Eventide

“In the stillness you realize how the whole valley is alive with singing of crickets, a constant universal treble going up to God out of the fields, rising like the incense of an evening prayer to the pure sky.” Thomas Merton

Glowing low through eastern pines

suspended, self-contained,

this perfect world gently refines

the rough, red clouds

of eventide.

Beneath the moon

in throbbing streams, tremor

in the vibrant night,

green cloisters chant their lusty song

glorious noise, rising antiphon.

Tree by the Road

A naked tree
stands apart.

Cars pass
with freeway speed
bending thin branches
in their own furious wind.

Slowing
I see black leaves
on nearly empty limbs…

No, not leaves,
but dark pears,

or glass balls left to fall
from a forgotten Christmas tree

abandoned, alone, without cheer,

when, roaring, an eighteen wheeler
spews misty twisters.

Then leaves, ornaments, and pears
all rise in a singular mass
of flashing black wings
cawing into the
grey winter
air.

Storm on Tamalpais

From high above,

Pacific waves conceal

both depth

and content.

But when the mystic cloud

ascends this holy mountain,

the living mist rises

from fecund moss

to consecrated  crown,

and rain pours down

in resurgent rivers,

insurgent life

drowning death

in the sea’s mighty

depth.

Bright Day

 

bright day, trees waving

like summer, chill revealing

winter lurks, waiting

His Secret

"There must be a time of day when the man who has to speak falls very silent. And his mind forms no more propositions, and he asks himself: Did they have a meaning?"Thomas Merton

The pain cuts me
Like an edge of ice
Cutting brightly
Into thickening
darkness.

We walked slowly
To his grave.
The grass was wet
With winter's dew
Newly melted In
the warming sun.

I saw it,
The newly turned soil,
A few rocks
Glittering joyfully
After a million years In
underground darkness,
Raised at last,
Bare and sparkling
In the black earth.

Silence,
Stillness in the field,
The wind intimating
His newfound secret.

Christmas Star

“Kindled by a spark of divine love, the soul streaks heavenward in an act of intelligence as clear and direct as the rocket's trail of fire. Grace has released the deepest energies of our spirit and assists us to climb to new and unsuspected heights.”  Thomas Merton

in the high Texan sky
contrail flaring,
streaking, glaring
thrall
of fire!

Is this some love-struck soul,
streaking heavenward
seeking in unsuspected cities,
a new home
in the golden dome?

or does it fall,
ever to heavy earth
drag of weight,
dross of
mortal freight?

Fog at Dawn

“We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time...He is everywhere, He is in everything, and we cannot be without Him.”  Thomas Merton

Morning fog softens

spreads through the bare trees, muffles

the cries of the birds.

Edges blur, rounded

fog,  logic of cloud earthbound:
faith betrayed and drowned.

Days of Infamy

The day recedes into peaceful night
spreading gentle darkness
over wide California fields,

the flames of history
nearly forgotten
but for the ember glow
In the wrinkled cobalt sky.

But we remember
bloody days

when war-planes roared
into the rising Pacific sun
and ripped it
into sanguine strips.

Bombs pierced polished decks,
and amazed sailors dove
into crimson waters,
as the Rising Sun spread darkness
Over half the globe

seventy-one years ago. . .

. . . yet just say the date
and silence fills any room.

We remember movies we’ve seen
Of dive-bombers and chaos,
heroes rising in fighters to
stave off the improbable wave.

We see old men in service caps,
Tossing wreaths into
bright Hawaiian waters.

They weep
as old wounds
again bleed.

They gaze into the sad eyes
Of buddies who
didn’t make it.

And we think of our own losses,

Korea and Vietnam,
torrents of blood
flowing through fertile
Asian valleys,

and the obscenity of 9-11,
insurgency raping
Iraq and
Afghanistan,

and we ask, “When will it end?”

Nodding slowly,
we know.

Storm's Ending

rains cease, clouds closing

rising to sun, blue by sky

encased and dismissed.

Grizzly Island Road

Soft sky, blue and white
cloud swelling over low hills,
delta waters,
twilight sloughs

calling to geese and egret,
kingfisher and mallard
to lounge in waving reeds
as grazing cattle linger
in verdant valley.

Like a river the road flows
down to the sacred sea,
to the deep, living stream
of Earth.

Incident

"Inexorably life moves on toward crisis and mystery." Thomas Merton

Out on the edge
death staggers,

frail legs falter
and fail,

but wait!
light is arising,.

life resuming,
breath prevails.

