Sunday, June 26, 2022

A Poem About My Grandma


My paternal grandmother, Maude Lewis Walsh



In loving memory of my grandmother, Maude Ann Walsh,

and dedicated to all of my grandchildren.


When I was a child, sitting at my grandma’s knee

she told me about Jesus, Who gave His life for me.


She made for me a scrapbook all about the Lord,

to show me countless reasons why He should be adored.


I still have that scrapbook. I keep it with my treasures.

Looking through it time to time is among my pleasures.


She told of His birth at Christmas; Easter, it was the Cross;

told of the sins He saved us from when His life was lost.


She made it clear she loved Him; I learned to love Him, too,

and I grew up to follow Him, all my whole life through.


Now I have grandchildren, who sit upon my knee;

I get to tell them of the things that mean the most to me.


I read them poems and sing to them…Oh! we laugh and play;

I hug and kiss and pray with them in my special way.


Of course, I tell of Jesus and why I love Him so,

and oh I hope they’ll love Him, too, as they grow and grow.


Maude Carolan Pych

Saturday, June 18, 2022

A Poem for Father's Day

It's Father's Day!

Today I'll share one of many poems

I've written about my father.

This one appears in "Wonderhoods,"

my 411-page memoir in poetry. 

My father, Frank H. Walsh (1912-1985)



One of my earliest recollections

or maybe I'd heard the story so often

I just think I remember it

is of the first week of April 1948

I was nearly four; my sister, two and a half

It was the day our baby brother

came home from the hospital

Frank, namesake of our father

was cradled in the arms of our mother

wrapped in a navy plaid woolen blanket

They arrived with Daddy and Gramma

through the back door of the stucco home

our parents built in West Paterson


Gram took one look toward the kitchen sink

piled high with very dirty dishes

and immediately a commotion started


Daddy had been taking care of Carol and me

while Mommy was in the hospital

(at least five days in those days)

and Daddy was definitely

not one to do "women's work"

Many times he went on

about Mr. Palmer, the man next door

who was known to share a beer

with Dad, time to time

under the birch at the fence

Mr. Palmer not only helped

Mrs. Palmer with dinner preparations

but sometimes he was seen

hanging laundry on their backyard clothesline

Mrs. Palmer went to business at Kearfott

dressed in a smartly tailored suit

She was very unlike

the other house-dressed and aproned

stay-at-home mothers

in our neighborhood


Well, Daddy had to make the dinners

while Mommy was in the hospital

so he whipped up the only meal

he knew how to prepare—

beanie weenies

He cut up frankfurters

in half-inch pieces

and stirred them in a pot

with canned Campbell's Pork 'n' Beans

He heated them until they were bubbly

and served them to us in bowls

as long as there were bowls

then cups, as long as there were cups

then glasses…

and all those pots, bowls, cups, and glasses

and every tea and tablespoon in the house

were stacked in the white porcelain sink

caked with dry brown Campbell residue

awaiting the homecoming of our mother


I don't remember who tackled the chore

Suppose it had to have been Gram


Mommy placed Frank on the parlor sofa

still wrapped snuggly in the navy plaid blanket

She told Carol and me not to touch him

so we just stood and studied him

as he slept


Maude Carolan

For information about how to order books of poetry

by Maude Carolan Pych,

visit her website at

Sunday, June 12, 2022

At the Mount of Beatitudes

Mount of Beatitudes

Image Credit:


Israel Pilgrimage—1986


At the Mount of Beatitudes

Wayne[1] suggests we each find

a quiet spot to spend

time alone with God


so I stroll along a pathway

surrounding the church

built in the name of

the Lord’s great message

to the multitudes


In a few moments, I hear baa baaing

and follow the sound to the top of a hill

with sheep and a shepherd in view below


I sit on a low wall

to watch and carefully listen

for the voice of my Shepherd

amid plaintive bleating

I, too, am one of His sheep

I, too, have things to tell him

and don’t want to miss

anything He might have to say


This is communion—

a lamb with her Shepherd


I bask awhile in sweet serenity

aware of a holy presence

as the sheep graze

and the shepherd, like Jesus

carefully tends his flock


Afterward, we pilgrims come together—

No one else heard the sheep

No one else saw the shepherd


The interlude was for me alone

a gift from my God—

a simple blessing

to one little lamb He loves


Maude Carolan Pych

[1] Wayne Monbleau—Pilgrimage leader and host of the “Let’s Talk About Jesus” radio program. 

Here I am,

happy to show you my book of poetry

about the Birth, Death & Resurrection of Jesus...

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!"
by Maude Carolan Pych
is available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Sunday, June 5, 2022


 This is a special week for me. It's the week of my two birthdays. Birthday #1 was June 3rd, the day I was born of my mother back in 1944. June 6th, 1979, a few days before Pentecost Sunday, is the day I was Born Again and filled with the Spirit. This took place at the Thursday night meeting of the Upper Room Prayer Group of St. Catherine's RC Church, Ringwood, NJ. The late Fr. Matthew Gaskin led a prayer for a group of us at the conclusion of a Life in the Spirit seminar. My life immediately and wonderfully changed forever...

Happy Pentecost/Shevout

Image credit:



when I read my Bible

I imagine myself

there, in the rumpled, dog-eared pages

where and when remarkable things

were happening


For instance—

Oh, I wish I could’ve been

in the room that morning in Jerusalem

on the Day of Pentecost

when an astonishing sound

of rushing wind came from Heaven

and filled the place with the Holy Spirit


wish I could’ve been among

the crowd of bewildered people

clutching garments and belongings

securing food baskets and money bags

amid the sound of whirring wind

wondering what was going on


I would’ve seen with startled eyes

blazing tongues of fire appear

then split and rest above us all

would’ve heard the Galileans

miraculously uttering languages

they did not know

proclaiming good news

to people of every nation


Oh, joy! Euphoria!


