Evolution

Sun rising

flinging green fire

on flashing leaves

as birds flit

and call to each other

ancient songs of  

lust, warning,

hunger.

In twisting architecture

they rise,

sure-footed, fleet of wing,

fearless,

while below I stand,

neck craned,

stiff with gazing.

Back to my room,

I go - back to

my comfortable cave,

my simian

roots.

(19 June 2011)

Royal Presidio Chapel, Monterey California

Pelicans fly at dawn, 

Heavy, unsure of the wind, 

Their hungry cries piercing the sky

Fiercely searching receding waves. 

Ancient sorrow lingers here, 

The stunned saints with fading stigmata

Painted dimly into ever-falling shadow. 

Our Lady of Sorrows wears a black mantilla. Her

cold, glimmering hands clench 

The lace handkerchief Maria Antonia brought. 

Our Lady of Solitude pierces my soul, 

Her face shining forth from layers of death, 

Her astounding eyes glittering with living anguish.

(15 March 1979)

Photograph

We must know the truth, and we must love the truth we know. Thomas Merton

On her way to the big dance

my sister patiently waits

for the camera to click.

Her dress is white,

her slender fingers wrapped in

tight, petite gloves,

while top to bottom,

in her brilliant hat and polished shoes

grasping the patent handbag

she glows, so cool

in the autumn sun.

Carefully posed,

her little brothers cluster.

The oldest, just fooling around,

grins slyly

waves his

Lone Ranger cap gun.

The smart boy,

just down the step,

holds his hands in his jacket pocket,

and confidently smiles

for the camera.

But the little one stands apart

in a forest of shifting knees,

close to the ground

steadied by her strong hand.

Mother's long arm

reaches far down

to his slight shoulder,

and her power

still towers above them all

wrapping them in her

safe embrace.

(22 May 2012)

fog conceals

fog conceals

winter dark streets

but gently reveals

her tears, her

cold, soft hands,

my mother’s hands

rising from

the waters,

from the fog.

(9 December 2014)

Lost Soul

“Just as it is impossible for a man to see his face in troubled water, so too the soul, unless it be cleansed of alien thoughts.” Thomas Merton

Soul without light
he screams in anger,

curses his mother
for carving his dying flesh
from her course blood.

His darkness is complete.

He will not see
the sun
though it streams golden
through his open
door.

A prisoner,
he can only gaze
on blighted shade; he cannot stray
beyond the constrained
cell of his narrow
self.

(11 March 2011)

neverending

see how night rushes

down winter streets

how the pall descends

and suddenly casts

the bold sun to the sea.

thus it has been

since colliding

rocks coalesced

and the diurnal

dance began -

and yet, we hope

for sunrise

for summer

neverending.

(11/27/2014)

Nocturne November

breathe deeply

the darkness,

listen to the rain

pounding drum-beat drops

see glass glisten,

liquid streets stream,

imbibe the stink of mud,

rot of moldering leaf,

as life

subsides.


(5 Nov 2011)
_________________

atmen Sie tief durch

die Dunkelheit,

lauschen Sie den regen

Schlagen Trommelschlag Tropfen

siehe Glas glitzern,

Flüssigkeit Straßen-Stream,

trinken den Gestank von Schlamm,

rot von modernden Blatt,

wie das Leben

nachlässt.

Transubstantiation

Golden eyed, blazing

through summer trees

gently swaying

you blind me,

bind your warm hands

to my sluggish brow

and ignite me with your holy flame.

My heart, fiery and free

soars high, with you

always beside me

leading me

through dissolving mists

‘til pure at last,

at last I see

you’re filling me

with your eternal mind,

making of me your sacred bread,

your free-flowing

wine.

(6/13/2011)

November Sunset

About five o clock,

the warm November day

just stops.

Bright afternoon

slams into evening

not even pausing

for twilight.

Blue sky

dims quickly

to violet,

but over ragged black canyons

the orange sun

lingers

and suddenly bursts

into astonishing gold.

Blithely ascending

the bright crescent

claims the cool

velvet night.

(11/16/2010)

Faith and Disobedience

When I heard how you raised

the little girl who died,

with searching hands

I found you,

and felt a strange new thirst

for light,

So I begged

for a miracle.

