Five Poems by Nolo Segundo

from Moorestown, New Jersey

THE WINTER OF MY SOUL

by Nolo Segundo

The winter of my soul was in the spring called youth 
when I danced and sang and played the fool, 
when I could care for no one really, not even
for myself---
certainly not for the soul I could not see within,
not could I see the souls of others….

That was the harshest winter, though snowless
and without a frigid air yet dead was the ground
I walked on, dead too was my heart as I moved
through the world like an orphan abandoned,
abandoned by hope and faith and love,
till Death itself smiled at me and called my name
and I went to it because I could not see my soul.

But in that utter darkness where death hides,
hides like a coward, 
and in that pain beyond pain that death brings
to those who seek it,
I, like the blind man whom Christ gave sight to,
suddenly knew again my soul and as I called out
to God,
I began the hard long climb out of the pit towards
the forever Light….

Now I have lived through 200 seasons as birth
and death dance in their turn, and time I once
rode like a prince his horse now rides my back,
pushing me down bit by bit as the years pile up
like burnt logs that will never be lit again…
yet I am happy, not for old age with all its 
myriad slights and insults, and not for that
unfinished part which I suppose is found in
every life, even the longest-- no, my happiness
is simpler, sweeter now that my world has 
shrunk, for my soul has grown and as it grows,
becomes ever more hungry for the food of
Heaven….


WE DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WE LOST

by Nolo Segundo

We don’t even know what we have lost…

when community meant different people
living in harmony…

when patriotic meant 
you would die for your country…

when loyalty meant 
you’d stick it out till the end…

when marriage meant
you’d stay until the end…

when faith meant
you opened your heart to God…

when dying meant
you’d pray for the soul…

when loving meant
you become more by becoming less….


THE VICTORIOUS OLD

They win not by victory o’er their enemies,
for their enemies are invincible, yet they fight:
Aging can be resisted, hemmed in for a time,
but its rolling is relentless, thinning the skin,
shrinking the brain, thickening the arteries….

They are partisans, the victorious old, 
fighting, each alone, a relentless guerrilla war 
against one enemy, Old Age, a foe that takes
everyone prisoner, if they wait long enough,
while the other, their last enemy, takes none.

And this final and most heartless enemy?
Death always wins, never an exception,
but the victorious old give it no joy--
they welcome death like an old friend,
some even smile at Death, the light in 
their eyes still burning as their souls feel
the oncoming freedom, the smell of Heaven--

and Death, never happy, sulks away….


THE SADNESS OF A SECULAR WORLD

by Nolo Segundo

There was a time	
When men built
God great houses
Of stone and glass,
With Gothic towers
Reaching to scratch
Heaven’s belly.

In the great hall, 
Beneath the bold
Flying buttresses,
People felt tiny—
Yet when they 
Cast their eyes
Upward, they 
Thought, this is 
Where He must be.
And sometimes,
Just sometimes,
Some of them 
Would feel a
Twinge, or even
A slight shaking,
A divine wisp.

Now we build 
Huge malls, with
Myriad shops
Offering endless
Promises—all lies.
We hack humanity
Down to the lowest
Common denominator,
And mock those who
Seek to awaken to 
Their immortality.
Today we can kill
In the millions—
Tomorrow, billions.
All that creation
Has brought us to,
Over such a long time,
Is for naught. Will God
One day grow tired
And finally say,
“Enough”?                                                                                              


WHEN GOD IS TOO BIG

by Nolo Segundo

When God is too big,
We must cut Him down to size--
So we make shiny idols or sad dolls
And some vainly try to squeeze 
The Lord of the Universe into small
Rigid boxes of dogma and doctrine,
While others with cold hearts would
Stuff Him into cheap bags of denial:
‘See,’ they shout ever so proud, ‘Look!
There’s nothing in this sack—empty,
Empty, empty—only fools believe!’

But the world weary, those wise to
Human nature, its quickness to evil,
And who see the essential emptiness
Of mortality--- only they have learned
To listen for God in the wind, to seek
Him in the blackest night, and in time,
They’ll even feel His heartbeat in the
Quickness of life, sense the wonder 
Of His strength in the glue called love.