Archives For Poetry

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When my mother tells me

Of my childhood ways

As if they were as certain

As daybreak and nightfall,


When a melody transforms

A melancholy afternoon

Into a moment of union

With the life of another,


When I think of my nephew,

So sensitive, pure, and kind,

Tears falling in pity before

A young goldfish, belly up,


When I have a third glass

Of red wine, deep and dry,

And feel a tender warmth hit

My weary veins and heart,


When an idea erupts at once,

With the force of a bull and

Seizes my imagination until

My fingers flicker furiously,


When a memory shakes me,

Convicts me, enraptures me,

And I am no longer here and

Here becomes here and there,


When she speaks and moves,

And I sense what she wants,

Yet temptation cedes softly

To love, unsullied by desire,


When I see myself as a boy,

And see myself the same,

One smile, one face, one,

Yes, I am he, and he is I,


Despair departs defeated like

A criminal convicted or like

A sour adolescent corrected,


And Beauty and Hope invade,

Victorious now and forever.




–David J.W. Inczauskis, SJ

March 31, 2019

“Clouds could hide the sun eternally;

The sea could dry in an instant…”

–Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

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Beneath rose-covered archways,

I passed in carriage swift.

It led me to your home place,

To which my eyes did shift.


A mansion decked with casements,

One hundred I did see,

Until I found your placement,

And you looked back at me.


At table with your brother,

On you my thoughts were set,

At high tea with your mother,

Our gazes once more met.


As horses trod at nightfall,

My eyelids, too, did seal.

Though my name I heard you call,

To me it seemed unreal.


But now I’ve gone and married.

How far we are from then!

With me your voice I’ve carried,

And will I ‘til the end.


David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.

July 19, 2018

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Tonight I feel you seeking me:

From afar your breath

Caresses my cheek like

The cool touch of a hand.


Tonight you feel me seeking you:

Our souls meet on a bridge,

Hearts racing but slowly

Like the water passing below.


May your body follow

Where your soul has led:

Into the dark that frames

The moonlight you most dread.


My body has seen your soul:

Naked and white like David,

Shyly confident in beauty,

With eyes that cannot see.


I have heard your cry,

Only I, Only I.

I have heard your sigh,

Only I, Only I.


You will come to me

As I come to you.


Arise to your desires,

For my soul now inquires.

June 13, 2018

Córdoba, Spain


The Allure of the Unseen

January 6, 2018 — 2 Comments

The Allure of the Unseen



“Show me your glory,”

Moses said to God,

and God showed Moses

a slender shoulder.


Having slipped a strap

down to the elbow,

God walked away with

Aphrodite’s charm.


Isaiah saw God

seated on a throne

in a bedchamber

behind a curtain.


God wore a bathrobe

of silk and velvet,

but soon the boudoir

filled with flames and smoke.


Peter, James, and John

climbed up a mountain

hidden far away

in nature’s silence.


There they shook in fear,

beholding the face

of the one, true God,

who shone like the sun.


It was ecstasy,

that of a virgin

in silv’ry moonlight

on her wedding night.


A voice from on high

ripping through the clouds

broke the blinding bliss:

Consummatum est.”


“Never speak of it,”

said the Son of God,

“until I wake up

yours forever more.”


“…it exercised upon us the allure of what has never been seen…”

–André Breton, L’amour fou


Best wishes,
David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.



Christmas is blood flowing in the streets,

The blood of the Lord valiant at war.

It is the wrath of God made flesh,

Pulsing through tiny, scarlet veins.


Christmas is the division of sheep and goats,

Separated at once by whips of divine ire.

It is the splitting of time by a two-edged sword,

Shining red as it falls on the necks of the just.


Christmas is a book of history torn to pieces

And thrown into a furnace hotter than hell.

It is a whisper in the night that stills souls:

Haunting them, chilling them, spooking them. 


Christmas is the force of the right arm of God,

Which casts enslaved bodies into slavery.

It an axe that divides the hearts of women

And men who choose to die or die to choose. 

Best wishes,
David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.

P.S. This poem is nothing other than an interpretation of “Chapter One” of Pope Benedict XVI’s Introduction to Christianity. 






December 21, 2017 — Leave a comment

I just returned from a three day silent retreat at Bellarmine Jesuit Retreat House in Barrington.


I wrote a little poem that summarizes my experience of prayer during the retreat:

The maker is made manifest
In myst’ries shared by no request,
In moments passing endlessly.

Desire comes in light blue and red,
Not leading rather being led
Through time that marches ceaselessly.

To worry is to sin against
The beauty of God’s providence,
Which has a final claim on all.

Surrender now or live in chains.
To wait is what God most disdains.
Arise and waken to the call.

Best wishes,
David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.

There Are Secrets

December 8, 2017 — Leave a comment

An Original Poem

Sea Image

There are secrets buried deeper than

The deepest abyss

At the bottom of the sea.


There are mysteries reaching farther than

The furtherest stars

The human eye has seen.


They shake the core of the earth

And rattle the corners of the sky.

They make themselves known

At the blast of a trumpet.


Woe the one who claims

To know them.

Woe to the one who will

Not know them.


They are

The intentions of the hearts

Of everyone,

And they run deeper

Than the deepest abyss

At the bottom of the sea.


Best wishes,
David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.