In the darkness, despair silently stalks its target,
Spreading its sickly silence over the mind,
Wrapping it with a coat of uncertainty,
Sealing it with a thick layer of skepticism.
Planting insidious seeds of doubt,
Fertilized with insecurity and unworthiness,
Macabre flowers that only grow in darkness,
Large black flowers of gloom and doom.
Covered with barren, breath-choking vines,
Dark perennials that block the sunlight,
Curling their python coils tightly around the roots,
Weaving tails of terror around and around.
Projected onto a dusky backdrop of foreboding,
Unspoken words that drift aimlessly in the night,
Dreams long locked away stifle their screams,
The mind wonders if it will ever be free.
Traveling down a long, dark corridor,
Familiar is so many, many ways,
Tired eyes covered with clammy cataracts open,
Sensing a light breaking through a gap in the vines.
A beam shines down on a fork in the corridor,
The choice is well-known – two roads in a yellow wood,1
Past experience has taken the same old well-beaten path,
Knowing its choice to be filled with pain and heartache.
Preferring the minuscule moments of false happiness,
To the deep unknown potential frights that await,
Swallowed up with the fear that dreams might come true,
To someone so totally and completely unworthy.
Grace rains down with courage and hope,
A motherly voice filled with love breaks through,
The choking vines loosen their grip and fall away,
Sunlight streams in, reflecting off sparkling ginger flowers.
1The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
December 29, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Forsaking our selfish ego and pride, on bended knee we bow,
To the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we place our trust in you,
Petitioning the Saints to help us with our solemn vow,
To follow the will of the Holy Trinity, as we must.
As we delve into the deep recesses of our anxious hearts,
The control room for our slinky hands and feet,
Directing the focus of our many flailing parts,
Helping us to smile at each person we meet.
As the sun comes up each bright new day,
We need to renew our trust in the Lord our God,
He will help us no matter what comes our way,
All we need to do is surrender our will to God.
When our days become cloudy and dark,
He comes to us to light our way,
With the joyful song of a meadow lark,
He comes to all those who pray.
When we release the dreams we have hidden,
Crammed by our brokenness into deep, dark places,
Freeing our dreams at the request of God's bidding,
God rains down all His bountiful blessings and graces.
Faith is not blind when our trust is in God,
He gives us the signs to guide our way,
As we travel safely in the arms of God,
Our ticket to peace is the prayers we pray.
Instead of putting our trust in money or moonbeams,
We need to treasure our precious Advent time of waiting,
As Mary prepares to give birth to the answer to all our dreams,
This Christmas can be one that is truly breath-taking.
December 19, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Each morning we pray to God,
With visions of appointments and meetings
Jitterbugging and hip hopping through our head,
As we mindless recite the words.
Words handed down from generation to generation,
Robbed of their passion and flavor,
Flour with a few sprinkles of water,
No zealous leavening or colorful spices.
God knows the dreams we hide in our heart,
Dreams we think we don't deserve,
So, instead we pray the way they tell us,
Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be.
Lost is the meaning behind the words,
Dry, tasteless, cardboard words,
No longer emanating from the heart,
But echoing from an enormous empty room.
Because God loves us so much,
He takes our cardboard prayers in His hands,
Transforms them into flavorful, vibrant words,
Prayers filled with passion and hope.
Prayers, like persistent scrubby flowers,
That push up through the unyielding concrete,
Watered with His sultry summer showers,
Strengthened with stalwart rays from the sun.
Prayers shared at the table with our Father,
With delicious recipes from our Mother,
Seasoned with helpful advice from our Brother,
As we walk along our road to Emmaus.
Prayers that promote the power of protection,
Steel armor against arrows of apathy,
Prayers that unleash armies of armed angels,
Ready to elucidate our earthly entertainments.
On days when we are too tired or too busy,
Or we feel our prayers are not being heard,
Our guardian angel is waiting in the wings,
To raise our heavy, burden-filled prayers to God.
On days when gloomy gray skies roll in,
Unable to drown out our distractions,
Drawn into whirlpools of worldly willfulness,
We pray to be washed with God's graces.
As the darkness of night approaches,
We look back over the events of the day,
We thank God for all our blessings,
All the times His sun dispelled the shadows.
Through prayer we ask His forgiveness,
For all the times we tripped and fell,
Listening to the voice of our selfish ego,
Blinded by the brightness of the shiny coins.
