The labyrinth of life offers little hope.
Each turn threatens doom, in darkness we all grope.
Alone we shall perish, unable to see
that the light only shines, from within. From Thee.

For a while nephesh, our animal soul,
Seems to help us along, mocking our role.
Even as the moon is, shining with borrowed light,
of that that lies beyond it: the mysterious Might.

Then, at last, we are blinded: Let there be what may…
No man can see God and live! So the prophets say.
The sun fills our eyes. Fills our heart and mind.
The light shines from within, let us all remain blind.



I am happy

Bronze Sculpture “Equilibrium”

My head is full of wonder––filled with roses? No…
bluebottles and poppies in fields of windswept corn
swaying like open sea. It was the height of summer
I remember it well… I was so happy then.

I felt almost silly. My legs raised up, so carefree…
Blue sky soaring above me, entwining puffs of cotton…
He sat right next to me, his hand… he touched me gently when…
I remember it well… I was so happy then.

My mind still wanders to those old, swaying cornfields.
I hear voices of children, or are they angels’ trills?
My brow turned grey… ah, yes, it was way back
I guess I will remain happy… now, even as then.







A thousand years have passed, yet to this day I wonder,
Since I stood there, alone, upon a hill, out yonder…
Branches entwined as hair reaching for the sky,
Ever dreaming, hoping, that one day I could fly.

Yet now, here I am, petrified in woman’s body.
Cast as a sculpture by nature’s cruel laws…
My veins still pulsating in stillness of a stone
Still reaching for the sky, still dreaming alone.

All that I’ve left is beauty that once did adorn me
Upon that forlorn hill, ‘ere lonesome yet ever hoping
That gods that gave me life, again would make me whole
Accepting from my hands, my lonesome, living soul.

Poetry by Stanislaw Kapuscinski (a.k.a Stan I.S. Law)

to the stone sculpture Petrified Soul by Bozena Happach

Petrified soul3a         Petrified soul1a

Bench of Memories and Dreams


I sat on a bench of memories and longing…
Have I lost my way and stumbled into heaven?
Are my eyes filled with youthful enchantment?
Or am I merely rapt in meandering deception…

I feel behind me his knees pressing gently…
How sweet is his touch, supporting me––as ever,
His arm holds me firmly––as always protective
of some gathering clouds on life’s moot horizon…

But above all else, I am more than ever
convinced that I’m floating on filigree of fairies…
And now I’ll share with you an ambrosial truth:
I draw my enchantment from the fountain of youth!

Poetry by Stan i.S. Law, [Inspired by ON THE BENCH, gesso-duro sculpture (2002)
 by Bozena Happach.


Sometimes we create barriers.
Lack of a kind word, holding back, refusal?
A lingering resentment–– unfortunate turn of phrase?
Love and friendship suffer, when obscured by haze…

Yet a raised hand can halt the northern wind.
Or a child’s presence?  A smile?  Tiny bridges…
But mostly open arms, that elusive grace
that comes from undemanding, maternal embrace.

Poetry by Stan I.S. Law http://stanlaw.ca


Mural Sculpture 17″ x 22″ in gesso-duro by Bozena Happach http://bohappach.com

Violin Concerto

And with this final chord she froze in utter stillness;
cast from hot, flowing bronze, chiseled in solid ice.
I held my breath––my heart and soul she’s won…
For though her bow stopped moving…
…her violin played on.

A hesitant vibrato, stronger, tempting, commanding,
then tiny, sweet tremolo––arpeggios scaling octaves…
While she stood rapt, music still told its story,
From violin flowed lakes, forests…
…fields in all their glory…

It was Sebelius’ Violin Concerto.  Notes––blades of
grass, fields of golden wheat––heads swaying in
unison…  Prodigious throw of Nature’s secret dice,
Sweet mysteries, enchantment…
…gates of paradise…

Poetry by Stan I.S. Law http://stanlaw.ca


Sculpture in bronze by Bozena happach http://bohappach.com