Wednesday, April 20, 2011

finding the cross

Harvey S. Mozolak

so long on the wall
it has blended like a frame
into its picture of pain
in cracked painted mud
and unfilled nail holes
stains from an ugly spill
and where the child scrawled a drawing
of three X’s

sound escaping

Harvey S. Mozolak

near the tracks
along the river
that is deep only in the rain
I hear a train whistling
somewhere distant
an old sound
so few crossings anywhere
today I wonder
if it is a lost memory
echoed off the mind’s tunnel
to the past
or will the engine come
around the bend
with smoke and steam
to hurry me along
to the next place

un-kosher but kadosh

Harvey S. Mozolak

it is the day
there was no bread and wine
to conceal and hide the sign
the ripped body
the flow of spilled blood
the pain unbound
by basket or supper plate
labeled and libeled I.N.R.I.
as headline
the violence un-cupped
and splashed on the world
on the marred place
at the Skull’s shrine
the bloodline begins
our holiness

Sunday, April 17, 2011

song of Simon and the women chorus

Luke 23

Harvey S. Mozolak

here carry the naked tree
be seized by his terrible task
African from Cyrene
wailing weeping women
like willows sucking up the Kidron
in the storm
blessed the barren hills
breasts that never sucked
the sky dry
palms with plants
palms planting nails
that scratch the face
of the earth
and plunge into the flesh of God
oozing the blood of holiness
may his mountain
cover us
recover us
winter sticks awaiting
the stalk to green

question for the season

Harvey S. Mozolak

are spring tree blossoms
made to unfold
and flower
like corsages
on knobbed wood shoulders
and branched boutonnieres
to await our viewing
pointing and photographs
or to sow
like soft substantial snow
felted in the sun
color in the wind
and fallen on the ground
all pink in a pool
where a tree
in the glee of green
has dropped its skirt
to run with the wild sky
waving its limbs?

a pair of returning birds
seeing the bent and bend
if this is the kind of place
best for a nest after all

Friday, April 15, 2011

palm-tossed blessing

Harvey S. Mozolak

from stripped trees
that now look more naked
timber stark and arid
the fronds on the road
here and there
especially where a rock
hides beneath or the branches
overlap each other
the donkey’s tread
is heavy plodding
sure and slow
toward the stone arched gate
this indeed is where he deems to go
the crowd shuffling along beside
keeping up especially for the children
with the chanted march
others with cries have entered
thus to conquer
someone sings Hosanna
as they do at temple
on the holy day
an echo returns and enlarges
from the nearing walls
some who arrive and leave
Jerusalem join the gathering
did David not once do this?
dancing with the ark
to the side in the shadows of the shops
a small clot of faces
whispering plotting discuss
pushing him off the beast
where he might tumble to the Kidron
the steep stones and outcrops
kill him Hosanna indeed
this is the place that will unseat
the highest powers for peace
the master’s seat shifts
among the cloaks
forming his temporary saddle-throne
as he slips to the side
followers halt and help him upright
they do not die
touching God’s hidden presence
for he awaits yet the holding pole
the priestly lifting
the one offered for the all
in his ascent to death
naked on a stripped tree
timber stark and arid
before the boxing of the covenant
and the cherubim’s announcement
under the wings of dawn
of newness blessing

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

no comment

of poetry
that between the words
are thoughts that cannot be captured
tamed to talk about
especially without some usual punctuation
and ordinary phrase pacing
in the urbane paucity of prose
and such great white space
in which to flee specificity
while living the less-mapped rural
among the trees
and fields free
of needless conversations
bound and shelved

Monday, April 11, 2011

ichthus with wheels

Harvey S. Mozolak

some haters of creationism
have created ones with feet
like alligators or low lizards
but this on the rear bumper
and window
one small ambiguous
fish drawn with two stylized
curved lines
among almost a dozen
military and political
stickers of faith
allegiance and hope
vote against the godless
semper fi stuff
the Greek unknown among
shouted power
no fishing around

unfit but fragrant turret

Harvey S. Mozolak

a spike of dense design
rising among green spear belts
the low-acinth
bows deep below
not planned well
to hold a tower
of trumpet florets
purple pink yellow white
singing scent
into strong spring gusts

apostolic women walking

according to Matthew and Mark
Harvey S. Mozolak

early morning wet stones
can be slippery
night vines grow across
the paths to trip us
kick against a hidden rock
and serpents and scorpions
stir to sting
the light is limited at dawn
it may hide or mask
lepers thieves drunkards beggars
what we think we see
there may be guards
soldiers if they slumber
and we awaken them
suddenly in their startling
might fling a spear at us
if there is a seal
and we break it to enter
will the authorities hunt to hurt us?
what will greet us
at the grinding gate of death?
“who will roll away the rock?”

questions curl around the women
as tightly their clenched and cinctured
dresses shawls and cloaks
baskets heavy on their arms
filled with preparations for death

their shuffling pace slows
there coming close the silent sepulcher
entombing the loss of love
and their once divine devotion

as they went
the sky began to seize the earth
and turn and twist
seething upside-down
their steps loosened
as in waves of unseen water
a tide pulling time and place
loosens rocks and reels trees
cracks form and vise
a hillside tumbles and a nearby foundation folds
they stumbled fell and cried out
until the ground was still

before them
the Lord’s angel had descended
from heaven like a meteor striking
piercing the mounded metal helmet of death
ringing like a bell in hell
announcing the freedom and victory
of wood splayed flesh and holiness
over fang and roaring lie

the women saw the soldiers waver
shake like limbs in a fierce storm
then were fallen trees
struck down by lightning
that remained aglow
fiery as the gown of the rising sun
robed clean like new fallen snow

come see
the emptiness of fear
the void after violence
the deep vacancy now in death itself

go quickly
tell his disciples
“he has been raised”
this is God’s message
“you will see me”