I would’ve heard

preposterous ridicule and accusations

that we were drunk with wine

Drunk with wine so early in the morning!


Had I been there, I would’ve seen

Peter stand with his brethren

and quote the prophet, Joel

and speak of Jesus

Crucifixion, Resurrection

and call us to repent


and finally, would’ve witnessed

three thousand souls receive salvation

and I would’ve been in that number


Oh! How great that would’ve been

How exciting to imagine


but, I didn’t need to be there

God had other plans—


On another Holy Pentecost

His Spirit came to rest on me

just as surely as it did

on the early believers

in Jerusalem, that day


and just the same as they

I have been changed




Maude Carolan Pych

Would you like to read more poems?

"Behold the Lamb...poetically!" by Maude Carolan Pych is available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For more information visit Maude's website at

Sunday, May 29, 2022

Memorial Day 2022


Memorial Day 2022

Let us take some time
to remember our fallen heroes
who gave all to give us freedom.

Image credit:


“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble

themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from

their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I

will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

2 Chronicles 7:14 NIV


I grew up loving Jesus

and blessing the USA—

With my classmates every morning

I’d bow my head and pray.


God Bless America we’d sing

with heartfelt awe and pride

aware that God Almighty

was our nation’s Holy Guide


Our churches were full of people

and from our homes flags flew;

we saluted veterans, and

respected leaders, too.


We knew America was beautiful,

“God shed His grace on thee!”

then took that grace for granted

and failed to bend a knee.


The years have led us far off course;

and faith in God has waned—

Our leaders now get less respect.

The Bible’s been profaned.


In the shadow of 9/11

we live every day.

Many hearts are downcast;

many folks have lost their way.


So I’m praying for revival—

We need it desperately!

Let us repent before our God

with true sincerity.


When we return to follow Him

He’ll restore His loving grace.

From sea to shining sea, our Lord

will shine again His Face.


Oh, come and join your prayers to mine,

let’s do it every day.

Ask God to heal this troubled land

and vow to live His way.


Maude Carolan Pych

God Bless America

Monday, May 23, 2022

Beautiful Butterflies

 Yesterday, while working in my garden, lo and behold I saw my first butterfly of the season...a beautiful swallowtail! Well, it is Spring! The fanciful site inspired me to share  one of my favorite rhyming poems, a butterfly poem, "Sky Dancers." Enjoy!

Swallowtail Butterfly

Image credit:



There's something happy about butterflies.

They flit-flitter as they flutter by,

flying flowers against the azure sky.


They alight upon the milkweed, and then

they circle, soar and alight again,

toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.


Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,

in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.

Pollination is purely happenstance.


I delight in their overflow of joy.

(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)

A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!


Do they recall they once were grubby worms,

remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?

Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!


This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,

sky dancers as enchanting as can be,

springing from blossoms right in front of me!


So, merrily a-nectaring they go,

reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…

Seems they have learned what all of us should know.


In contemplation of their simple ways,

I wish to add their ballet to my days,

to sky dance gracefully on wings of praise!


Maude Carolan Pych

Image credit:

For more poems by Maude

or to order her books

visit her website at

Sunday, May 15, 2022

"Pieces Falling" by Ann Van Hine


By Ann Van Hine

Navigating 9/11 with Faith, Family, and the FDNY

One woman's journey

Ann Van Hine is a friend and fellow member of the North Jersey Christian Writers Group (NJCWG). She is the widow of a fallen 9/11 firefighter. I just finished reading Ann's book and would like to take this opportunity to highly recommend it to others. "Pieces Falling," tells Ann's story of navigating the very personal loss of her husband, Bruce--a New York City firefighter who died on 9/11--amid the very public tragedy that shocked the world. 

Her book is published by Illumiex and is available at

Since I'm featuring Ann's book about 9/11 today, I'll stay with the theme and post a poem that I wrote shortly after that horrific event. More than twenty years have passed but that day still weighs heavily on our hearts.


Written in the wake of the September 11, 2001, Attack on America


We’ve been told God doesn’t belong in our schools

He doesn’t belong in public buildings

not in the town square, not at baseball games

We may not pray to Him in our classrooms

His Name has been shushed from graduations

Our witness at work has been silenced

Crèches and menorahs have been removed from government properties

and replaced with roly-poly Santas, tinseled trees and dreidels

Christmas and Hanukkah have been neutered

with wishes of “season’s greetings,” “happy holidays”

We’ve been closeted by the separation of church and state

in this free country founded as a safe haven for religious freedom


but when those 767s flew into those magnificent towers on September 11th

when those great towers imploded, when thousands died tragically

and shockwaves of grief and terror riveted our planet

suddenly our churches filled

God’s name arose boldly on banners all across the land

It was posted, plastered, scrawled, and spoken

prayed to by the President, our leaders, newsmen

It appeared on school message boards

bumper stickers, lapel pins, buttons

It was superimposed upon flag decals glued to our windowpanes

It was emblazoned upon our chests on patriotic T-shirts

and it appeared over and over and over on subway prayer walls

along with Scotch-taped photos of those who were missing

Thousands proclaimed it loud and clear

at candlelight vigils and a prayer service at Yankee Stadium

and we all sang it with tears

“God Bless America,” our truer anthem


If we’ve been complacent; if we’ve swept Him aside

packed Him away in attic trunks

with things we thought we wouldn’t need anymore

He’s waiting with arms outstretched

love streaming from His eyes

and we need Him to heal our shattered hearts


Oh, let’s keep the “God Bless” in our “America”

and Americans, let us “Bless God”

O let us never let go of Him again


Maude Carolan