Each day brings its share of significant events,
Senseless tragedies and breath taking moments,
Little pieces of each experience break off,
Diffusing into our capillaries and arteries.
So, when we recite our prayers,
Although the words are the same,
The metamorphosis coursing through our veins,
Makes us a new creation.
Standing in front of the juke box with a quarter,
Dazed from the spinning roulette wheel of choices,
Our prayer is the song that stops the wheel,
As the music begins, we take God's hand.
October 10, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Guardian Angel of mine,
Always by my side,
Help me walk the narrow line,
That lies between the tides.
Help me to follow God's will,
To give Him my hands and feet,
Keep my restless mind still,
Remind me to be humble and meek.
Control my selfish ego,
Guide me along my path,
With friends for company we go,
Praying we don't incur God's wrath.
To sing praise to God's Holy Name,
You give us all the words we need,
We recognize our sins and take the blame,
For causing the wounds of Jesus to bleed.
As we rise and greet each new morning,
Filled will all its potentials and pitfalls,
When danger comes you send us a warning,
And quiet our mind when God calls.
Meeting all the struggles that come out way,
You give us the spiritual courage and grace,
That comes when we turn to God and pray,
Our troubles fade in the sight of God's face.
When the sun has finally set,
We look over the day that is past.
Counting our blessings in a net,
We give thanks you hold us in your grasp.
October 13, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In a world deluged with sexual promiscuity,
Plagued with political undermining,
Consumed with an evolution of senseless violence,
Where family values are considered archaic.
From the pure love of God's eternal light,
The soul travels down the birth canal,
Bursting forth from the darkness,
Confident in God's plan.
Immersed in baptismal water,
The soul flies high, free from sin,
Forgetting the fetters of concupiscence,
Reminders that true freedom comes from God.
As the soul struggles with the selfish, materialistic mind,
A mind defenseless in the surrounding darkness,
Sin with its venomous grip of dominance,
Disguises itself with a veil of concern.
Sitting in the silence between breaths,
The naked, wet clay of the soul,
Patiently waits with its map and compass,
For permission to proceed with God's plan.
Darkness quietly, slowly slithers in,
Wearing a flowing, pink marshmallow dress,
Sprinkling rose scented whispers,
That sing to the baby alone in its crib.
It plants its seeds of self-righteousness,
Flowers of desolation spring forth,
Darkening the mind with their sickly fragrance,
Raining down with tsunami tears.
Exhausted from the constant skirmishes,
Clouds of conceit cover the clear sky,
Blurring the horizon between good and evil,
Forcing the mind to make myopic choices.
As the mind floods with the surging seas of sin,
The soul is locked in an underground cell of iniquity,
Paralyzed by woebegone weeds of loneliness,
As storm clouds push against the lone thread of sanity.
The voiceless screams of the soul,
Echo against the vociferate walls of rap lyrics,
As its map is ripped into jagged, spaghetti shreds,
Its compass smashed into glass shards and gold dust.
As the soul silently suffers,
Piercing darts of venial sin,
Poisonous arrows of mortal sin,
All minimized by Satan's plan to stifle the soul.
As the poison slowly seeps into the bloodstream,
Coating the artery walls with cankerous cysts,
We swallow pills to stop the pain,
Blind to the unrelenting effects of sin on the soul.
Gone are the fire and brimstone homilies,
Warning of the malice of our transgressions,
Harsh repentance that mortified the mind,
And cleared our mind from its confusion.
Terrorized by the dancing shadows of sin,
Being etched into our soul's memory,
We cover it in a cloak of contrition,
Donning a panoply of penitence.
Catechisms list of sins, lost in the cobwebs,
Reconciliation fades into semi-annual wallpaper,
Little white lies change color without warning,
As the soul is conscripted into the devils army.
Distracted by deftly disguised decadence,
Surrounded by a society of spoiled baby boomers,
Selfish, shallow sheep scattering in all directions,
Scared of the sanctity secured from suffering.
As the mind struggles to align itself with the soul,
Shedding the slimy, scaling skin of sin,
Striving to break free of its clanking chains,
Clearing the cataracts of their captivity.
As the soul turns to God in times of weakness,
Repentance only seems to have disappeared,
But it's actually delved deeper into the soul,
A lifeline connecting the soul and the mind.
With its new lifeline to God's mercy,
The soul is free to follow God's will,
With halogen lights illuminating the dark corners,
Dispelling the disguises and revealing the truth.
