Claire V. Bogdanos

The smell of pine so heady on the evening breeze

Reminding me of night’s communing with the trees,

The cushion of dry needles covering the ground

I walk upon with lagging step makes lively sound

It matters not what wistful hours the heart has spent

Observing nature’s complex scheme and complement

Forevermore a wonderment this world must be

All sight and sound to witness night’s infinity.

When all those eyes that stare from dark and distant space

Constant staid from beginning time within their place,

Deep mystery when I myself cannot recall

Oh what flat spot my fleeing footsteps did last fall.

Of all the thoughts that race within the agile mind,

Search and never such accomplishment to find,

As needle, cone or sturdy tree, this fancy strike,

Numberless will bloom and grow with no two alike.

Great blessing that deep wisdom ruled since life began

Including this unspoken pact twixt God and man.

Oh little man possessed of smaller mind

Where have you left your rigid fears behind

Or do they walk with you, your waking hours

To assault you with their secret powers,

Or follow as you weave your careful way

Through the monotony of every day?

Oh grim despairing soul that has no hope

Within darkness you taught your heart to cope

Perhaps you’ll teach your mind in time to think

Thus live midst emotion raging succinct,

And dreaming dwell upon a flagrant kiss

And planning maintain devotion amiss.

Oh grieving heart, how can you bear the pain

And never know the why or cause explain,

But wander on the loss accept with ease

Hapless craft adrift in unwielding seas?

Too sad for lack of spirit need comply

And basic mortal code for life deny.

Oh fears that pursue, limits that tarry,

Escape leaden weights that practice carry,

One nourished on an indigenous pride

Engaging fate with a challenge inside,

Deep loss that suffers lackluster concept

Inadequate values, manner inept.

How now, to greet the coming of the years

In kind with normal passage of brief tears

And accepting thus that time may deal unkind?

For wit that hope is neither deaf nor blind

But dwells with faith and modest dignity,

Spurn false ideals and feint complexity.

Lady in the chapel, you are so strangely still

What lonely thoughts do occupy your vacant time?

There placid in the shadow waiting on God’s will,

Content and cool you wane away your ebbing prime.

How many empty years for sin, will you atone,

What courage brought you to this final precipice

To know that you may bide forever all alone,

In silence here, for mortals who have strayed amiss?

If your eyes could see, if your lips could move and speak,

What message would you bring to earthly fools as me?

Tell me mild sainted one, were we born inward weak,

Does your presence command, “ endure pain patiently”?

Is not this a matter of human complexion

We willing victims of unholy appetite?

For each seed that grows is there by some direction,

Both fed and nurtured by our nature erudite.

Symbol of faith midst candles’ small flickering glow,

Still reminding us of our inadequacy

What gift of wisdom does your approval bestow

How can your painted tears improve our legacy?

If you were life and breath possessed of moving flesh,

Endowed with hopes and dreams, consumed with thoughts serene,

Will those raised arms to gesture once and mankind bless,

Seek birth and death with faith and justice in between

Speak gently words that can be understood by all,

There in some peaceful garden full of light and song,

With trees to cover you in leaves that quiet fall,

Then in our living world your sacrifice belong.

Someone I love has queried of me, “ Where are you going and why?”

And do you know I couldn’t give a satisfactory reply?

It made me pause midway and think deep thoughts too ponderous to ply.

I ceased at once, and began in earnest an “Inquisition” I,

An answer rang so simple, shrill and clear, in vacuous dismay

Oh, dear, I’ve done it once again and childlike, lost my adult way.

Smoke curling from a dirty stack joins an already darkened sky

O’er junkyards laced with debris, cluttered with discard that’s piled eye high,

Mixed with the acrid smell of factories still grinding out their wares

As last years lights sag soot covered now from all Our Lady’s fairs.

A pidgeon’s roost has spread into a hovel on the roof with time

Midst makeshift lines where meager laundry’s hung to whiten in the grime.

Her aged structures seem to weep and groan with some unknown despair

Amid the bleak facades of each building’s ruff begging groom and care.

A city’s that place where the clamor of life parades in the streets

And the courtesy of her scoundrels leer at each corner she greets.

Here and there scaffolds rise in man’s weak attempt at human repair

While a furtive pack of stray dogs darts through shadows that loom and stare.

The sky above the city simmers with a glaze akin to glass

As she waits for the heat of a torrid summer’s day to slow pass.

Her neon lights glitter like garnets set into a bloodred moon,

Even her morning’s dew glistens and weeps and disappears too soon.

Imagine the day to day drama that her back alleys must hold

And the dreams of generations that here wearied and soon grew old.

Forgotten and lost dwells mankind’s dignity in the city’s rush

Like battered aspirations or prayers whispered in a chapel’s hush.

As a matter of need most cities are built like the hub of a wheel

The closer you are to its center the more of its impact you feel.