abandoned

Harvey S. Mozolak

an old house

with sick skin

and wounded wood

surrounded by blooming bushes

lipstick reds kissing school goodbyes

and clashing purples

screen doors slamming bruised

behind children

a shape that quietly speaks of love

like a rusting bell

tongueless clapper long gone

left a mound of nails and beams

studs and rafters

that once held

now shuttered 

and peeling

in emptiness

white tab

Harvey S. Mozolak

a clergy shirt tab

frosted finger nail hold

of holiness 

only part of a whole halo

the forgiven past

hidden tucked into the shirt

of sin collared

and Donne

Easter 4 

John 10.11-18 

voice of heaven heard by the herd

Harvey S. Mozolak

laying down 

the dish with food for the sick

leading to thick green pastures

or water dipped from the stream 

for a newborn lamb

it is part of the job

keeping the sheep together

amid the rocks and cracks

swinging the crook

with passion at the bared teeth of a wolf

untangling thistles from the side of a ram

turning a ewe from stumbling over a precipice

expected even of a hireling 

but laying down

a shepherd his life

for the flock

a good beyond ordinary 

knowing

the owning of love

powered by the shepherd son

lamb of the Father

shepherd pall 

Harvey S. Mozolak

life 

a warmth we wear 

like a coat changed 

from tuxedo 

to trench and parka 

if needed bullet proof vest 

and wind breaker 

selected by cut, color 

and taste 

yet one 

"who lays down his life" 

sheared thin 

to the size of a staff 

crook-cut to the cold 

for the flock 

God palled 

in the pelt of our skin 

a good gander ...

Harvey S. Mozolak

hearing less a choir 

and more the cackling of children 

a cortege of ducks 

albed for flight 

learning first 

to walk and follow 

from water's soft edge 

through the wet stones 

past the reader 

with the open book 

seated beneath the old tree 

cane resting on the bench 

smiling 

at their ribbon-ragged row 

trailing toward the broken bread 

at the kitchen door 

near the church's graveyard 

the aproned voice of God 

inviting their hungry procession 

in the sounds of the housekeeper's cackle 

and sung psalm-stained tones from the nave 

Easter 4

Psalm 23

prepared in the presence 

Harvey S. Mozolak

to meet him in the corridor

meant a stab in the side

somewhere

jaw and cheek

shoulder and hip

contact with a metal locker

or classroom door

in a kind of hockey check

leaving class was always

a gauntlet

but if he was part of the line

valley of the shadow

books would be hooked

scattered

kicked like pucks

toward the stairs

worth at least a goal

once in a study hall

students gathered like sheep

in rows for sorting by the monitor

he sat looming behind him

flicking his index finger

using the forward ear

like a marble or a post

in a pinball machine

that rang pain in his brain

the bell

there it was

late lunch

when almost no one came

and then they both were there

at the ends of the cafeteria

small he with a brown bag

that felt like it was filled with stones

and big he with an appetite

that included food

and so he decided to sit down

the meal prayer

an opening of  the plastic sandwich bags

daily bread’s petitions

spreading the table with forbidding ham 

and provolone cheese

homemade oatmeal cookies three

and a garlic kosher pickle

would you like half

he broke the bread

and two of the cookies?

wondering 

if the chain he noticed

for the first time

about the thick neck of the boy

moving toward him

hid beneath his shirt

a silver skull with red ruby eyes

or a crucifix much like the one

he wore warm

over his chest

at a meal prepared in the presence

of the promised good

two for post-Easter

Easter 3

Luke 24. 36b-48

opened net

Harvey S. Mozolak

startled till they saw

the gems of where his crown

had worn God to death

terrified till they touched

the red ribbons of remembrance

for him not of pain

but of peace for disbelieving joy

the marks of heaven

marred and mauled

become designs of hope

and rough cut rubies

faceted for faith

the logo of the Logos

the slash of trim on the king's robe

of victory

the criminal in us

is identified in his scars

that prove our innocence

as we eat the next and nearer Supper

listening to words of fulfillment

fed like fish

for schooling wider oceans

Easter 3

Luke 24. 36b-48

resurrection release

Harvey S. Mozolak

in the small eddy

of the quiet post-Post meal

disturbed

Cleopas and the other

had fairly run a great deal of the way

from Emmaus

but he who stood among them

with a suddenness that stood

most of them in fear

had the hunger

do you have anything to eat?

a trembling disciple reached out

to the covered plate

removing the napkin

stained with oil from the fried fish

offering the cold leftovers

with his mouth agape

hooked in disbelief and wonder

ghosts have no filet slashes

gashes that once showed

the veins and marrow of life

now do they

as I show you

and you see in my hands and feet?

what a story to tell

to witness the size of the catch

rising from three days dead in the depths

repentance and forgiveness

bones pulled from the sweet meat

of the fish flesh

eaten in their presence

held by palms pocked

by the scars of the leader lead pins

that did not hold

but released

Holy Wednesday Gardening

 Harvey S. Mozolak

a day spent pulling weeds

with roots so deep

they break leaving their insidious

nature still tapped to brimstone

hand digging holes

lifting cores of dirt and clumps of clay

staining earth into the cuticles

of my tombstone-shaped fingernails

to plant flowers

in the holy week hours

of Wednesday close to the day

of the loaf and cup

which sop Friday’s flesh and blood

the small cuts and abrasions

felt in my soft palms show

I have left cells in the ground

in advance of my burial