As Satan persistently paces the perimeter,
Seeking uncultivated avenues of weakness,
We avoid accepting praise for our victories,
Finding our strength instead in God's rock of humility.
Stricken because of their wicked ways
and afflicted because of their sins,
They cried to the Lord in their distress,
from their straits he rescued them.
- Psalm 107 17:19
September 20, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When our loved ones leave us,
To go home to our Creator,
He welcomes them with loving arms,
Uniting them with those who have gone before.
In our humanness we question their passing,
As our loneliness wounds our aching heart,
We forget that as children of God,
We are blind to the wonders of His plans.
Whether they were young or old,
We struggle with their being gone,
Knowing we will miss them deeply,
As we journey along without them.
Sometimes their passing touches others,
Bringing back those who have been lost,
In a world overcome with darkness,
To the safety of a loving shepherd.
As family and friends gather together,
Sharing stories or just being supportive,
Mourning together helps ease our pain,
As we remember and celebrate their life.
As we pray for the soul of our dearly department,
May we find the strength to face the future,
To dry our tears and heal our broken hearts,
As we struggle to walk our path on planet Earth.
When our cross gets too heavy to carry,
They will look down from their place in heaven,
And intercede to our loving Father on our behalf,
Giving us the courage we need to continue on.
And as we say our final good-byes,
It is through prayer that we accept,
Our loves ones are now resting with God,
Waiting for the day when we will join them.
Receive Lord, in tranquility and peace,
the souls of your servants who have departed
out of this present life to be with You.
Give them the life that know no age,
the good things that do not pass away,
through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
--Saint Ignatius Loyola
September 30, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When the barometer suddenly drops,
And sadness rolls across the sunny sky,
Spreading a blanket of sorrow across the valley.
The posted sentinel crow cries out,
And silver, slinky arms flay about screaming,
Danger!!! Danger!!! Danger!!!
We see shredded strips of heart muscles,
Hanging like shiny, satin, ribbons,
From dull, brown, thorn bushes.
And as we cower in the damp, prickly grass,
We wonder what sort of designer outfit,
Fear, frustration and failure will be wearing.
Abandoned and friendless, we run,
Frantically toward the tree of life,
Dodging the shower of emotional hail stones,
That rips through the tender sheets of,
Our torrential tears.
And as we gaze up at the ominous, gray clouds,
With our salt crusted, weepy eyes,
We watch as a movie projector runs reels of memories,
That floats by in slow motion.
We watch with regret as the screen reveals,
All the missed cues and trivial blunders,
That transformed into critical catastrophes,
Scenes that haunt and replay in an infinite loop.
Like Job, we cry out to God,
I have no peace, no ease;
I have no rest, for trouble comes.1
And we hear the angels softly whisper,
Those simple, yet profound words,
Behold, the fear of the Lord is wisdom,
And avoiding evil is understanding. 2
Then we feel God wrap our wounds with His words of comfort,
And HE surrounds us with a love too vast to comprehend,
So, we take His hand and we longingly follow our Father.
1Book of Job 3:36
2Book of Job 28:28
August 6, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Light, fluffy, marshmallow dreams,
Floating on top of a blue background,
A mixture of laughter, songs and sunshine.
Intense, passion-filled rainbow dreams,
Hopes hidden in the deep recesses of the heart,
Softly whispered in silent, wishful prayers.
Sugar coated dreams that seem perfect,
The answer to all sorts of prayers,
With a seductive shell, concealing a torment of tears.
Forgotten and abandoned dreams,
Drifting aimlessly along,
Hoping someone will claim then.
Bumper car dreams, determined to wins,
Racing blindly through busy intersections,
Filled with false pride, intent on being first.
Heavy dreams, overflowing with desperation,
Sinking from the weight of worry,
Falling into the path of an oncoming freight train.
Shattered dreams with shards slicing the heart,
Bringing storm clouds ad drenching sorrow,
Thundering dreams that become nightmares.
As the gusting winds of depression howl,
The balloon string holding the dream snaps,
Hurling them into the eye of the storm.
Doubt and panic scatter dreams in all directions,
Crashing into each other in the darkness of despair,
As broken hearts rain down angry, flaming arrows.
In the confusion, the evil one reaches out,
Pretending to give comfort and consolation,
Seducing dreams with his spinning roulette wheel.
