Three Poems by P.C. Scheponik

 

Fairy Garden

 

Today my great granddaughter and I went back to the fairy garden.

I, with my folding chair, she, with her ability to hunker down.

We sat and hunkered for over an hour, among the various

garden flowers: the tall blooms of cosmos, the thick green 

clusters of sedum, and colourful clumps of marigolds. 

Me in my chair, she, now settled on her knees, moving painted

mushroom houses and fairy figurines around the sandy plot of the

fairy garden—a place for children to play and old men to watch and

remember the days when it was so easy to believe in fairies and

happy endings, to find excitement in secrets and mysteries.

We sat there together, I, watching her play, she, occasionally looking

up at me. There were smiles we exchanged as imagination gave way

to innocent memories. The wind tickled the metal chimes till they

sang a song of happier times, moments of togetherness, music made

of love.

 

In the End

 

The missiles are flying.

The guns are firing.

The night sky burns

with unholy light.

The blood is flowing.

The children are crying.

The people are dying from

wound and fright.

What beast portends.

What saviour fails to bring

an end to such suffering.

Is it curse or prayer that

fills the air with countless

plaintiff voices?

War or peace, fight or retreat

in this roulette wheel of choices.

In the end, death will never amend

the brutality of all the losses.

 

Abundant Love

 

I am through with the book, the basilica,

the synagogue, and scroll—

all the cults and clubs that corner the

market on God, that capture the heart

and shackle the soul.

If I want a face-to-face I will go outside

among the fields of flowers and weeds,

among the forests’ cathedral trees.

I will kneel and close my eyes and wait

for the feel of the wind against my cheek.

I will listen to the blue jay sing, to the

bubbling alleluias of the creek.

This is the living word I can trust.

This is the garden world love gives

to us that we may enjoy its wonders.

Not a tithe to be paid, not a precept to keep,

just gratitude and praise and the willingness

to be one with abundance.

P.C. Scheponik is a lifelong poet who lives with his wife, Shirley, and their shizon, Bella. His writing celebrates nature, the human condition, and the metaphysical mysteries of life. He has published five collections of poems. His work has appeared in numerous poetry journals.