“suddenly Jesus met them”
falling at his feet
they anointed him with worship

in his quiet and healing presence
the earth is pieced together again
held by his sealed scars
and the whole instability
brought by his resurrection

elevation at an Easter cemetery

Harvey S. Mozolak

above the graves
cross-shaped pastels
flowers arranged in sprays
ground rays cut
desperately dependent
on visits and watering hands
a few as bunnies and novelties
in a children’s section
called The Holy Nursery
where the clusters of the living
seem tighter and linger longer

some poke a fisted outcrop of stone
at the sky as if to rip open
clouds that drag east
too near the earth
with their closing curtains of tears
others low lie encouraging
a falsity of green and age
the grass to grow at their edges
the dirt to accumulate in seams
as remembrance dims and deems
less attention
to the barren bedding of dear affection

looking toward the morning light
where there is a grove of three wintered trees
at the border
of this vast green field
a church has come to be
within its walls another rock rises as a grave table
of blessing a pedestal beyond
on which to hear and place
the said and tasted
above and within the broken loaf
the fingered sign lip to lip of the cup
and below in ferment of faith
where words are heard like these

if you have been raised with Christ,
seek the things that are above,
where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
Set you minds on things that are above,
not on things that are on earth,
for you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
When Christ who is your life is revealed,
then you also will be revealed with him in glory.

above the graves
that are our houses and homes
built from the small forest of pain
and boulders that stubbornly remain
hope is gathered by its stems of trust
into bouquets of love
lifted by the song that rises above
and plants itself toward heaven
with roots like organ pipes
trumpet pistons drum skins
the metal shells of cymbals
and joyful drape of bells
raised above

where lives in Christ
are his glory revealed

(text within, Easter epistle: Colossians 3. 1-4)

Sunday, April 10, 2011

new tricks

Harvey S. Mozolak

old amid a nature growing young
does the dog
notice that the insufferable cold
is gone underfoot?
its white barrier dismissed
by the west now simply wet
and that there are more birds
taking offense
at her patrols of the yard’s perimeter
though by now they ought to be assured
she climbs no tree or bush
too old to even rise and stand
her front paws a few feet up considering
the rabbits have been convinced
several litters ago
(good name also for their lawn leavings)
that she has slowed down
and that the haunched look may well be
part of a decision not to chase
as well as preparation for a launch to action
at the end of her lead
in dawn’s farewell to darkness
she sits
having hunted and crept upon
a small herd of deer
six who stand and watch her
as intently as she does them
having heard her metal-tagged collar
twice six foot away
they are learning a lesson in intention
they would do well to forget
if they would spring
old amid a nature growing young

Saturday, April 9, 2011

reaching beyond the thaw

Harvey S. Mozolak

a tree
with a twinned trunk
as its base
getting its feet wet
thinking of breaking the flow of clouds
with new branching heights
the puddle dreaming
of becoming a pond
in park
a rivulet envisioning
itself a stream
with perhaps a school of minnows
moving like leaves
did downhill last autumn
the depth of spring
more ample than simple thirst


Harvey S. Mozolak

it is a second day
pushing up toward seventy
a bumblebee buzzes
among slim spring sippings
the ground cover’s tiny blue flowers
a few stunted hyacinth stems
towered trumpets challenging brazenly
daffodils in his battle colors
an armed scout of days to come
seven blocks away
later that day
I saw a lanced knight the same size
dead in an entrance way
unable to breach the week’s warmth

garden goof

Harvey S. Mozolak

the tickler reads
…don’t make the ten top mistakes
in gardening…
click on the internet link for the list
turn that clod over
and rake through the wet thought
picking out any rocks and stones
what if there are nine top errors
or eleven odious blunders?
if I avoid the ten
will one of the eleven rows
of beans lettuce beets peas spinach and more
turn yellow instead of green
or poke through as a line of laughing weeds?
to say nothing of twelve or sixteen
much less five or six
is it worth the callousing work and brow sweat
underarm stains of guilt
when the return to Eden is growing closer
where all ten are forgiven?
and some things are not to be eaten anyway

Friday, April 8, 2011

bright highlighting

Harvey S. Mozolak

arms up
yelling “ow”
at the property line
of winter
in the edge of browned grass
yellowing warning
no going beyond
this is spring

Monday, April 4, 2011

two studies of Lazarus

the disrupting peace

Harvey S. Mozolak

our last words
chiseled in dead silent rock
something about resting
Lazarus comes bounding
from the tomb
streaming bindings
resurrection’s unwindings
strangling death
gagging the soundless
rousing with the Lord’s word
our stone cold nature

shreds of time

Harvey S. Mozolak

left like pencil shavings
swirls from the mute grave sentence
the cloths that covered him
unwrapped his hands and steps now write
there is more
that meets the closing eyes
an awakening word
that earth cannot cover
and contain by blunted breath