On the July 2nd, 2026, the SSPX were excommunicated for their disobedience. This brings to mind the rupture in the Church that was the Reformation. Let’s pray for obedience, humility and the love that binds broken hearts once again in mercy. Let’s pray that the garment once again ripped up by clergy fighting clergy , clergy challenging authority over doctrine, while the sheep suffer, may be mended once again. This perfect piece of creation God set apart for Himself once again in torment!
Kyrie eleison!
Piece, perfect piece in this dark world of sin?
All called by Jesus to whisper peace within.
Piece, perfect piece, by warring clergy stressed?
To do the will of Jesus should be rest
Piece, perfect piece, with sorrows surging round?
Oh Jesus’s seamless garment torn by hounds
Piece , perfect piece with loved ones going astray?
In Jesus’s keeping we’ll be safe on that day.
Piece, God’s perfect piece, where truth must sure increase?
In Jesus, blurs that lead hearts quickly cease
Piece, perfect piece which earth to Heaven steers?
Lord Jesus, teach us mercy towards our peers
Piece, perfect piece, all prideful struggle flees?
When Jesus calls to Heaven’s perfect peace.
Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?
Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.
(c) nyonglema
Inspired by: Peace, Perfect Peace by Edward Henry Bickersteth
Costco parking lot
“Hey, St Anthony, I need your help now”
Roll forward, spin back to this spot
And find 4 parking spots where there was none.
It’s the same each time: our heavenly friend
Pulls a trick that makes the drawn out wait,
And search for a mooring spot after roaming
Round and round come to an end.
How often I forget that he, Anthony, already
Beholds scenes all humans secretly desire.
“St Anthony, a parking spot please?”
And I know not what prayers he then says
But the Lord loves the voice of those who
Have run the race and chosen Him only.
As I turn the ignition off, and thank the kindly
Saint for praying, and thank my Lord
I can now go shop at Costco
(c) nyonglema
Water
Calm dusky sunlit rest on a bench,
Wind caressing my lifted nostrils
Catching Canada’s flowery strength
Of spring-spawned golden daffodils
Looking at the silence of newborn green
Sleeping peacefully near the lake
Shifting in comfort with the gentle wind
Pouring over my cares deflated
Fish look up at all the joy around
Darting zig zags, like Brown’s particles.
They seem to smile and share their proud
Moments to their interested guild
Twist and twirl free little beings
No cares, not even for the watery shell
That feeds cheerful gills and fins
Blue heaven, inhale, rejoice, exhale
Do they feel the water? Is there
Gratitude for what hidden pervades
And sustains life so pure so clear
Frolicking in their exotic wet glade?
Twist and twirl free little beings
No cares! Oh I wish for the same shell
To heal my everyday in the budding spring:
Flowery relish, dusky breezes, daffodils
(c) nyonglema
What they borrowed in the 60s
Mystery.
History.
Blistering words from the shepherd’s mouth
Readily inters hopes of the interested youth.
Awe-stricken
Love-driven
But tradition’s the cur crashing the wedding party
Where saints soared, and is welcome no more.
Mystery’s now history.
The altar rail? Rolled out, burnt up or trashed.
Baroque over-the-top vestments got rehashed
Into lone wolves calling the moonlit heavens
Replacing gold-adorned lions glittering in sunny havens
Flowery kaleidoscopes of holy things seeming
To tell the story of angels singing, teeming
When the banquet brought Heaven to lowly earth
And hearts bought heavily through a horrid death
Breathed in unison at the choir’s echoes. The history
Now destroyed. Gone and forgotten mystery.
Blistering words from the shepherds’ mouths
Readily inter the hope for staying true
Why? Out with the tried and true
In with the unknown untried new
The interested youth must learn something new
For saintlike worship is now stale and foul.
But the victory remains with He that wins all,
Who wrought all, Who once in death enthralled
Fought our way out. Yes!
Restoration will come and through all and in all
There will be glory, beauty, truth, and hope!
A return to the kaleidoscope of holy things teeming:
History!
Mystery!
Glory!
(c) nyonglema
Shower, song and tears
It’s cold.
The water rivulets stab the hairs on my back
Till each like morning soldiers at attention,
Raise and pose. Water on my face is salty
Drop by drop rushing through the silence
Staring back at me in distorted human form
On knobs that don’t know you,
On a shower column that knows too
Well how to bleed without the red.
Sing! Break the silent solitude
With one of your songs!
A heart heaving for distant love
Mustering the strength to echo our words:
“Nell oscurità”. That’s where I am.
“Stretti forte e poi”. Poor me, not here.
Then choke. I replace the shower.
The pain hits pause to my singing, but
My eyes bent over towards the ground
Keep watering the glistening tiles
Like to grow you out of them right here.
But you’re not here.
You’re there where my heat cannot reach
And though promised soon to be, right now
The world’s but a cemetery with only you,
As my bowed head pours out, seeking you.
And the whole world misses your embrace
And the whole world is worse off for it.
(c) nyonglema
Socialism
What wrongs writhe within worlds past?
Pesky people pursuing property unjustly,
Using unsuspecting humans under their burdens!
Billions! How can one person spend it all
In the length of the thread of their life?
Why should one person take from us all?
