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	James Mullaney
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James Mullaney, 30 grudnia 2011

ZEN DAWN

This antique morning is

The consummation of history.
Shoguns arose, worlds warred,
And numberless processions passed
Like thunder in a bonsai garden
To prepare for this -
My green sencha tea with wedges of lime.
How grave and staggering my debt to the world is!
Centering, I dip my fingers reverently
Into a bamboo bucket
To douse my face with spring water.
I marvel that the sky shivering there
Is a blue witness to the direst ordeals
Of countless, faceless rascals and questers
Disinterestedly being us.

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James Mullaney, 28 grudnia 2011

VICTIM

In an Aztec priest's state of feral grace I survey
The unsleeping barrio from this tenement-temple.
I count minutes, quarter-hours, half-hours,
Hours and hours. Jupiter will rise at 11:37;
Saturn sets shortly thereafter.
Last night the storefront evangelist put a cross
Fist through the astrologer's plate glass window.
The night before that my neighbor Luisa

Was shot through the heart by Mara Salvatrucha
For testifying in Federal Court.
An honors student in life science
At La Guardia Community College, she was
To have been the soprano in a requiem for sea turtles
Tonight, in a recital at P.S. 1. They flew
The body back to Yucatan for burial
Where for fifty centuries sage astronomers
Keen and quiet as puma eminences
Patiently plotted civilzation's ceiling,
Until men in mountains floating on the sea

Torched their archives and purged their superstitions.
I watch with golden rays in my eyes
As people place wreaths, candles, along the avenue.
Graffitists paint a hieroglyphic mural.
Surely Quetzalcoatl will not withhold the rain.

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James Mullaney, 3 stycznia 2012

MARY AT HOME

The sunrise finds you mending broken toys
For Jesus. Softly rouse him. You sing hymns,
Boil curds - then off he stomps with other boys.
The hills hint modestly of cedar limbs.
Blessed are they who shun the world's conceits,
Who never shrink from anonymous toil,
Who still shake out the sandy linen sheets,
Prepare unleavened bread, and olive oil.
A mother's love tells on tongues of true bells
From age to age in the Star of the Sea.
Chaste is the chalice where our Savior dwells
Fired with dominion and for you, Mary,
Who never waxed more flush than at the hearth;
Who supped the bosom bliss of planet Earth.

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James Mullaney, 29 grudnia 2011

SONNET TO LAURA ANN

For Hansel, Gretel's jazz slayed the dire wood.
Her native valor wowed the Brothers Grimm.
Their jaunt was vexed and fraught, Laura: A lewd
Hag stirred bhang round and round a cauldron's brim.
Hikers we two on a wood hollow path
Have shared a torch that cleft the raven dark.
A shrill hush; weird shadows; a gigue of death;
Flared by the Yggdrasill's numinous bark.
Still, trailways divide and trailmates must part,
So snap off a deadwood djinn and ignite
A blaze that purges this gnarled woodland heart
Where gnomes hunt snails and gremlins spit and bite.
Halved yet whole, our flame does not diminish.
Fancy a fairy tale forest's finish!

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James Mullaney, 19 marca 2012

PASTORAL

A trellised rose garden rose gold and white
On the crest of a lavender landscape;
A rill dimpled bright like a cut glass in light
When a bashful moon punctured the cloudscape.
A maid gathered bluebells and baby's breath
On the skirt of an evergreeen woodland;
And when the time came to gather up Death
She was swept to Arcadian Goodland.
She met her big sister, Emily Ann,
And the two-month-old stricken with fever.
Then mother informed her her fancy-dan
Was with Dis. She refused to believe her.
A rooster may strut a whirlwind hour.
The Devil, though, lurks long in the bower.

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James Mullaney, 15 stycznia 2012

MARY AND JOSEPH

Saint Mary loved Saint Joseph most of men;
A wholesome aura lit he in their home.
She clasped the Torah when he breathed Amen,
And smiled at heaven when he spoke Shalom.
When Joseph and his cousins held a bris,
Madonna brought the sacramental wine;
And when he plumbed the blue nocturnal bliss
No brighter ray than she presumed to shine.
Would Mary have objected had she known
When Joseph tutored mitzvot to the Lord
He groomed him to ascend King David's throne
And put impious Caesar to the sword?
The question turns on different kens of Christ:
How best to cleanse a garden, cockatriced.

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James Mullaney, 15 stycznia 2012

MARY AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS

When Mary swayed beneath that tree, she owned
The purest spirit mauled by purest spite
That wherefrom ever mournful music moaned;
And the gift - or the curse - of omnisight.
Millenia pressed to a breathless flash
Like phantom pharaohs in Egyptian tombs;
And history's telos burst like the plash
Of molten meteors' demonic plumes
In Mary's gaze. Woman, behold your son.
Behold, your mother. A reciprocal
Seeing, then, settles the world's salvation:
Hers the universal, ours the local.
From focal points in heaven and on earth
The rood in Mary's eyes makes fortunesworth.

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James Mullaney, 15 stycznia 2012

MARY ON EASTER MORNING

Woeful nights, the pure gold of Mary's faith
Blazoned the brighter for the stillborn dread
That roiled inside like a nether wraith.
On the third day he arose from the dead.
That golden dawn, purled sunbeams rayed the way
God's gleam lights Mary's face: From end to end
Of colours' spectrum. It was a Sunday
When death and doom were destroyed and the rend,
Wrought by sin, was grafted over with gold.
Sunrise in Mary's heart arrayed splendours
Across the vasts of space. Now as of old
The Spirit of Wisdom richly renders
The Easter bonanza in Eucharists,
Sun-gilded morrows and scintillant mists.

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James Mullaney, 9 stycznia 2012

WHAT THE CAMPUS BARMAID SAID

With every glass I pour a libation
From the still of worldly knowledge.
How eagerly you imbibe your desolation.
Of course: It's college.

A string concerto newly found, once discovered
Sweet notes abound! (when uncovered.)
Like the bard whose epic tales of desperate zeal
Claim, "...None may see, but some can feel,"

Deny the loss and seize the day -
Live to win!
What makes a star a star so distant and obscure
But nebulae within?

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James Mullaney, 27 grudnia 2011

OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA, QUEEN OF POLAND

Scarred by two red gashes in ebony
The Black Madonna assays her demesne.
Still Poland's protectress, still Poland's Queen,
She safeguards and defends the history
Of a proud land, imbued with majesty.
When a base Hussite slashed her blackened mien
Blood beads dappled the countenance serene.
That brigand perished in ignominy.
In time to come, whatever may befall,
Her shrine will be Poland's loveliest school.
You Pilgrims to Czestochowa, come call!
Come saint and sinner, knave and holy fool.
Whether on earth's stoop or in heaven's hall
All must adore at Mary's mercy stool.

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Poezja

ZEN DAWN

VICTIM

MARY AT HOME

SONNET TO LAURA ANN

PASTORAL

MARY AND JOSEPH

MARY AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS

MARY ON EASTER MORNING

WHAT THE CAMPUS BARMAID SAID

OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA, QUEEN OF POLAND

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