nude sketch

 Harvey S. Mozolak

drawing a nude God

with the carbon of a naked man

easel-ed in great dis-ease

naked stranger he came into the world

his mother laying him in a wood manger

even a carved stone animal trough

and grown he left the world naked on a stripped tree

displaying the stretched canvas of his flesh

its blood dripping like red paint 

carried by his mother with helpers 

to a stone shelf in a cemetery cave

uncovered he clothes all the world

he has bought as his priceless

master-peace

dead cat

 Harvey S. Mozolak

on the shoulder

as if shrugged to the side

by a bumper or tire

speeding by at night

the small cat really kitten

still looks soft

like a furry toy

swept from the caress of a child

I care not for the feline 

finding them sharp clawed

razor-toothed aloof of mind

wanting more than they give

but when dead

this body seems sadly useless

a small body in a shallow ditch

useless no longer any twitch

to tease a child’s hand to find its softness

for sleeping on the shoulder

since shrugged to the side 

by something sudden and faster

 

 

 

 

 

walking into the future

 Harvey S. Mozolak

the edge has come loose

glue here and there dried

brittle and yellowed by age

nail and staple lifted

screw unwound a turn or two

the surface has been pulled

almost halfway off and placed back

smoothed as if it still holds

the earth is known to have cracks

uneven mounds and dips

rocks and tangled roots that trip

but a fashioned floor is trusted

to be firm and flat 

like the world was once 

thought to be

 

 Lord's Prayer

Harvey S. Mozolak

 

our Father

prayer spread out in eternity

a merciful map

surveyed and read as hymn

in the word of the Son

the true way alive

his tongue heard beforever voiced

understood in needs like bread

and hungers even unappreciated

spoken by saints long dead

baptized infants too young to know

words and even heard from the lips

of those yet not conceived

offered for all the holy

catholic and apostolic of all time and place

a kingdom bought in forgiveness

pilgrims of Christendom chanting 

in a lengthening line

from Eden barred to the Garden 

released in the resurrection

blessed from earth to heaven

in the hallowing of the Lord God’s name

temptation thwarted its trial and evil routed

in the procession of the Spirit

groaning power anthemed 

as an unending Amen in glory

 

with thanks to C.S. Lewis and W.W.

 

 

 psalm of the wife of Jairus

 Harvey S. Mozolak

putting the child to sleep

is always a bit difficult

too warm too cold

depending on the season

some sip of water begged

“tell me the story of Ruth

“again and her Boaz”

there are times

when we both

lie beside her bed 

one on either side 

and play the parts

I of Naomi and Ruth

with the mention of Orpah

my husband in deep voice

the owner of the fields

 

he is off begging now

at the edge of hope

as our daughter lies fallow

failing barely any living left

her face paling  

like her blanching limp limbs

with the glazing her eyes

her tiny tongue rasping

the roof of her mouth

asking less of more needed

 

from the overflow of the crowd

he waits to implore

of whom we have heard

this rabbi for any mercy

in our family famine

eating away at young life

our daughter close to death

 

the reapers have left little

an outline of a small taste

and the teacher who tells stories

delays…

for an old Naomi-woman

bled of all support

she also grasping for the hem 

of the any planted ground

 

nevertheless 

more my daughter’s need

calls out to the Master

of the rich harvest

as he walks the edge

of the crowd of waving wheat

and coming late lifts the loose fallen

still stem from its earthen bed

buried in my offering arms

 

this story will be told

into the coming generations

of the marriage

of the family restored

enriched by the birth of a son

I have held him laid on my heart

like the first sprig of green 

on the Jesse tree

ornament Obed 

small but awaiting  

the salvation long promised

of David and his offspring

from the gleaning grain

crushed baked and broken

given for the hungry nations 

to awaken to eat

 

 

 

 

 three place lament

in Hebrew

Harvey S. Mozolak

 

1.    Adamah

 

earth from which race was drawn

carbon dust penciled

in figure-shape enlivened

breathed and walked

erasing a story in tears

a planted tree fallen

its family branches all broken 

trunk axed and sawn

skin peeled pale white

exposed to dry 

in death like chalk

rooted in soil

packed with dirt

driven into a hole

 

 

2.    Sheol

 

called the Pit

dying without hope

in the heat

of Gehenna the valley of fire

where the rotting always burns

full of hinnon

the wailing of the mournful

who know not the shade

of Eden’s trees

beside the God who walks

among them 

in the cool of the canopy

of love and goodness

with the waves of eventide

spent among angels’ songs

and animals named in delight

 

 

3.    Gan Eden

 

in the living light

a garden awaiting

prepared 

since its abandonment 

glory and greatness

always growing

its gate guarded 

fastened by the force 

of heaven’s holiness

but hidden ever

from time

in creation

until goodness is redrawn

in red driven

soaking into wood

 

 

 

 

no need addressed

 Harvey S. Mozolak

postal packages and enveloped news

cards and letters

used to come once a day

different for each street

in the similar swaying of a leather pouch

heavy with mail growing lighter

as each mostly metal lip

opened without a lick

for those whose mouth-wetting

dried days before

in canvas sacks and sorting boxes

 

now it comes air mail all

unbound from cables into the blue

teething for correct addresses

or mass emailing and texting

in and out of the context of need to know

called a web whose spidery connections

are anchored in unseen places

to capture any who are drawn

to flames without caution in dark purposes

 

the remaining receptacles rust

hinges slowly corrode 

and collect colorful advertisements

promising too much too many too late

reaching out to recycle some desire for more

without much personal

correspondence

 

 

 

 

 

unnatural end

 Harvey S. Mozolak

the rope-tail thing

untied limp 

lying

both 

intransitive and false

playing possum

in front 

of a tire tread

makes it 

almost impossible

to halt 

permanent retirement

 

 

 

Conversations

With Jairus and the Grasping Woman

Harvey S. Mozolak

 

Save, Lord, my loss, 

the distance will be unreachable, 

any delay deadly.

Wait, I have come from beyond distance, 

for your love to rise, 

from your daughter’s hunger for life

to my coming and presence

and in the food I AM.

 

Help, Lord, 

I am at the edge of losing it

for my hours pour out 

like unstaunched blood.   

No, I have hemmed you in 

with mercy.

Robed with healing

my holiness now hemorrhages

amid the crowds

wounded unknowing.