Flying on the wings of God's grace,
Angels protect the small and the sacred dreams,
Huddling them together in circles of prayer.
Sending flicking lightning bolts of clarity,
As they pierce the steel walls of self-pity,
Bringing a reminder of God's unconditional love.
The sun gently streams in,
Pushing the storm clouds aside,
As the dreams rise up from the ashes.
Transformed by their struggles,
Glowing with an inner radiance,
They become the dreams they were meant to be.
Wakened by the sound of a clamoring bell,
Throwing back the sheets of the dark storm,
We rise, ready to follow where our dreams take us.
July 19, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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We love to sit in Your Presence,
Emptying our mind of all thoughts,
Simmering in the silence and solitude.
The world and its worries withdrawn,
Fading in the furnace of Your Love,
Ashes offered up to You.
Mesmerized by the monstrance,
Drawn by the passion of Your Presence,
Frozen by the fire of Your Love.
Manta mummers of heartfelt prayers,
Rosary beads softly clicking together,
Scripture passages singing praises to You.
Candles constantly flickering with hope,
Burning the darkness of our fears,
Granting peace to all those with shattered hearts.
When we hear Your voice calling our name,
We look into Your loving eyes,
And gently whisper our fiat.
Contemplating with muted cashmere words,
Warm woolen sentences wrapped in hushed tones,
Velvet whispers floating on wings of contentment.
Wearing a soft, winter white jacket of serenity,
Hail stones of distractions try to break through,
Shielded by red velvet drapes of Christ's passion.
Renewed form our time spent with You,
We go out and awaken a world asleep with sin,
To the wonders of Your unconditional love for us.
June 17, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Gazing at your Immaculate Heart,
We see our sins staring back at us,
A barrier that keeps us from you.
Blinded by our selfish desires,
We make choices based on our history,
Confident we are in control of our lives,
But then the winds of turmoil gust,
Bursting through the door or our dreams,
Blanketing our sky with its blackness.
As we fast and pray for guidance,
May we learn to hate our sins,
And avoid all of Satan's empty promises.
Help us to see past his many masks,
Temptations deftly disguised as needs,
The seductive ways Satan deceives us.
Please surround us with your velvet cloak,
Protect us from our fears and weaknesses,
The ones that keep us from following Your Son.
It is through fasting, penance and prayer,
That we scrape the layers of cataracts,
From eyes that are cloudy with sin.
And as we gaze at your Immaculate Heart,
With our newfound clarity and grace,
We see the Sacred Heart of Jesus, your Son.
June 15, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In our weary winter world focused on material wants,
We struggle through the snow drifts of our selfish desires,
Coldly and callously unaware of our neighbor's needs.
Blinded by the cold stinging sleet, we stumble upon a bridge,
Drawn to the devilish sound of turbulent, rushing water,
We are overcome with the smell of sweet, spring flowers.
Do we follow the sounds of the voices coming from below,
Beckoning with their ceaseless, seductive, siren calls,
Promising great wealth and unending pleasure?
Tempted by the thrill of experiencing the rushing water,
Overcome with the excitement of charging past life&@39;s challenges,
We race to be the first one to grasp the special golden ring.
Or do we have the courage to listen to the voice of our conscious,
Those soft spoken whispers coming from within our heart,
Encouraging us to ignore the inviting enticements below?
Instead we follow a pathway back to truth and obedience,
To the values conveyed by the Ten Commandments,
Values considered by some to old fashioned and archaic.
We look to the bridge and notice that is has a gate,
Which requires those choosing the bridge to travel light,
We must leave behind our selfish thoughts and desires.
Because of this, some turn away from the bridge in fear,
Imprisoned by the emotions chained to our selfish wants,
Fearful of the pain that comes from carrying our cross.
Many of us mesmerized by the swirling water, just stand there,
Waiting for a sign to show us which way we should proceed,
Hoping the wind will blow us in the proper direction.
Those who are afraid of the consequences of sin,
Who have witnessed the pain and suffering it brings,
Willingly enter through the gate and climb the first stair.
However, many fearful souls are easily discouraged,
Disappointed that we still have challenges in their lives,
We turn back through the gate and head down to the water.
Others of us persevere, but only for a short time,
Hoping that our lottery numbers will be drawn,
Or when we are convinced we can do it on our own.
We either fall or purposely jump off the bridge,
Succumbing to those seductive, pernicious voices,
We head for the water where we think we will be safe.