Hunger stings at an infant in an African village
And the women of this city have been forgotten
While one person is allowed to ravage and pillage
Oh if I had those billions I would sew the seams
Which greed has broken to restore their souls
And bring great joy to women, children… our team
Yes we socialists know charity unlike the others claim
But won’t lift a finger. WE will share our billions gladly
Unless we actually have them.
(c) nyonglema
Winter warmth
The aroma of fresh cocoa tickles my senses
While the warmth tickles my palms.
Nature expresses its fury in loud sentences,
Peeking in through my window, jealous,
Reflecting the moon as the white powder dances
To the mad rave. The wind wishes to enter
But I’m cozy in here with my cocoa and shearlings
Anger rises, the news anchor’s worried
But I’m here. Warm. Listening to the storm. Warm
(c) nyonglema
Crowd-sourced morality
Come, Eve, come
Tell us what the bite taught you,
What Muse did it point to
As a source of hope in the garden?
Shall this Muse guide us right
As answers evade us while questions assail
Us like trying to tease truth out with a flail?
Shall we live lives not requiring pardon?
Hey, Adam, hello
What wisdom did you gain in that instant
When you tasted freedom from commandment,
Wisdom to take away this yoke?
My peers all wear the uniform:
You only live once so make the “most” of it
By spending it all to appease pleasure’s heat
Submitting to what the body needs
My peers all seek a breed of freedom
Where you do whatever can and calls to be done
Unstopped by anyone, untethered from bonds
Till pleasure’s heat’s quelled
For carpe diem before it’s dark
Nothing comes after, so heal your temporal urges
And let the foolish waste what could be splurged
On fever dreams from Tiberius’s era
We from you have learnt
To fall upon our will to chart our way
Yet the murders, the exile make me sway
Away from such false faith
Oh, Adam, Eve, while you mended,
Eternal unions now end on the slab of heartless courts
And spiral into lost children and broken hearts
That fight each ex-spouse to the death
Tell us how you turned back
Once banished from the garden, how you bore Seth
And how reformed you taught him with every breath
To trust the Master’s manual, and not lying snakes.
Show us again how to love,
How to live fully alive with a renewed purpose
How to be as happy as Dave Ramsey would propose,
But even more, as faith should impose
(c) nyonglema
Renewed
Dark clouds and shadows in the evening sky
Where you expected golden sun
It’s dark again with tonnes of tears to cry
Panic beats your heart, but you’re numb inside
Where warmth had lived before:
Curled arms, elbows pressed to your side
What bent head tear-filled pain hits your eyes?
What can closed eyes see?
Misery piling upon failed tries and woe’s sighs.
What can closed eyes see, if they turn upward
To where many have seen lots
And thereafter moved steadily forward?
Look to the wind blowing a crack through the gloom
And a single ray wriggle through
Letting a smile drawn in light appear in your room
The cold window warms up and takes up new hues
Your arms loose, eyes healing,
The warmth fills you inside as you take up a new you
For darkness was vanquished, and this you knew
But didn’t know-know so
End of day brings in light to you, and with faith renewed
You ponder what you had been told: “He’s with you!”
Not just for part of the pain
But through it all, till tears are dried and the smile is new
Like words floating through space to deeply embrace you
The clouds float away from darkness
And the pounding stops, the flowing tears are growing few
For nothing is so great as to prevail over His tender hug
And His promises are true
Nothing so heavy that following His lead you cannot lug
(c) nyonglema
Class is in session
You thought the learning was over
Chalkboard blowing chalk into the air
Teacher scratching discomfort into your ear
Chalkboard saying things you won’t hear
Class is in session, but the lesson’s eerie
Who brought horror into a classroom story?
Forgive how many times?
Tolerate how many crimes?
The toilet seat meets the dumped socks
In the quagmire of unadulterated ire
Where soccer games and that sucker’s booze
Meet to sink like rugged rocks,
Sink to spark disgust, a horrid fire
Where nobody wins, everything gets loose.
Class is in session, but the lesson’s creepy
Who brought gore into a “love”-filled story?
Keep listening for how long?
Say sorry when I’m not wrong?
The know-it-all yet mostly right attitude
Boils with the demands for attention
And contradicts those moments of little ruse
When the obvious vanishes in in-exactitude:
Hyperboles, irrational outbursts of emotion
Where nobody wins: everybody will lose
The School of Love is in session
“I do” is the entrance exam in grand pomp
Who brought horror into a classroom story?
Or gore into a “love”-filled fairy tale glory?
A cross! A cross! Who drew a cross on the chalkboard
Complete with dying man, scarred with hearts
Crowned in despicable desiccated dead plants?
It’s gross! Yeah, gross! This isn’t the promised reward
That movie with hearts had at the best parts,
When we watched and built all our horizon’s plans!
The chalkboard says He designed it
And tells us how to take it to make it
But why? why is the manual nailed with blood
To Roman torture perfected? Shall we bleed
To get the certificate at the end of this road?
“I do”, the ring, a dress, the suit… a casket?
Buffet, the ball, bouquet, …. a wreath?
Die in order to love?
Die in order to live?
You thought the learning was over
But you just entered the school at Golgotha,
Chalkboard blowing chalk into the air
Laden with a mother’s tears of joy
Teacher scratching discomfort into your ear
As creation is renewed in flesh joined at the altar
Chalkboard saying things you won’t hear
Unless you listen: class is in session. “This is how
You love one another”
(c) nyonglema
waghni 