closet Clive

H.S. Mozolak

I have this apology
for C.S. Lewis
this robe worn

shabby
in the early dawn hours and evening
in my house is reminiscent
of Jack’s smoke-infused dressing gown
seen in one of his few popular photos
disheveled
paunchy with pipe
perhaps slippers unseen
crumbs from an open tin of biscuits
on its sleeves
amid a Kilns’ reading room of open books
tomes with solid bindings
thoughts of the timeless
dog-eared pages reread and translated
mine color and pattern similar
a mere way
mostly to cover the draft
lounging in front of the telly
sipping sweetened banali-tea

inside wait

Harvey S. Mozolak

inside
to the hook behind the door
and the robe
that has been too warm to wear
its folds becoming creases
suffocating several August flies
that fall to the floor unnoticed
now makes the air bearable
the wait begins
in the snaps of a fireplace
and the assuring hum of the furnace register
under blankets and coats with scarfs
the wait for the outdoor life
where skin was enough cover
and trees were wrapped with warm sweet fruit

autumnal doorstep

Harvey S. Mozolak

the days have become crisp
even small rain no longer refreshing
but shivering sharp and unhinging
driving flesh and bone
to jacket deeper
and wall against the coming
time of unwelcome
among barren stalks
that were once trees gifted with shade
which winked the light
and branches in the open
bright with blossoms
the draining green will mock
this fear in a small margin
that will not allow hope
to gather long
for coating shadows grow and reach beyond
the closing door

rood questions

Harvey S. Mozolak

to crucify anew
is the cross
an antique
timber petrified by death?
several old wood slats
held by red rusty nails
collected to display
some dismay of the standard
the current and expected
an amulet for admirers of his courage
and hope for the helpless
or is it an ugly thing?
a course curse of the perfect
the love without return
that can yet be used
as our tool for destruction
of heaven among us
and an instrument
with which to affix
our own foul fruit
to the tree in an exhibition
of our power and pride
once we pinned God down
continue the count
in time seconds hours
days years ages
less than eternity
viewed through this historic frame

the posting

Harvey S. Mozolak

said where it could be read
with several tongues
In Nameless Regal Innocence
at the crossroads
beyond the urban wall
outside the secure and gated
by soldier sentinels
like some sworded seraphim
strangely forbidding good’s reentry into earth

there an attempt is made
to fasten God down
after lashings with iron hammered
pins in hot-driven hate
how far will this love go?
here lepers cannot touch him
the cries of mourners
lost amid coarse laughter and curses
those who limp or stumble blind
will not find it easy
to climb close to this place
the smiling children will not be brought
for blessing nor harlots rise to face
his storied forgiveness
the poor will find his wealth
hemorrhages away easily
the gravity is all to the grave
thus a posted warning
a written condemnation
of holiness much too close to flesh
yet if it is not only the hands of Romans
who lift him to the prongs of punishment
but God who elevates
the stationing sentence of the Word
said in dark congealing red
how far can his wounding go?
revealing this a posting on a stripped tree
the only shade there is

two creation stories



art by Moze.... Shawn A. Mozolak

Harvey S. Mozolak
one
of seven days
divided
de-voiding darkness
with light’s lifting eye
cascading tears of joy
to land and seas
jungled and coraled
seeded with stars
that swim Asteroidea in oceans
and in the space between galaxies
where lower in the breath of this planet
birds will one day inspire
rockets and Trochilidae as helicopters
cattle with horns and automotive horsepower
and those made from the mud
male and female
in the divine image
blessed fruitful to multiply
fill and subdue
to have dominion
for good and for God

another
on a day
following the resurrection
from the ruin of time ended death
in the authority of all heaven and earth
the waters
again commanded divided
light baptizing night with sight
from a mountain
even ignorant earth rising
to spire worship above doubt
thrice for the name
and the creating of the new
that is always
nationed beyond the borders
of the end of all days
this the age of earth
the remembrance of God
the I AM with us


Holy Trinity Sunday Readings:   Genesis 1.1-2.4a and Matthew 28. 16-20

Quill-drawn Spirit

Harvey S. Mozolak

the Spirit
not only the quiet peaceful dove

but a high-soaring hawk
protecting the nested church

also the eagle of Saint John
and all writers of the Holy Writ
their pens feathered with holiness

a peregrine falcon’s speed to our need

a godwit arriving in Christchurch
bridging the long distance
swelling in its chest
the groans for the harbor
of the ship well yet
beyond the shore

the promise of the pierced pelican
feeding her young by her blood
on the death-doweled tree

even a jeweled humming bird
singing of heaven beyond
the sighted sky

the swallow whose home
is made beside the altar

a sparrow whose gifts
many and always
brought beaked as blessings
to those whose gather and kneel

without wings

(art by Moze   ...Shawn A. Mozolak)