However, all those who somehow manage to persevere,
They cannot seem to stay there for every long,
As they must either fall back or move toward God's love.
Fear is a good motivation to get us on the first step,
However, fear alone cannot sustain us forever,
We need to achieve a genuine longing for God's love.
Once we can embrace the feet of Christ nailed to the cross,
We have the courage to attempt the second stair,
Where we gaze into the bloody wound in Christ's side.
Fear is no longer a motive that keeps us on the bridge,
Instead we endeavor to give God our imperfect, human love,
Our totally selfish love that expects something in return.
The second stair is a time of transition and transformation,
Therefore, many of us spend most of our time there,
Praying because we enjoy the feeling of God's presence.
However, when God clouds our awareness of His presence,
We hibernate in our room, sulking and refusing to pray,
Holding our childish breathe until He returns back to us.
We need to learn to seek Him without any expectations,
Letting go of our selfish wants and worldly comforts,
We need to overcome our foolish, servile fear of suffering.
We can accomplish this when we create a cell of self-knowledge1
A cell without ourselves where we can pray,
A seed bed where our spiritual growth can begin.
An inner place where God can speak to us,
Where we learn about His unconditional love,
So we will be able to we receive the grace to follow His will.
It is also a place where we can discover our authentic self,
Where we learn about the blessings of how to be truly humble,
And where we acknowledge our sins and learn to hate them.
Without turning to God, we could not understand our true selves,
We would despair because of our recurring sinfulness,
And we would not be able to comprehend God's unconditional love.
Knowledge helps us to grow in a true imitation of God,
And with His grace, we can work toward being closer to Him,
Thereby, creating only one set of footprints in the sand.
Just like Peter, who stumbled on the second step,
And over time, he learned how to love unconditionally,
By transforming his life and living according to God's will.
Once we have survived all the trials and tribulations,
That we encounter while waiting on the second step,
We then can advance to the third step, perfect love.
Being transformed and finding our own cell of God's knowledge,
We move up to the third step where we gaze into Christ's mouth,
A place where we can taste God's grace and find peace.
Saint Paul states his confusion with the third stair:
We must stay alive for the sake of the souls we can save,
Or die and be untied with Christ. 2
From the third stair, one can easily reach the fourth stair,
Which is for those who have attained perfect love and obedience,
Who can move freely in and out of heaven, they give us courage.
With His feet planted firmly in the clay of the earth,
And His head reaching the heavens,
Jesus is the bridge that unites us with our Creator.3
1Catherine of Siena, A Biography by Anne B. Baldwin
2Catherine of Siena, A Biography by Anne B. Baldwin
3Catherine of Siena, A Biography by Anne B. Baldwin
June 1, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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When our loved ones leave us,
Their passing shatters our heart,
Into little slices of memories.
With tsunami tears burning our eyes,
We struggle to swim the seas of sorrow,
But, without a life jacket, we drift hopelessly.
Clouds of despair block the sun,
Sadness is our constant companion,
Friends try their best to console us.
Grief kidnaps the hearts of its victims,
Forcing them into gut wrenching gullies,
Pushing them along narrow, mountain passes.
When grief smashes the windows of our dreams,
Fracturing the fragile panes of our lives,
We need to turn to our Mother Mary.
We remember her inexpressible sufferings,
She comes to us through her Most Sacred Heart,
Guiding us gently to the One who can heal us.
When we cry out, God cries with us,
He shares our grief and holds out His hand,
When we turn to Him, He heals our pain.
Although we miss the sound of their voice,
Knowing our loved ones are now with Him,
Helps to mend the shattered shards of our heart.
God gently picks up the fragments of our heart,
He molds the many pieces as well as the sharp edges
Using His love, He fills the deep bottomless holes.
Over time our broken heart begins to heal,
As His love courses through our heart,
We feel the grace that help Mary endure.
They cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
and He save them from their distress,
He brought them out of darkness and gloom
He sent out His Word and healed them.
—Psalm 107;13-14,20
May 30, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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A lone old man carries a sack of acorns seeds and a long, lead pipe,
Walking with the slow steps of grief, heavy in his heart,
He quietly surveys the dry, barren winter tundra ahead of him.
Setting down his heavy sack, he slides the pipe off his shoulder,
Jabbing at the hard, brittle exterior of the lifeless earth at this feet,
He begins to crack through the surface to the fertile soil below.
