Just like you

And furthermore,

That photo
It’s not right
Red tank top
Pouty lips
Who’s that

Never saw no homeschool mother
Look like that, no
Pout on the mouth
Big doe-dumb eyes
What is that?
Whose disguise?

Please pull the story
Please take it down

The other day
Magazine arrived
Faithful Insight


Changed the photo

As for the lies

That horrid story
He’s put it on the back
Full colour
Nearly a feature story
Well, not so much.
Life Site “News”?
Well, not so much

New one’s worse
The words, the verse,
They’re still there.

He got my letter.
He knew it well.
(Changed the photo.
Kept the tale.)

Let me fight back.
On God’s behalf

Let me fight back.
It’s not true!
God doesn’t abandon,
And especially:
not like that.

Don’t say it.
Don’t dare.

But before I end, I must add,
No longer do I support
The man
who snuck his camera
His very secret camera

Into those meetings
Into those rooms
Into those lunches

That was wrong
Very wrong
He lied
He pretended he was a friend
They let down their guard
And did he flirt?
That’d make it worse.

And I cannot think
What is worse
Than a ‘friend’
To show
To the world
A video of me
From below the chin
And Talking
And Laughing
With ease

You run the camera
I think you’re a friend
Then you show the world?
You liar
You sleaze

No matter what I said
No matter what she said
You did wrong
On behalf of all women
Let me shout:


You clout.
What kind of man
Is so unchivalrous
So unprincely
So dishonourable
That he’d do that
To any woman?

I don’t agree with abortion
Of course
Life-long heart-ache for the woman
Life-long damage to her body
Death to her child
Especially girls
Little baby unborn girls

To protest
is fair
To write letters
is fair
To make a fuss
is fair

But let’s keep our heads
We owe each other

No matter what
No excuses
The end still doesn’t justify the means
You know that,
Christianity 101


The methods do matter
They matter a lot
It’s not enough to say
“I’m on the right side”

If you film unannounced
You’re on the wrong side
A very bad side

You tell a lie
You’re on the wrong side
A very bad side

Father of lies
Hey, he’s proud of you
and your methods
Mr. Videotaper
Mr. Undercover
Mr. Spy

As for me,
I’m not proud of you
Or what you’ve done

To this movement
The Pro-Life movement
All that effort
All that work

Don’t sympathize
with you
Don’t empathize
with you
Right now

Not yet

Until you get it

To them

To the women
You betrayed

On this one,
I stand with the women
Who had lunch with you
And were betrayed by you
To the world.

Shame on you,
horrid spy.

As for LifeSiteNews,
well, Mr. Westen,
you ask me to choose

Magazine on one hand
Mother on the other

I do choose
I decide.

Here I say,
Mr. Weston,
You yourself did betray

A special group
of special mothers

Good-bye LifeSite “News”

May God Take You Down
(If he does choose.)

May God Take You Down

Please forward.

Post 64
To His Holiness, Pope Francis

Just Rocket

Lover got me a new rocket ship.
All mine.

Real fast.

Million miles a second
‘Cross the sky.
Into space.

Day is night out there
Night is day out there
Suns fly past
out there
Time space is blurred
out there.

So fast,
can’t even see it
So fast,
can’t even feel it

What speed
No words
Could describe

Pulled up
Got my friend.
Goin’ for a ride.
Hadn’t seen her
in a while.

But hey, she knew
She knew
about the rocket ship
(I’d told her.)

Not nearly nobody knew
I kept it on the sly
Nobody’d believe me anyway
Wouldn’t believe about the lover,
Wouldn’t believe about the new
cruise control
So why bother
Keep it on the sly
Was how I thought

Oh man
You should see the dials

Pure gold controls
Diamonds on the handles
Amazing, heart-stopping,
Even for a girl

Who never cared none
about locomotion

This one, well,
it’s just
it’s so
Words fail me.

Oh man
Can’t describe.

So anyway,
Picked up my friend
Goin’ for a spin

She got in,
Her reaction
Just as I thought

(Knew her well.)

Blown away.
Utterly astounded.

We flew
Was it half a second?
Then out near stars.

There goes our sun.
Which galaxy
would you prefer?

Blew her mind.
As I expected.

What a time!
Flew for hours.
No lights.
No lanes.
Just pure

Outer space
Like you’ve never seen
Oceans of colour
God’s design




She settled in.


She settled in.

She said, “So, how fast you flyin’, anyhow?”
She leaned over. A little in my space, I noted. Peered at the dials. My dials.
She said, “Hey, I’ll adjust that rearview mirror. A little off, in my humble opinion.”
(What a phrase! Worse as acronym. IMHO’s a hospital ward, I think. ‘Course it’s your opinion. Didn’t think it was your neighbour’s, did I? As for humble, well, it’s interesting that you announce that.)
She touched the mirror. (You just been fingerprinted, criminal.)
She said, “What about the oil? Have you changed it?”
I looked at her.
She asked, “And could I play devil’s advocate?”
(What’s that? Since when did satan need a lawyer? Want him as your client? Um, why?)
I looked at her.
She said, “Can I ask you a question?”
I looked at her; I was exhausted.
She said, “But what I really want to know is,
what about
the motor?
I’m rather concerned.
Let’s chat about that.”

Yeah baby,
Let’s not.

So that was that.
It’s how it all ended.
Was it a tenth of a second?
Won’t say it stops on a dime
’cause it stops on the edge of an edge of a dime
Just so.

Anyhow, right outside her place.
Is where I stopped.
Little field trip,
it’s over.

Door handle works smooth
Why don’t you try it?
Yeah, why don’t you step outside, baby
Look at my rocket
Check it out

Real nice rocket, hey
Like it from the outside?
Stand there, I’ll fire it up
Check out the tail lights
As I leave.


Got a date

Got a date

Gotta go

My Lover
Maker of the Universe
Creator of Time
And Space

You gotta know

Three things
Trinity of things,
let’s say,

About this Rocket
About my Lover

Number One
The driver’s seat
is under me
not you

Number Two
The owner’s manual
belongs to me
not you

Number Three
He taught me to fly
Lover did

‘Cross the sky
Don’t know why

He chose me
But he did

So chill.