The Quarrel

"Let no one hope to find in contemplation an escape from conflict, from anguish or from doubt." Thomas Merton

* 

Words spoken drift like

mustard gas, doubt burning like

webs, unexpected

spiders brush my ears,

slip into my eyes as blind-

ly I rush away.

Your Silence Sings

“Silence can carry many different messages; it can be a powerful form of communication.” Thomas Merton

Your silence sings in 

emerald leaves glistening

through arching blue skies.

Apple trees groaning 

anointing the sacred ground 

with seeds of silence.

Close by rushes a 

train; howling wind brushes my 

face with your silence.

Final Parting

“The things that are on the surface are nothing; what is deep is the Real.” Thomas Merton

The visit was nearly over;
all that could be said
was nearly said.

My mother lay still on her sick-bed,
carefully arranged in the living room,
smaller than ever I saw her,
pain numbed at last,
as peacefully she fingered her rosary
and waited for me to come in
to say goodbye.

Walking into the dusky room
I knelt down at her low bed
and kissed her sallow face and embraced
her thin, cancer-riven body,
when suddenly she held me tight,
and with surprising strength, pulled me down,
tearfully embracing her child,
and nearly breathless, whispered in my ear,
“I never thought anything like this
would ever happen to me”

and empty at last,
I left.

Aubade: Night into Morning

We lie under high arched windows
awake in the deep winter night
and gaze on the tallest trees
glazed in silver light.


They reach up to the radiant moon,
their fingers spread bare and plain,
raised in silent prayer 
after December's cold, hard rain.


Your face is bathed in these holy rays,
and I fight sleep; I cannot turn away
from truth so deep as the moon beaming 
through our wintering trees ardently streaming.


But I close my eyes for a moment, then see
dawn drawing azure from night's darkest seed,
and the trees' golden limbs rising on high
to praise morning's vaulting blue sky. 


So I arise and turning to you I see
how night flows to dawn eternally
and to the resurgent world restores
the spring of our never-ending joy.

Raking Leaves

Look to the tallest tree
and see how the noon-day sun
glints through slender grey limbs
to where leafless Life contracts
to its tender core
(this year’s ring
complete)
and waits for winter’s storms.

Leaves lie,
golden harvest, luxuriant carpet
to kick and scatter like
brittle snow. . .
. . . years ago

playing through the autumn day long,
we built castles and smashing them,
dove deep into fragrant mounds.

Incense of burn piles
sanctified the chilled air of November.

Today I just rake,
scraping turf
making smaller heaps to haul
into my big green recycle bin

and see how golden autumn light
softly glows in gleaming grass,
free at last
from the detritus
of summer.

Night Plows

lights glare, clouds rise, flare

in the night, blades split earth, fur-

rows before the storm.

November Wind

cold wind

tears at my hair

thin wisps,

fine threads

make me 

blind

as towards bright 

rooms I run

through silver sleet 

piercing my core, 

I pass

through winter's 

icy door.

Two Poem Morning

Creation had been given to man as a clean window through which the light of God could shine into men’s souls. Thomas Merton

Holy Spirit


I lift heavy legs and groping for glasses,
stumble through my dark house
to see if night will return the sky.

Aching for the new day
I sip strong coffee
and write.

Listen! Birdsong rings
from dark trees.

Wise winter birds
know that the world
begins
and ends
with song.

With the rush of wings
they teach me,
how to capture the infant sun!

They show me
how, with trill and vibrato,
to end the dreary night.

They use breath and light
to rise to heaven,
and renew with love
the face
of the earth.

Aubade: Morning Rain

Living trees, grass rising from dark cool soil Roses, like blood from a wound rise above a common weed. Its fugitive life persists evading my brutal hands. November rains provoke darker green Dim clouds pour solemn waterfalls Holy tears renew the life of our dark world.

Brief Day Ends

October slips

past golden hills

as traffic

through the narrow valley slides, 

glittering serpent

gliding

past thrashing grass

while high atop the street lamp, 

stands the black vulture,

wings extending

massive and dark

and still,

beckoning 

this new season 

of death.

Gap

“In silence we face and admit the gap between the depth of our being, which we consistently ignore, and the surface which is untrue to our own reality.” Thomas Merton

Distracted, ears filled
with gossip, with chattering
laughter, hissing pots,
baroque music.

This chair’s too hard.

My small table’s streaked
and sticky,
twisting veins
of old, spilled
coffee.

I seek silence.