Persistent, he finally pushes deep into the dark, but sanguine soil,
Opening his sack, he selects a single acorn and drops it into the dirt,
Before moving on, he gently covers it with a prayer.
He perseveres, ignoring the calluses the metal pipe creates on his hands.
And he refuses to allow the pain in his arms and his back to stop him,
As he continues tirelessly planting, until all the seeds in his sack are gone.
With his mission completed, he takes one last look at his handiwork,
Picking up the long, lead pipe, bloody, bruised and covered with soil,
He departs, watching as his empty sack billows from the early spring breezes.
As the seeds lay dormant, the Holy Spirit start softening their outer shell,
The hard inner core transforms from black to gray to finally a glowing white,
Which revels soft, green sprouts, yearning to be free of the sins that bind them.
As spring slowly sweeps its life giving breezes across the dry, barren tundra,
The sleeping seeds, wrapped with their soft earthly blanket, open their eyes,
And watered with the soft spring rains of love, they stretch their arms and legs.
As they break through the tightly woven weeds of war and selfish materialism,
They smell the sweet breath of an eager spring, and they reach toward the sun,
Feeling the warmth of His peace, they burst out with lush leaves of fervent faith.
May 29, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Unable to penetrate the pain-filled fog,
That clouds the horizon of our lives,
We stumble, unable to find out path.
Trapped in the thick, black murkiness,
Chained in a room of unending anguish,
We strike out at all those around us.
Armed with a garrison of blazing lights,
The angels of mercy burst through the fog,
Bringing a fragrant view, a spiritual feast of splendor.
With a simple prayer and a flutter of activity,
They quickly banish our evil tormentors,
Bringing the peace and joy encased in the Eucharist.
We place our cross next to Jesus,
Giving Him our pain and suffering,
In thanksgiving that He died for our sins.
The angel sits down and listens to our latest trials,
They share funny stories which make us laugh,
And the shades of gloom fade from the windows.
May 15, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Each morning we wake up,
We look into the mirror of our soul,
And we see the image of a stranger.
As our tears of pain rain down,
Our personal perspective is colored,
By a rainbow of our experiences.
Afraid to reveal our true self,
We don our special, tinted glasses,
Tinted with our fears and self-loathing.
In our insecurities, we listen to others,
As they present their distorted mirror,
That reflects their opinion of who we are.
Opinions colored by jealousy,
Create a mirror that turn us invisible,
So others can feel better about themselves.
Opinions perverted due to lack of information,
As we disguise ourselves with numerous veils,
We hide behind the truth we are afraid to share.
Truths we store in the dark recesses of our heart,
Afraid they will alter the world's opinion of us,
Terrified, we throw on another layer of black silk.
Finally, one sunny, winter afternoon,
A surge of snow runoff pushes over the sluice,
And the flood gates are forced open.
Looking into the mirror, we see our true image,
Reflected back is a child loved unconditionally by God,
And with His grace in our heart, we drop our veils,
And we turn to face the world.
May 2, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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So patient is He, as the clamor of our incessant “I wants”,
Drown out the generous gifts of gentle guidance,
That He graciously grants to all of us on a daily basis.
Deaf to the wisdom in the whispering of His will,
We choose instead to thrash through the thickets,
Oblivious of the clear path just out of our view.
As we pray our insistent, self-centered prayers,
Launched as flaming anxiety filled arrows,
We demand all our desperate “I needs.”
We are blind to the beautiful spring blossoms,
Their youthful exuberance beaming with joy,
A fragrance that brings to mind, Mary's Annunciation.
As we get totally immersed in our TV scripted reality shows,
We miss the radiant evening sky filled with brilliant hues,
Reflected from the rays of the soothing, summer sun.
We got to communion with our hands held out,
For the bread and wine transformed into His love,
A love that has the power to change us.
But our frozen hearts and sinful natures reject Him,
We strangle Him with all our “I wants” and “I needs”,
And we scourge Him and beat Him mercilessly.
As our stubborn wills perish from our worldly wants,
We turn to that, which is our true bread and wine,
Into the patient, loving arms waiting to hold us close.
Return to the Lord, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
—Joel 2:13
April 22, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Standing at a crossroads, we have a choice to make,
To continue to live "lives of quiet desperation,"
Or endeavor to turn our lives around and strive,
To become a light to all those lost in the darkness.