You asked me

if I believed

that you really could do

such a thing,

could illuminate

my personal night.

Filled

with inexplicable

faith, I said

yes!

and when you touched my eyes,

I saw your face

with a newborn’s sight.

Lord, I cannot lock

your love,

inside my heart!

my very sinews will burst!

So, disobedient in my praise,

I  shout it out

through this bright, new day!

(12/2/2011)

black door

black door,

impenetrable portal

to the silent night,

when a sudden train rushes,

filling the darkness

with wailing desire,

and suddenly is gone.

Now only my fingers linger.

pressing your giving flesh.

(10/18/2014)

The Vine

The ugly stump, desolate, dead
and too deep to pull, waited for my saw,
but I, lazy and pre-occupied, lingered
as winter inundated
the mud and rock desert
outside our kitchen window.

Then spring came, and all excuses spent,
I slogged out, grim executioner,
ready to cut and pull,
when I beheld green, craggy fingers praying
for just one more chance;
so putting the saw back into our messy garage,
we began the project,

raking, hoeing, cutting, digging
(hard work for a lazy man)
and soon sod to lay
and bricks to haul for a patio,

when, bushwhacked, we spied
the truant stump
proclaiming itself a grape vine,
stringy runners running rampant
through the little garden we built around it,
hooked fingers grabbing for anything
to pull nascent leaves up,


up to the warming April sun,


out of the dark winter earth,

and alarmed we cut it back, fearful vintners,
afraid for threatened geraniums
and knock-out roses,

but a treaty agreed upon, the vine settled
for one corner and left the rest
to more delicate flora.

Life will not be denied
in our backyard.

(4/10/2009)

First Rain

first waves of grey
push in from the sea
impatiently  driving through
wind-thrashed trees

my back yard's aglow
with the strange, filtered sun
red garden blooms sway
against dark, stoic trunks

Oh,inhale the sharp fragrance
of autumn's first rain!
infuse your dry world
with life once again.

(10/18/2010)

Unknowing

"Unknowing" photo by Steven Federle

“The most excellent way of contemplation is to ascend by unknowing…as Moses was led into darkness.” Thomas Merton

Dry October hills -
life fulfilled. and dying. See how the ridge cuts the sunset, draws a thin edge of blood. In the valley of man red lights throb. Leaves fall, unknowing.

(10/1/2012)

Nocturne: October

level land

fields

blown brown

and hard

fade with day

to

hazy

night.

the wind does not move!

there’s

a smudge

on the

moon

and

even

the geese

are

silent.

(10/8/2013)

This Day Will Not Come Again

“A sweet summer afternoon. Cool breezes and a clear sky. This day will not come again.
The young bulls lie under a tree in the corner of their field. Quiet afternoon. Blue hills.
Day lilies nod in the wind. This day will not come again. “
Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander


I expected the slight rise
in the east, the sky
growing slate, then
blushing pink and
suddenly blue.

The winter tree
is often
bathed in gold,

and the familiar song
of thrush and jay,
woodpecker’s rapid tapping
brash geese
shouting,

are often the same
from one to another day.

But this sudden breeze,
freshening breath
of the butterfly,
the warmth
the joyful cry!

My God is here!

I breathe,
I sigh.

(3/19/2012)

Evening Song

In the nearly dark tree

out on the bright edge,

it clings to tender leaves,

rides the wind-swayed branch

and sings.

Small bird,

red as the falling sun,

cries his evening song …

to tarried mate?

to fading sky or

guardian tree?

Drawn deep to darkest night,

I cannot read this creature’s

pure mind; but his breath

leaves my raptured soul bereft.


(4/19/2011)

Joy Fills the Night

Joy fills the night,

sighs, breath

faint as death,

inward fly.

Oh, gaze into the night,

to the emptiness

deep inside

where bright salvation,

in silence resides.

(Sept 15, 2014)

Morning

when the sky is still black

and stars glitter

like there's no

tomorrow,

the overblown moon

luxuriant

above seaborne fog...

this is the time

for faith

when birds,

startled by dawn's

first spark,

raise sharp beaks

and sing

the first song of

morning.

(9/22/2012)