Where else to find it
but here,
under this too-
bright spot-
light?

First Flight

“The moment the first man sprang into being, moved by the breath of God, the depths of the center of his perfect soul blazed with the silent, magnificent flame of Wisdom.”  Thomas Merton, The New Man

grey dawn rising

blaze of new light

purposeful, climbing,

breath of new height,

sharp beak piercing

song of first flight!

from a dark room

Van Gogh, A Lane near Arles (Landscape with Edge of a Road), 1888

“Our spirits were made for light, not for darkness.” Thomas Merton

This dark room
comforts me.

Tender eyes
are safe here from
the hot autumn wind.

Dark tears cleanse
as I gaze out
to the shimmering street
where rises the sacred scent
of yellow flowers,

heavy
and sweet.

Vigil

Deep in the twilight grey
I wait
for black night to drop
suddenly
and completely.

At the end of the day,
hope is measured
one careful procedure
at a time.

Night
is not kind in winter.

Too early It comes,
and stays much too long.

It brings fear,
red eyes
and stinging tears.

Lit by throbbing numbers
night probes your veins
one pulse at a time,

as your shivering soul watches
from cool blue bars
gleaming in the distant ceiling.

Stroking your hands
In the fading day’s light
I pray
for one more
morning.

The Three Trees: Autumn

The Three Trees: Autumn Claude Monet, 1891


Glare,

thin limbs,

wind drifting,

sun melting straw

autumn’s frost

golden

flares

form is septolet....syllabic verse, 1-2-3-4-3-2-1

Surrender

“Real self-conquest is the conquest of ourselves not by ourselves but by the Holy Spirit. Self-conquest is really self-surrender.”  Thomas Merton.

Look to the west
and see how your eyes
must narrow
or turn inward
to shut out
the glare
that precedes
darkness.

Hills wrapped in haze
lose all definition
become flat, devoid
of fold or crevasse.

No sudden rise
blocks your way
to the edge
at the top.

Surrender there
to the light before
you enter
the night.

Feed the Fire

We will never be fully real until we let ourselves fall in love - either with another human person or with God.  Thomas Merton

Close to you
I see you breathe.
Your sweet breath
is all I need
to feed the fire,
living desire!

Intimations

On this perfect September day
these California hills rise,
joyfully to pacific skies,

but from my high ground
I gaze across this sun-drunk city,
across that strip of shimmering bay
to distant, wild Marin hills
where a thin, white line
lingers among ancient redwoods.

I see it shroud them in white silence.
It obliterates even  
the radiant, waning sun.

This is winter.

His cold fingers will soon reach
into our happy lives,

our bright denial.

отряд

"Мы не отделить себя от вещей, чтобы прикрепить себя к Богу, а мы отрываются от себя, чтобы видеть и использовать все вещи в себе и для Бога». Томас Мертон

Я живу между двумя мирами.

На этой земле существенные
чувствует движение в утренний ветер
Глаза оживить в золотом свете
вспышки полуденного солнца,
руки, ноги, спину щеткой с огнем,
лихорадочный лоб, я слышу звон колоколов
рев поезда, слоновьи
движения, уверен и устойчивый
более пристальное землю.

Как мне отсоединить
Из этого арсенала, это
пульсирующий мир,
возбуждающий
водоворот все-
смысл?

еще
Когда я паузу
и смотреть в твои глаза,
Ваше молчание отменяет меня.

Моя душа дергается и раковины,
блаженным, утопление рыбы
в мистическую
чернила ваших
вечный
пожелают.

We Sing

Salvador Dali, Meditative Rose

"The rain ceases, and a bird's clear song suddenly announces the difference between Heaven and hell." Thomas Merton

Over bright fields

we fly.

Thin slips

of consciousness,

bounded by darkness,

we rise

on our song’s

golden glow,

not knowing

how descends

the growing edge

of nothing.

Fire Within

"There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun." Thomas Merton

Clouded vision,
fog shrouded
sightlessly glide
through morning
pale shades,
searching
for clearer light!

Oh blazing star!
banish death’s sight!

Clear clean
the sharp edges
of infinite right,

and emerge,
O Fire
within!

August in the Vaca Mountains

“Everything must be elevated and transformed by the action of God, in love and faith.” Thomas Merton


August descends.

Gentle heat
swoons on
holy ground.

Death sweetly sings,
in the scything wind, 
in shafts of
shifting grass
resplendent!

The harvest is ready, 

Make full the granaries;
make ready the land
for winter’s 
harsh hand.