Surrounded by a culture governed by smoke and mirrors,
Preoccupied with the superficial magnificence of youth,
Oblivious to the beauty embodied in wisdom and truth,
We search for meaning in our purposeless lives.
In a world where the lines between good vs. evil are obliterated,
Honesty, loyalty and integrity are considered old-fashioned,
Lying and cheating is acceptable conduct to be emulated,
And Jesus, bruised, beaten and dying on the cross, is abandoned.
To many a spiritual life is a long arduous journey,
Too oppressive for our instant gratification society,
Many, like our first parents, Adam and Eve,
Fall prey to Satan's evil destructive ploys.
Tempting us to question God's forgiveness and love,
Tempting us to believe we can solve all on our own problems,
Tempting us to see all the wrong things as attractive,
Tempting us to feel like failures, so we don't even try,
Tempting us to procrastinate, so things never get done.
In a world intent on separating church and state,
We rush out of church, leaving behind our values and principles,
Defenseless from the lack of peace in our crazy, chaotic lives,
Unprepared for battling the demons of the modern world.
Overwhelmed with a multitude of mixed metaphorical messages,
The latest negative, sensational, shocking news story,
Those lop sided, misdirected, heat-seeking missives,
That spew from the Internet, television and newspapers.
Exhausted, as our minds plan the upcoming week's schedule,
We are unable to focus on the Sunday Gospel or Homily message,
Guiding principles that have the ability to nourish both hearts and souls,
Words, alive and active, that have the power to comfort and challenge.
In a world permeated with conflicts and contradictions,
A dispirited society filled with the disappointments,
We turn away from the church and abandon our parent's values,
Lost and confused, we neglect God, who loves us unconditionally.
Many, convinced we know what is best,
Focus on pleasure, possessions and power,
Deaf to the whisperings of God's love for us,
Echoing Satan's words, What's in it for me?
Falsely worshipping the golden calf,
Following the if it feels good, do it philosophy,
Ignoring the soul's hunger for spiritual nourishment,
We attend mass only when it's convenient.
Spinning in an endless chaotic cycle of noise and distraction,
Unable to discern what our lonely hearts are hungering for,
We strike out at the sinners who are trying to follow Jesus,
Oblivious that we are acting like those who crucified Him.
Rejecting the discipline required for a spiritual life,
Unaware it can protect us from our humanness,
A solid defense against our many addictions,
A friend that challenges us to become better.
Feeling inferior to those who are holy,
We look to the saints as perfect beings,
As well as all those living a religious life,
Forgetting all humans are prone to mistakes and failures.
Frustrated, we forget the message in the Palm Sunday passion,
Peter, who in his weakness, denied Jesus three times,
But was the one chosen by Jesus, to begin His church,
Once you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers.2
We must pray for the Pope, all our Priests and the world,
As they struggle to hear God's gentle, whispering voice,
Over the sound of the world's preoccupation's and distractions,
That with the help of our prayers, not my will but yours be done.3
1Henry David Thoreau
2Luke 22:32
3Luke 22:42
March 31, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Like flour and water that are mixed together,
The Affiliates and the Servant of the Immaculate Heart of Mary,
God is the leaven that makes our hearts rise in thanksgiving,
As we create a bread that becomes our spiritual charism.
As we all join together to participate in the mission,
Mixing together our various talents,
Strengthening the bond with our willingness,
As we follow the way of Mother Foundress.
Mixed together with loving hands,
Is a dough that by its very nature,
Communicates love and goodness.
Each ingredient brings its own special quality,
To create bread made with the presence of love,
That is at the very heart of the world.
Kneaded together are a combination of vows and promises,
And as the dough rises with the passion of our combined prayers,
Then baked in the fiery furnace of God’s unconditional love,
It yields bread glowing with the spirit of Marie Fitzbach Roy.
March 31, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me
cannot be my disciple1
Jesus selected His disciples,
Not from the Scribes or Pharisees,
But from fishermen and tax collectors.
They gave up their only way of life,
And left behind their family and friends,
To follow the Good Shepherd.
Carrying our cross is not an easy thing,
However, Lent is the time to remind us,
That our true purpose is to follow Jesus.
Fasting during the season of Lent,
Means we choose to give up a meal or two,
Or to abstain from something we hold dear.
Fasting and other acts of self-denial,
Are the crosses we choose to carry,
That keeps our hearts focused on God.
