I long for past's pretty face
the gaze of adventure
from eyes
of forest mist

take me, to the mountains
laden in thin trees
or coconut ocean
of dark skin beauty

(a call from far away)

An ancient sailor
of Columbus mind
oh universe,
find my hand and-
favor my endeavor

Sometimes I feel stuck, as do you. A feeling that life exists more purely, somewhere far away.

Am I climbing up the mountain
or tumbling down like an avalanche
crashing down hopes and fantasies that keep me sane?

I pace through forests where echoes are bleak
harnessing warmth in this fire that burns
steadily through storms falling from the peak

Am I pursuing the light
or am I just chasing a shadow?
Dark clouds are due, I seem to have lost sight

O whistle me a tune of comfort for my despair
let me hear your soothing whispers
so I may rest knowing that you are there.

"Your silence weakens me."

Dan was a vegetarian-wiseman
A three square prayers a day man.
So deep in the den Dan stuck to the plan
And ended the night as he began
With all his limbs no less than
When the lion became his new best fan.
The king saw Dan was no mere stunt man
And sent out an urgent all points telegram
Overturning his ill-concieved prayer ban
And telling the people of every clan
To fear the God of fearless Dan.

Daniel Chapter 6
Darius 1d

So here's a prayer for every wish I wasted on you
For every star I forced to fall in hopes that dreams do come true
I'll beg for their forgiveness, but I won't beg for you.

During mass on Sunday mornings
we would recite the Act of Contrition,
a prayer to request forgiveness of sins.
In humble voices, we asked for absolution
from God and from each other,
before the priest blessed the eucharist.
Most of our sins were encouraged in a world on fire,
but we owned up to them every week.
Hatred of our brothers and sisters,
the best drugs and the juiciest hookers,
these were our only escapes
from the bosses, the bills, the tax collectors.

Sin was how we stopped the perpetual slide
into total madness,
and the Act of Contrition,
that was how we kept our sins
from eating us alive.


In kissing the ocean
The old rivers dream
Of flying as clouds and
Reverting to streams

In drinking the river
The youth of the twig
Absorbs some small knowledge
Of trees that are big

In bleeding the mountain
The crack in the stone
Enriches the water
That springs from its bones

In breathing these pages
These poems I pray
Wish for me to become
A river someday

Thank you Lord for the gift of your love, and beauty, your power and your humility especially in the blessed sacrament of the most Holy Eucharist. It is here that you hide both in plain sight and reveal your divinity and humanity in a most profound and personal way. It is here that you meet us and here that you greet us as we fall on our knees to pray. You give us the sun to welcome us at dawn and send angels to guard at the end of the day. There is always something new and timely every time I am before you in this place. And every time I come away with a brand new look at your face. I look forward to the times we have together with such anticipation and afterwards am filled with jubilation! Help me cling to you, help me sing to you. In troubled seasons help me hold fast, and in stressful moments help me to relax. In sadness I ask for peace and the strength to rejoice, when I have a difficult decision help me to discern and make a good choice. We pray to you, we bring all we are to you. Our joys, sorrows, longings, praises and petitions. Give us eyes to see you, ears to hear you, a mind to seek you and a heart to love you. Help us also to see, hear, seek, and love others as you do for all of them and for each of us.

We ask this and all things in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.


Written at Adoration at St. Peter's on July 7, 2017

Last Breath, 2nd edition
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Source of my anguish and wrath
do me the favor
and breathe your final Breath.
A life with you
is worse than certain Death!

My own kinda 'mors tua vita mea!'
Mark Lecuona Jul 15

We're glad we're the kissing kind
Whether son or daughter
We are the one's who wait
Walking deserts, believing in water

A blue storm builds inside us
We feel it's fight and fury
But we are the one's who can
It is faith that slays our worry

Wherever we are in the knowing
Of what tomorrow may bring
We will continue to live with love
Holding hands at dinner's bell ring

We summon every happy moment
Christmas morning in June
Singing our song of joy and love
Our smiles, the Lord's harvest moon

It is our kind that just as soon believe
There is every miracle under the sun
What another man cannot understand
We see in the glory of our rising son

Rising to meet the day once again
To light our life without grief or malice
The wick of every melting candle, and
Gathering wax inside God's chalice

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