We give up as a sign of dedication,
Because we desire to add credibility,
To the prayers we give up to the Lord,
Sacrifice and true repentance for our sins,
Often forgotten truths from the Old Testament,
Are the gifts we receive from giving up.
So as we continue to carry our crosses,
And as we struggle with the weight of the wood,
We remember that Jesus died for our sins.
We are thankful that God is with us
in our pain and suffering,
Knowing that His glory will transform
our crosses into love,
We give up and joyfully follow
in the path of the Good Shepherd.
1Luke 14:27
March 21, 2010 [Updated July 22, 2025]
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The silent desert darkness speaks,
Windless words welling up within,
Breaking the barriers binding them,
Floating in between the night stars.
Demonic wailing of despair,
Dusty tear ducts raining sand,
Defeated, hopeful hearts,
Pulsing with fragile, desiccated veins.
Breathing life-less prayers,
Recalling, resonating verses,
Stumbling over the words,
Sitting hidden in the dark alcove.
Too weak to break the chains,
Of nightmares that visit our sleep,
Blind sides by pernicious evil spirits,
We get pulled into a whirlpool of fear.
His love breaks through the darkness,
Penetrating the veils of isolation,
In a small glimmer of a whisper,
Our name shines in the heavens.
From the darkness of ignorance,
Comes the clarity of new sight,
Perceiving the light of a new day,
Through the eyes of the one who loves us.
Hearing His soft call for repentance,
Over the roar of those worshipping a golden calf,
God's grace gives us the courage we seek,
Jesus offers Himself for our sins.
March 11, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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As the shades of confusion are drawn,
Against the faint rays of hope rising in the distance,
The missionaries listlessly scan the open sea,
Searching for an invitation.
Captained by a weak society,
Driven by winds of avarice and greed,
Carrying a cargo hold of enmity,
The ship sails toward doubt and despair.
Oblivious to their dismal destination,
The missionaries huddle together,
Unaware of the dazzling figure on the horizon,
Wearing a golden cloak of compassion.
He sends zephyr winds of angel whispers,
Which the crew pushes over a screaming waterfall,
The whispers slam into rocks of mindless chatter,
And shatter into rapids of white noise.
With persistence, patience ad love,
The angels gather the scattered whispers,
Mold them into velvet dream seeds,
That sprinkle down in pastel colors.
Amidst the quite rain of faith,
God's voice pierces the shades of confusion,
Cracking the crude curtains of ignorance,
With the tranquil knowledge of truth.
Enlivened by God's presence,
The missionaries shed their fears,
Overflowing with the Holy Spirit,
They radiate serenity, respect and love.
As the sun dissolves the dark shades,
Into billowing sails of clarity and joy,
God's glorious invitation is witnessed,
The sea is quiet and the winds are calm.
February 17, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Sandals replaced with black patent leather,
Tunics replaced with three piece suits,
Desert sands replaced with miles and miles,
Of compact, feet burning concrete.
Ears accustomed to tumultuous sand storms,
Replaced by deafening screeching tires, screaming and cursing,
Huge screens filled with war, oppression and poverty,
Prisoners still chained to greed, and lust for power.
Leprosy replaced by AIDS and Cancer,
Homeless people on every street corner,
Hordes of people swarming down streets,
Talking on cell phone, or listening to iPods.
However, in a very small corner of the world,
Descendants of Timothy are still preaching in Corinth,
And in many other countries, mirrors of the apostles,
Travel to those in need, displaying God's love.
Seeing his own reflection in a Roman window,
Watching in awe at the re-creation of the Last Supper,
As the presence of Jesus appears,
During the transubstantiation of the Mass.
And something translucent catches his eye,
In the people returning from communion,
It is an effulgent inner glow on their faces,
That reminds him of the resurrected Jesus.
Intrigued, he looks closer at others,
He scans the faces of the people,
Walking down a busy, urban street,
Looking for a clue of God's presence.
There is a small sparkle in their eyes,
Or something familiar in their voice,
He sees it in the strong, rough hands,
That reach down to help an old woman.
But in others, it is extremely difficult to discern,
It is hidden in their hearts, bruised and battered by pain,
Some subdue His presence with apathy,
While others crucify it with a lethal lack of morality.
However, no matter how small or hidden,
Peter is able to see the Presence,
Of his Master and Teacher,
In everyone he meets on the busy, urban street.
February 17, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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